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fantasyheroine · 14 days ago

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A welcome distraction

Summary: Astarion was not nice. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning. But perhaps, given the right incentive, he could be persuaded to be nice to the one person who he felt deserved it most.

Tags: Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

One-shot, 2.3k words

Set in the beggining of Act II.

Astarion stretched out languidly on Tav’s bedroll, watching her as she looked through their magic trinkets to decide which ones they could do without. Ever since Gale came to her, confessing everything, telling her of his folly, Tav has taken extra care to set aside an item or two that the wizard could consume.

Now, if this was done out of sense of self-preservation, that would be completely understandable. It would be quite unfortunate for that orb in his chest to get so volatile it would just explode at random. Such a waste that would be. The world would lose its most beautiful creature! And just as he was starting to enjoy his freedom! And he supposed the wizard had his uses too.

Astarion blinked slowly and sighed. As nice as it was to have no one try to murder them for a change, he was getting bored. And his favourite source of entertainment seemed to have no time on her hands for him.

And that just wouldn’t do.

He moved closer to Tav and lifted his hand to rest on her head, running his fingers through her hair and then lower down to caress the exposed skin of her neck. Astarion knew that he was distracting her, that was the whole point of the gentle, feather-light touches that made goosebumps rise on her exposed arms. And when that garnered no reaction, Astarion lifted himself up to press his chest against her back, snaking his arms around her middle.

“Darling,” he said smoothly, kissing her shoulder, making a move to lift her shirt enough with insistent hands to expose skin and trace slow patterns just above her hipbones, “don’t you think it’s time for a break?”

“As nice as that sounds, I still have to go through all the scrolls and potions.”

“Nice? I can’t promise anything that uninspired,” he scoffed. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning.

“Something wicked, however,” he drawled, his lips almost touching Tav’s ear “that I could definitely provide.”

“Well, as delicious as that sounds, I’m not moving until I get this done. But perhaps you could help?”

“Tsk, you are no fun,” he pouted, lifting a necklace with the tip of his finger. “What’s this one supposed to do?”

“Let me just check… Misty Step.”

“Keeping it,” he would have squirreled it away earlier, but a part of him felt a sick sort of dread at taking something without waiting for permission first. It was almost like a reflex more than anything. Not to take without permission, lest he be punished.

“If you want,” Tav shrugged with a smile. “Put it into your pile, it’s that one.”

Astarion inwardly preened when he noted it was one of the bigger piles. He spied a bow and two rings perched on top of a set of armour. He supposed getting nice new things was worth an hour of boredom.

It was still a novel concept. Having things of his own. Being given what he needed or simply wanted with no strings attached. And it wasn’t just him that got such treatment. Tav tried her best to make sure that everyone was taken care of to the best of her ability.

Astarion would probably never admit it unless faced with decapitation, but Tav has really started to grow on him. The pleasant manner in which she carried herself, the ferocious way in which she fought, the unwavering loyalty to those she considered friends.

That was yet another novel concept, having friends.

“Darling, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t choose anything for yourself.”

“I don’t need anything right now.”

That was a lie. Her armour breathed its last when they went up against the goblins to protect the Grove. She could definitely use a new pair of boots too.

“As sweet as you are for thinking of others before yourself, I would rather you not become a pincushion next time we are ambushed. Here,” he picked a set of armour at random, “take this.”

“And Shadowheart will have to do without, I suppose?” she raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a cleric. She can heal herself,” Astarion gave a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t care much about what happened to Shadowheart.

Tav laughed, making something warm and pleasant bloom in his chest. He hated how much he enjoyed hearing her laugh.

“Well, this armour is a bit too heavy for me anyway,” she put the armour back and added a couple of scrolls that Shadowheart could make use of. “Maybe I will pick something up next time we need to sell stuff.”

She was right. They did amass quite a collection of useless nick knacks when they looted the abandoned houses in the Blighted Village. And lugging all the bits and bobs that Tav insisted on taking with them was getting rather tedious. Not that he carried much personally. However, he imagined if Lae’zel caught onto him having the lightest load, the gith would personally make sure that his pack would be stuffed to capacity.

Except when they went to sell the items, she once again did not buy anything for herself. Astarion could not understand her ridiculous altruism! Not that he cared that much, but still. Tav dying would most definitely throw a wrench in his plans. Therefore, with that in mind only, he bought Tav new armour, bow and boots.

Strange. The first time he spent money in years, and it wasn’t even on buying something for himself!

The next day, Tav woke up to find that someone had been to her tent. And that mysterious someone left her gifts. Brows furrowing, she picked up a pair of boots. They were clearly enchanted and probably not something they could afford at the moment. And that begged the question, who would splurge so much and not even give it to her personally?

She admired the armour and ran her fingers over the leather. As she shifted it slightly sideways to have a better look at the clasps, something sparkled in a stray ray of light that got in through the slight opening in the tent flap.

Tav noticed the necklace perched on top of the pile.

“Misty Step,” she murmured, a small smile tugging on her lips as her fingers ghosted over the rest of the gifts.

Changing and making herself somewhat presentable, she walked out of her tent and towards Astarion’s, greeting Gale as he prepared their breakfast. To their delight, the group recently stumbled upon a cellar filled with boxes upon boxes of food. Gale was especially pleased at having the opportunity to prepare proper meals for a change rather than have two or three odd ingredients to work with.

When Tav opened the flap of Astarion’s tent and walked in, the elf was already up and apparently deeply engrossed in his book, not even bothering to look up to greet her. Tav waited a beat, but Astarion pointedly refused to acknowledge her. Which Tav knew he had to be doing on purpose, because there was no way that he couldn’t hear her breathing and the staccato of her heartbeat as she grew more nervous by the minute.

Crouching by him, she put her hand on top of the page.

“Darling, as much as I enjoy your presence in my tent, you are distracting me from my reading.”

“I see. Good book?”

“It is. Absolutely riveting.”

She decided not to comment on the fact that he had already read this book twice, as they didn’t come across any new reading material that was of interest to Astarion.

“Help me put this on?” she smiled and handed him the necklace, holding her hair up and leaving her neck exposed, making Astarion’s mouth water.

“Tsk, can’t manage without me, darling?” he teased, but put his book aside.

“I can. But I’d much rather you did it.”

Gently, he slid the jewellery in its place, letting his fingers linger on her skin a touch longer than necessary and making Tav sigh contently.

“Thank you,” she pecked his cheek. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. But perhaps come nightfall,” he leaned closer and all but purred, “I could look after you in a-”

“Astarion,” Tav put her fingers on his lips, “thank you.”

“Oh, please! You thought it was me? Darling! Giving you a necklace? Out of all mundane, unimaginative things to gift!”

Astarion inwardly kicked himself. What was he thinking, trading her smile for a blunt comment like that? It wasn’t the way he usually operated. It was counterintuitive, it was stupid. He was supposed to be furthering her attraction to him, so what in the hells was he doing by telling her that the gifts came from another?

“Mmhh, of course it couldn’t have been you,” Tav agreed easily, laying a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw and then another just below his ear, “so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“I -I argh,” he shuddered as blunt teeth nibbled on his earlobe, “apology accepted.”

“So… who do you propose I should thank then?” Tav breathed against his cheek and then looked him in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Astarion frowned as she moved away.

“Well, if it wasn’t you that left the armour, the necklace-

“And boots!” he interjected quickly.

“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me,” she nodded, running her hands down his arms to take his cool hands into her own. “Who should I be thanking instead of you, hm?”

“I know! It was probably Shadowheart,” she said with an air of someone having an eureka moment.

“Shadowheart?!”

“No, it couldn’t have been her,” she mused, letting go of his hand to tap a finger on her lips as she pretended to think hard. “Shadowheart didn’t come with us to the vendor. Must be Wyll then, he did comment on my boots being worse for wear.”

“Wyll just spent half the journey flirting with Lae’zel!” Astarion spat with distaste, sounding rather like a scandalised virgin gossiping about a debutante with a questionable reputation.

“True, true. Well, that leaves Gale. Unless it was the only other person who came with me yesterday…”

Astarion swallowed and pouted but didn’t say anything.

“How silly of me to assume it was you. I’ll let you get back to your reading. Off I go to give Gale a proper thank you.”

Tav rose and let go of his hand, making Astarion panic a little. Like hells Gale would be the one getting recognition for the nice thing that he did!

Rising quickly, Astarion grabbed Tav’s waist. She squealed when he spun her round roughly, pressing her body to his.

“You are not going anywhere, you cheeky pup,” he whispered against her neck, his cool breath making Tav shiver involuntarily and grasp onto his shirt.

“And since you insist on thanking me, I will graciously accept your gratitude.”

He was a benevolent creature, after all. And since Tav was in the mood to shower him with affection, he supposed he could allow it.

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” his forehead, just under an errant curl that fell over his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

“Thank you,” she pressed her lips to his, making Astarion groan as he deepened the kiss, one hand steadying Tav whilst the other travelled lower. He nibbled on her swollen, pouty lower lip, enjoying the delicious mewling sound she made and then-

“Breakfast is ready!” Gale’s voice rang jarringly loud from somewhere outside the tent, startling Tav. She withdrew with a sigh, looking more than a little disappointed at having to leave. Ever the dutiful leader, ready to start her day and selflessly brush aside her own wants and needs.

Astarion was having none of that.

“Where do you think you are going, hm?”

“Um, well..” Tav began, but found herself to be quite mesmerised with the heated, predatory look he was giving her.

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and I am feeling simply ravenous.”

He pulled the collar of her shirt aside, admiring the way the necklace rested against her skin and then his eyes travelled lower down still as Astarion mused about whether he was being too traditional by drinking from her neck when there were such tantalising, mouthwatering choices to be made.

“May I?” he murmured, trailing his nose against her collarbone, then lower and lower still, brushing against the necklace that rose and fell with her breaths. Astarion felt Tav’s fingers gently thread through his curls, skimming along his ears in a way that had him suppressing a moan.

“Yes.”

She always said yes. And recently rather than thinking her a fool for it, Astarion felt… something else. He couldn’t explain what it was that he felt even if he tried. But Tav was becoming more than a means to an end. More than a target. More than a night that was better to forget.

Weeks later, he would find that she was the light that illuminated the darkest recesses of his mind and soul. The warmth that welcomed and comforted him, preventing him from retreating into himself when he was hit with the horror of what he had done in his years of slavery. She would come to be the only person that he truly cared about. But he didn’t know that yet.

As he drank, Astarion decided that perhaps he would allow himself to enjoy whatever this was. Not overthink it. For now, he would let himself linger on the precipice of making the discovery of what exactly Tav was to him without worrying of what would happen once he fell.

For now, he would let himself enjoy not having to worry about what tomorrow would bring. For now, she would be his most welcome distraction.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299, @fleetstreet78,

@starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

245 notes · View notes

fantasyheroine · 14 days ago

Text

A welcome distraction

Tags: Fluff, tooth-rotting fluff

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

One-shot, 2.3k words

Set in the beggining of Act II.

And that just wouldn’t do.

“As nice as that sounds, I still have to go through all the scrolls and potions.”

“Nice? I can’t promise anything that uninspired,” he scoffed. Nothing about him was even remotely nice. Such a bland, plain word that carried little to no meaning.

“Something wicked, however,” he drawled, his lips almost touching Tav’s ear “that I could definitely provide.”

“Well, as delicious as that sounds, I’m not moving until I get this done. But perhaps you could help?”

“Tsk, you are no fun,” he pouted, lifting a necklace with the tip of his finger. “What’s this one supposed to do?”

“Let me just check… Misty Step.”

“If you want,” Tav shrugged with a smile. “Put it into your pile, it’s that one.”

That was yet another novel concept, having friends.

“Darling, I can’t help but notice that you didn’t choose anything for yourself.”

“I don’t need anything right now.”

That was a lie. Her armour breathed its last when they went up against the goblins to protect the Grove. She could definitely use a new pair of boots too.

“As sweet as you are for thinking of others before yourself, I would rather you not become a pincushion next time we are ambushed. Here,” he picked a set of armour at random, “take this.”

“And Shadowheart will have to do without, I suppose?” she raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a cleric. She can heal herself,” Astarion gave a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t care much about what happened to Shadowheart.

Tav laughed, making something warm and pleasant bloom in his chest. He hated how much he enjoyed hearing her laugh.

Strange. The first time he spent money in years, and it wasn’t even on buying something for himself!

Tav noticed the necklace perched on top of the pile.

“Misty Step,” she murmured, a small smile tugging on her lips as her fingers ghosted over the rest of the gifts.

Crouching by him, she put her hand on top of the page.

“Darling, as much as I enjoy your presence in my tent, you are distracting me from my reading.”

“I see. Good book?”

“It is. Absolutely riveting.”

She decided not to comment on the fact that he had already read this book twice, as they didn’t come across any new reading material that was of interest to Astarion.

“Help me put this on?” she smiled and handed him the necklace, holding her hair up and leaving her neck exposed, making Astarion’s mouth water.

“Tsk, can’t manage without me, darling?” he teased, but put his book aside.

“I can. But I’d much rather you did it.”

Gently, he slid the jewellery in its place, letting his fingers linger on her skin a touch longer than necessary and making Tav sigh contently.

“Thank you,” she pecked his cheek. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. But perhaps come nightfall,” he leaned closer and all but purred, “I could look after you in a-”

“Astarion,” Tav put her fingers on his lips, “thank you.”

“Oh, please! You thought it was me? Darling! Giving you a necklace? Out of all mundane, unimaginative things to gift!”

“Mmhh, of course it couldn’t have been you,” Tav agreed easily, laying a tender kiss on the underside of his jaw and then another just below his ear, “so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“I -I argh,” he shuddered as blunt teeth nibbled on his earlobe, “apology accepted.”

“So… who do you propose I should thank then?” Tav breathed against his cheek and then looked him in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Astarion frowned as she moved away.

“Well, if it wasn’t you that left the armour, the necklace-

“And boots!” he interjected quickly.

“Ah yes, thank you for reminding me,” she nodded, running her hands down his arms to take his cool hands into her own. “Who should I be thanking instead of you, hm?”

“I know! It was probably Shadowheart,” she said with an air of someone having an eureka moment.

“Shadowheart?!”

“Wyll just spent half the journey flirting with Lae’zel!” Astarion spat with distaste, sounding rather like a scandalised virgin gossiping about a debutante with a questionable reputation.

“True, true. Well, that leaves Gale. Unless it was the only other person who came with me yesterday…”

Astarion swallowed and pouted but didn’t say anything.

“How silly of me to assume it was you. I’ll let you get back to your reading. Off I go to give Gale a proper thank you.”

Tav rose and let go of his hand, making Astarion panic a little. Like hells Gale would be the one getting recognition for the nice thing that he did!

Rising quickly, Astarion grabbed Tav’s waist. She squealed when he spun her round roughly, pressing her body to his.

“You are not going anywhere, you cheeky pup,” he whispered against her neck, his cool breath making Tav shiver involuntarily and grasp onto his shirt.

“And since you insist on thanking me, I will graciously accept your gratitude.”

He was a benevolent creature, after all. And since Tav was in the mood to shower him with affection, he supposed he could allow it.

“Thank you,” she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” his forehead, just under an errant curl that fell over his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

Astarion was having none of that.

“Where do you think you are going, hm?”

“Um, well..” Tav began, but found herself to be quite mesmerised with the heated, predatory look he was giving her.

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet, and I am feeling simply ravenous.”

“Yes.”

For now, he would let himself enjoy not having to worry about what tomorrow would bring. For now, she would be his most welcome distraction.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee, @preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299, @fleetstreet78,

@starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

245 notes · View notes

fantasyheroine · 17 days ago

Text

EN GARDE

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: regency courting etiquette, gender roles/sexism, use of ‘lady’ and ‘she/her’ and ‘woman’, flirting, benny being absolutely in love with you, improper smooching, few innuendos, a smidge of heavy petting.

word count: 5.6k

blurb: where you care too much about what your mother thinks, much to your siblings dismay, it almost guides all of your decisions. but when you rely on what you want... you find it to be rather rewarding — starting with a simple game of fencing. En Garde.

a/n: i’ve written so many drafts, but i think im really gonna post this one lol. i haven’t written goodies about men in a WHILE so forgive me if it’s bad you guys :((

“Mama is going to have more than a word with you when she finds out about this, Antoine.”

“Wouldn’t you rather participate in an activity you’re actually good at, than just… Promenading around the yard?” He scoffed, using an overdone posh accent.

The mama you shared was very particular when it came to the season of your debut. You happened to be the first daughter of the Sinclair Household, out of two, to debut into society. Which meant, all eyes were on you – technically. Coming from a well-renowned family, many people held many expectations for you. And, the Ton couldn’t wait to deliberate about someone who slightly strayed from tradition and normalcy. That could easily dampen the reputation your family built through years of networking.

It should also be mentioned that your father is the ultimate source for how the Ton perceives you – he’s a Marquess, anointed by the Queen. So, maybe it wasn’t only high society you had to look out for.

It was the lovely lady who governed, her grace.

Which makes this rendezvous, with your favorite suitor, all the more complicated. Antoine was very adamant about ensuring your happiness. As your brother, that was his job – so he claims. Antoine, is a very generous elder brother – honestly, better than most. Better than his own friends who happened to share the title. The season had only begun a month ago, but he’d noticed that you hadn’t caught the eyes of anyone in particular. Your family was high enough in society to at least attempt a love match – he knew you deserved that much.

So, he examined the pool of eligible men around him. Choosing to ignore their overbearing sexual history, since he himself was questionable in that department. His character was separate from his reputation with women – which wasn’t that thick of a book, by the way. Antoine was a good man who just so happened to love the company of beautiful women. He was simply a product of what society enabled – and there were more like him.

He didn’t want to be biased, so he began with Mr. Lumley. He was an attractive young man whose record was clear. Mr. Lumley had already called for you, offering you flowers and such. But, you weren’t completely sold. You accompanied him to a ball hosted by the Abernathy’s, but no flutters were felt. And, you were determined to feel those flutters.

Next, he jumped to his closest friends – the Bridgerton’s. Whom of which you met on plenty of occasions. Antoine didn’t care to consider the Viscount, being that he was familiar with how he desired his future. His first consideration was Colin. He was kind and harbored that love for adventure that you did. However, he notice a subtle glance he gave to Penelope Featherington and decided not to tread on that territory. Finally, the artist of the family, Benedict. Antoine had noticed the two of you got on nicely – more than nicely. That’s when he began to plant his seeds of love – he calls it.

When your brother found a trashed sketch of your face… He knew his meddling worked.

Antoine is more than positive he’d helped you find your match. So it didn’t matter what your mama thought, or even the Ton. He was a genius.

In a little over forty-eight hours, Lady Bridgerton is planning to host a ball at Aubrey Hall. You were invited as a noble guest, being that you were being courted by her second eldest. And, there you were standing walking down the backyard steps of the manor with your brother – complaining. He had proposed a date to your potential lover. A date that isn’t very ladylike of you to participate in – even if you were fantastic at the art of it. Your mother had come a day later than the two of you, and she’ll be in Kent sometime this day. If she saw you…

“This isn’t an activity for a future wife, Antoine.” You may have been quoting your mother, but her words often rang true. And, even if it wasn’t it’s not like you had the reigns, as a woman, to tempt fate. Spinster age was around the corner.

Fencing. What a lovely sport. If only you could proudly proclaim your love for it.

You were wearing the same beige frock you wore when playing with your siblings. It had long billowing sleeves, but the bodice was still firm to your bust. Stylishly laced at its edges. “Since when did you care what future wives did?” He grumbled, dressed in his white fencing attire, holding both of your swords. “You knew Benedict before your debut-”

“And he wasn’t interested until my debut!”

“That changes nothing, y/n. If he didn’t like you we wouldn’t be here now. And, we most certainly wouldn’t be walking across a field to go fencing behind bush-lining.”

A nervous sigh fell from your lips, as you waddled across the grass. The pair of you were meeting Benedict and his brothers a little ways from the back of Aubrey Hall. “The one thing you can trust is my word, sister. I would never steer you wrong.” He patted your shoulder, sliding his arm along them to pull you closer.

The sun was blinding your eyes as you approached the shaded area, fortunately, shaded. One of your arms slides around the middle of his back, leaning on him to gather your strength. You’ve never been the type to be insecure – maybe this season was messing with you. Not once have you ever been hesitant to show off your skills. The stress of being a debutante, even while officially courting, was changing you. Was this the path to becoming a woman – watering down your passions, or feeling bad if you didn’t?

Smile.

“Lord and Lady Sinclair,” Anthony spoke, bowing his head shallowly, while the pair of you approached. The two other brothers do the same.

“Anthony,” Antoine boyishly grinned.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” You disconnected from your brother to dip coyly. “Mr. Bridgerton… Mr. Bridgerton.” Your eyes flickered from Colin to Benedict – the artist that held your heart between his hands. Antoine joked about with the boys, patting their shoulders playfully.

Benedict leaned down to speak lowly near your ear. “How come you didn’t tell me you knew the art of fencing?” He raised an eyebrow. The sensation of his warm breath on the side of your neck and the shell of your earlobe. A dry giggle left your lips, looking up at the tallest brother. In truth, it was because of your mother’s nagging voice in your head. But, you couldn’t share that. Of course, not.

“It simply never came up – slipped my mind, forgive me.”

“No need to ask for forgiveness…” Benedict leaned closer to your ear once more. “I already knew. You can thank your brother for that.”

In response, exhaled forcefully, glaring at the back of Antoine’s head. Thanks a lot, now I look like a liar. Rolled your eyes, stalking towards him with a bit more ferocity than you walked in with. Anthony nodded his head in your direction, causing him to turn around with an absent mind – looking directly above your head. “Antoine!” You sharply called. He immediately looked down, meeting your height. “Are we fencing or not – we do not have all day.” You pull the fencing sword from his hand, turning on your heels.

“Ah, my bad, sister. We shall begin… Benedict.” Antoine looked at the man standing back behind you, a smirk curling on his lips. He prepared to step forth, but you held your hand out. Your palm hovering over his chest.

“No, not yet. Antoine…” You pointed with your dulled sword. “You first.” Benedict’s eyes never leave your frame, watching as you command his attention. He takes a few steps back, wandering to sit on the bench along with the other Bridgertons.

Antoine inhales, hanging his head briefly with a mischievous smirk. “Ah… There’s the y/n I like to see.”

“En Garde, brother.”

You place your non-dominant hand on your hip, using the other towards your opponent. Your eyes were carefully trained on Antoine, squinting intimidatingly, positioning your feet. He readies, doing just the same. Your brother and you had been in this position plenty of times, and often they ended with him laying in the grass. Rarely ever you. “Antoine, remember, this is your sister – she is a lady. Take it easy on her.” Anthony teasingly called, glancing over towards you.

A scoff fell from your lips as you lunged toward your brother, colliding his sword with yours. “Save the insults for when you’re on the end of my sword, Lord Bridgerton.” Antoine lunged toward you, but you jumped back avoiding the contact of the dull sword. You hummed, cockily swinging your weapon. The sound of the swords clashing filled the space, with little grunts from the both of you. Antoine managed to get two taps against your waist, and you managed to get one on his. However, as per, he ended up kissing the grass.

You laughed in victory, bowing to the small audience. “Who’s next?”

Minutes flew by as you tackled both Anthony and Colin Bridgerton – successfully knocking them to the ground. You actually had to go against the eldest brother thrice before he completely gave up. Which only earned giggles from Benedict as he lounged on the bench.

“Do not laugh yet, brother. Laugh when you prevail that storm of a woman – Lady y/n, I mean. My apologies.”

“Your mistake was purposeful, Lord Bridgerton.”

You responded, as your eyes followed Benedict as he positioned in front of you – sword in hand. A competitive twinkle glimmered in his blue eyes as he straightened his posture. “I do apologize for my brother’s — they’re not known for challenging their opponents.”

“Lies! Lies, you tell!” Colin exclaimed, pointing at the artist.

With a chuckle, you circled that vertically gifted man. “And… You are?” You raised a single eyebrow, hitting his sword with your own. The trace of a smile being left on your lips, batting your eyelashes at him. “A gentleman shall never go back on his word. Are you going to challenge me, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Only if you wish, my love.”

A beat.

Your eyes widened, lips parting in awe. But, easily your eyebrows deepened in determination. He was playing dirty. Using his sparkling eyes and boyish smirk to dismantle your throne. “Charm — a devilish trick. Don’t let his advances disturb you, y/n.” Antoine supported, leaning on his knees intently.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Benedict lunged, but you dodged. Your eyes were glued to his eyes. Honestly, if your families weren’t near — you’d probably toss the dull weapons to the side and pounce on the man. Benedict didn’t have to speak to charm you. A simple glance was all you needed. “Ouch.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain. “I would hope that my charm disturbs you a little.”

You raise your eyebrows, tapping your swords again. “Disturbs me or flatters me?”

“Perhaps, both.” He pauses, as you lunge toward him. Barely grazing his arm with the thin blade. You curse under your breath, biting the inside of your mouth. “To leave you utterly enamored is, in fact, a goal of mine.”

Hm. You hum, smiling with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. Technically, he’s met that goal on many occasions — he just couldn’t know that for sure. “Is it, now? How’s that working out for you?” He lunges towards you, the sounds of your swords clashing multiple times. Your non-dominant hand gripped the skirts of your dress as you backed up into the treeline.

Benedict shrugs, backing up and gathering his breath. “Fairly well, I believe.”

“You think?”

“I know-“

His voice was cut off by the pinched tone of a stressed mama. You immediately freeze, pivoting and holding the sword behind your back. There she was stomping across the grass, with your younger sister following behind, begrudgingly. “Mama,” You fought a frown with a smile. Benedict had slowly walked behind you, taking the sword from your hands. Thankfully, you sent him a smile.

“Mama, you’ve arrived in Kent! Welcome.” Antoine tried, standing from the bench.

“Marchioness Sinclair, it is truly a pleasure,” Anthony spoke, elbowing his brother to speak. “Truly.” Colin co-signed, bowing his head.

Your mother was fuming, smoke was practically coming from her ears. “What is the meaning of this nonsense, y/n?” She questioned, deliberately. You adjusted how you stood, looking back at Antoine. He shrugs, trying to think of something on his feet that could save the both of you.

Then, he stepped forward — Benedict, not your brother. “I asked her to join my brothers and I for a round…” He glanced down at you. “Or two. I heard she was quite a force to be reckoned with when it came to fencing, and I was only curious.” His eyes gleamed whenever they were set on you, examining your uncomfortable stature.

She eased, sighing. Her scrutinizing eyes softened at the words of the young man. Even so, her presence spoke loudly for her. She was a Marchioness. “Is this true, y/n?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” You may have answered too quickly. “Mr. Bridgerton graciously thought to include me, based on mere hearsay… Very polite of him.” You nodded, sharing a tight-lipped smile with your mother. She crossed her arms over her satin bodice, squinting her eyes — glancing from you to Antoine.

“Hm. Very well.” A beat.

Her eyes landed on each party, suspiciously.

“I’ll be waiting to hear of your victories, y/n.” She turned around, gliding back towards the manor. Your sister hesitantly turns with her. She sent vibrant thumbs up, and a theatrical wink in her wake before then. Once she’d gotten to a legitimate distance, you groaned, stuffing your face in your hands.

Antoine shut his eyes tightly, pinching his nose. “Mama has perfect timing. Absolutely perfect.” You nodded, running your hands down your face.

“Absolutely perfect.” You mutter, allowing your arms to slap by your sides. Hesitantly, you turned towards Benedict, offering an energyless smile. “Thank you for stepping in…”

He nodded, holding his hands behind his back gallantly. “Oh, I would do it a thousand more times if needed. Of course, Lady y/n.” His eyes glanced around the area seeing the damper her mother’s arrival placed on the group. Anthony scratched the back of his head, whispering to Colin. “Why don’t we resume our game later? I can see that your mama’s interruption has compromised the mood.”

You chuckled, pushing a piece of your curls behind your ear. “Didn’t she… Yes, we may resume at a much later time. I might’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, to be honest.”

“Appetite, you say? I’m beyond famished!” Colin began stalking past everyone, heading towards the house. You suppressed a laugh, holding your fingers over your lips. Anthony and Antoine followed after him, nearly forgetting about both you and the artist.

Benedict offered his arm, sharing a charming smile. “How does cucumber sandwiches with classic English tea sound?”

“Splendid, of course!” You marveled, sliding your arm through his. Adoringly holding his gaze, as you approached the large manor behind the boys.

…

Julianne, your sister, sat in the room you shared flipping through the pages of the books Eloise lent her. “Ugh, can’t I have a love like Mr. Bingley and Jane…” She pouted, wiping fake tears from her cheeks. You snickered, taking the remaining pins from your hair, and placing them in the bowl on the vanity.

Turning in the plushy seat, you leaned on the back of the chair. A wistful expression adorning your face. Julianne shuts the book as she couldn’t help but feel the emotions leaking from your pores. “What happens to be on your mind, sister?” She adjusts herself on the bed, where she turns her feet to where the pillows are.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I’m not sure…”

“Ah, well, that’s believable.” She remarks, kicking her feet back and forth. “You’re not sure what’s on your mind.”

Abruptly, you stand from the chair, walking to the long window that serves a view of the grand backyard of the manor. “I am realizing, I think, that I am past merely liking Mr. Bridgerton.” You paused, blinking as you were slowly coming to terms with your unruly emotions. Sure, you’ve said before that he held your heart — but, he may really be holding your heart. Delicately, to add. He was a very gentle man. “I may be in love with him, Julianne.”

She gasped, holding her hands intertwined under her chin. “He’s your Mr. Bingley!” Julianne cheered, swinging her legs off the bed.

“Not literally. But, yes — if that makes me the prettiest Bennett sister, Jane.”

“You…” She narrows her eyes, before slightly glancing out the window. Then, her eyes widened tremendously, pointing quickly at the figure wandering in the dark. You were still looking at her harboring a teasing grin, but her attention elsewhere caught your eye. “Oh, Blast! Is that Mr. Bridgerton just there?”

He held a candle as light, but he slowly wandered the field and garden. Palming some of the bush fixtures. You gasp, pushing her to the side of the window, while you stumble to the other side — where you’re out of sight. “You must meet him down there.”

“I mustn’t! If mama catches me-“

“y/n, you are about to be a married woman — who cares what mama thinks, good God.”

You inhale, furrowing your eyebrows. The opinion of your mother has grown since your debut. Feeling as if you had to succumb to this unattainable role. Your sibling had more faith in your betrothal than you did — which was odd considering your situation. You pondered — should you really go down there? What were you going to say? “I will keep watch for you.” Julianne offered, with a spreading smile. “Just don’t do anything too scandalous.”

Smiling, you grabbed the thin blue robe that went over your white nightgown. “No promises,”

That was a jest. Total jest.

Grabbing a candlelight, you scurried down to the back. Managing to be as quiet as a mouse on your mild journey through the manors. Your eyes caught the sight of the back of his disheveled hair, slowly maneuvering around. Hesitantly, you stepped onto the low vibrant grass. Glancing over your shoulder for any prying eyes — praying your mother didn’t catch you in this position. You wanted to be married organically, when he asks your father for your hand.

When you’d gotten closer enough to him, you called his name. “Mr. Bridgerton,” You stated, holding out the candlelight. “It’s quite late, is it not?”

He slowly turned around, as if he was expecting you. A smile grew on his lips. “It is quite late… I just desired fresh air — nightly fresh air.”

“Ah, yes. Nightly fresh air — the best form of air on the market.”

He was wearing loose-fitting clothes, just as you were since it was after hours. His eyes donned your frame, examining the length of your hair and how different it was compared to your daily looks. The effortlessness of your beauty rendered him shocked — enamored. Perhaps, even disturbed. “Turn down your light.” He spoke.

Your eyebrows deepened, confused by his words. “Huh? It’s dark, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Would you want to risk your mama seeing you and me unchaperoned… At night?”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you considered his words. That was the last thing you wanted. “Perhaps, not.” You took in a hefty breath, blowing out the candle with an innocent expression. Benedict chuckled, doing the same, then holding out his hand for you. The sound of your heart thumped in your ears, almost making you dizzy. And with a courageous inhale, you placed your hand in his.

He could take you anywhere and you wouldn’t dare complain. But, you couldn’t help but question.

A toothy smile graced your lips, his hand gripping yours bare. For the first time without some sort of glove. “Where are you taking me?” His long legs were no match for yours. Long strides quickly pulling you to wherever the destination may have been.

He looked over his shoulder. “Do we not have a round to finish?” Your lips gaped open, your other hand reaching toward his arm. Halting your steps, you pulled him to a stop. The grin on your lips was impossible to wipe off.

Breathily, you inhaled. “Did you plan this, Mr. Bridgerton?” The candlelight was being held by your pinky, aching from the weight. But, the contact of your hand against his firm arm was so comforting. He was so comforting.

“I did not, My Lady. However, I did wish to see you tonight.”

His wishes came true.

“And, I also wished for you not to be so formal with me. Please, call me Benedict.” His much larger hand, squeezed yours, pulling you closer to his tall frame. Your pointer finger tapped along his bicep, batting the long eyelashes your mother gave you — sincerely.

You grinned, with your bottom lip stuck under your teeth. Trying to resist the size, but it was impossible. His light eyes glistened with something that was unfamiliar to you, but you failed to fully catch it. All you noticed was that his gaze gave you a bodily reaction. Your chest and cheeks grew hot, where his hand met yours, a sensation tingling from the contact. “Only if you call me y/n and nothing else.”

Benedict chuckled, as your chests touched, looking down into your mind-controlling gaze. “And nothing else? So… My love happens to be off the table?” He raises his eyebrow, eyes glancing towards your lips.

“If it isn’t true. But if it is — call me that however many times you please.” Your eyes glanced toward his lips, but you stepped back, glancing in the direction he was taking you. “I believe you were taking me somewhere…”

His lips parted, but he quickly recovered. Nodding, and following through with his original plan — which was warping as time progressed. The pair of you had been attracted to each other since the moment you met. More so, Benedict than you. He just assumed that it would never happen, considering his closest friend was your brother. He didn’t expect Antoine to be so helpful to both of you.

But, now, his attraction to you has skyrocketed. From being around you so much, studying your face, spending long nights thinking about your face… And body. Benedict is nearly spent. While he wasn’t trying to rush, he genuinely wanted you. All he needed was a few minutes alone—

“Did you really set all this up… All for hopes?” You inquired, seeing all the swords poked into a holder and gloves for the sport set beside them.

“All for hopes… All for you. I mean a game is not finished until-“

“It is finished.” You mused, releasing his hand and approaching the weapons. With a giggle, you pulled the glove that was for your dominant hand on. Plucking the dull sword from the holder. “You are a thoughtful sort. I’ll say, you may have met your goal, Benedict.” You walked backward, watching as he gathered his gear. “Consider me utterly enamored.”

You were fluttering. It was the flutter.

He pulled his glove on, taking his sword and taking a few steps back. “As am I, my love. I only hope that doesn’t damper the competition.”

Benedict truly had you swooned. If you were willing to give in completely, the competition would be over. Or, at least you would've wanted it to have been over. You did have, unfortunately, one more man to defeat. “And risk my ultimate victory? Never!” You pointed your sword towards the man, smirking excitedly. Chest rising with anticipation. “En Garde, kind sir.”

He tapped your sword with his twice, before lunging. The game between the pair of you had gone on longer than it had with the others. Sparing longing glances, causing either one of you to stumble. The both of you attempted to dismantle one another with flirtation, but you deemed yourself to be much stronger than expected — the both of you. It surely was torture, though.

Then, all of a sudden, Benedict threw his sword to the ground. His chest heaving up and down — eyes stuck to you, unable to look away for even a second. You dropped your arm, letting it hit your hip still clenching your sword. The competitive sneer dropped from your lips, a look of expectation adorning your face. It seems he has reached his peak of keeping his distance from you.

“You’re an insufferable opponent…” He muttered, but it was already so quiet. Something in particular leaking from his words. You were so stunned that you could only stand there — in utter shock.

A breath flew from your lips. “Why’d you stop? You might’ve stolen my victory.”

“I wouldn’t ever want to steal your victory.” He approached you, resorting you to backing up. Choosing your steps carefully. Your hand rose, the corner of your lips curling weakly. He stopped advancing, holding his hands near his head. “Go on… Take me, y/n.”

Something in your gut told you his words had meant something else. His body language told you his words meant something else. Uncharted territory for you. The tip of your sword prodded at his abdomen. “I win.” You whisper, fluttering in places that have yet to be explored. He pushed the blade away with two fingers, resuming his approach. Remaining in your place, your arm drops, still holding the sword in your hand.

He had entered your space, his hand drifting down your clothed arm. Leading to the gloved hand that held the dull weapon. Your breath hitching in your throat. Benedict pulled the handle from your fingers, keeping his striking gaze on you. He tossed it to the side carelessly, then pulled the leather glove from your hand. “You win.” He whispered, aligning your hand with his.

This touch was different — more intimate than you ever experienced. It set your skin ablaze, it made you… It made you really want him. This feeling of want was different, nothing you’ve ever felt before. His other hand found solace at your waist, pulling you closer to him. You had no choice but to oblige, stumbling forward. “I must apologize,” He began, darting his eyes in an upside-down triangle. “y/n, I simply cannot contain myself anymore.”

Neither can I.

“You have convicted my soul. You have since the moment I laid eyes on you — that evening, only a year ago, where your brother introduced us.” Benedict enunciated, his thumb caressing your ribcage through your thin nightgown. You gasp, gripping the hand that was in yours. It couldn’t be true. Benedict Bridgerton pining after you before your debut. He was an adventurist – a rake, who also did art. You’ve heard whispers about him and his brothers… And your brother. How they wanted to push off marriage until they’ve made themselves useful, some more than others.

Were you being bamboozled? How on God’s green earth were you getting this close to this… Unattainable man. Convicted. You have convicted his soul – sounds like the words of a true poet.

“When Antoine and your father granted me the blessing in pursuing you wholly and completely…” He shook his head sincerely. “I have never felt so honored.” Wow. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes watering – the experience seemed to be too real. And, he continues. “y/n, you have bewitched me. There has not been a day where you’ve been absent from my mind. Not a second.”

“Benedict,” You spoke, your tone in utter surprise. He was sharing more characteristics with Mr. Darcy than with Mr. Bingley. He must’ve been doing this on purpose, he has indulged in the works of Jane Austen nearly as much as you.

His hands caress up your arm, leaving your hand, finding comfort on your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek lovingly. The artist struggles – tempted to just crash his lips against yours, but he couldn’t just yet. You blinked slow, wishing he’d lay himself upon you. It’s not like you could really formulate your words eloquently. You placed your hand on his elbow, leaning into his touch with need. It felt exhilarating to be touched by him – you wanted more. “Ben…” All you could do was repeat his name, dripping with unfathomed desire. You both breathed heavily, the sounds coming together as a union – nearly breathing each other’s air. His nose brushed yours, just before his lips plotted on the tip of it. A whine pulled from your throat in anticipation.

“y/n,” He spoke your name like a prayer, wistful – snagged from his diaphragm.

Slowly, he leaned down to her hovering his lips over yours. As if you’d done this before, your lips parted. The tip of your tongue grazing your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but hold your breath, breasts swelling from your loose bodice.

Pulling you flush to him by your waist, he finally and gently, places his lips upon yours. You release air from your nose, sliding your hand around his neck, your fingertips touching the shorter curls of his hair. Flutter. Flutter. Flutter! He kissed you with no matter of haste, he was savoring your touch. His hand remains in the divot of your waist, barely threatening to leave that spot.

Fireworks were exploding in the skies of your mind. Lips moving along with his, slowly drifting into a mode of passion. His grip intensified on your waist, wishing he could push you closer to him – as if you weren’t already touching. All it took was a hum to release between your lips for him to walk you back into a tree. When your back hit the bark, you yelped in surprise. Your attention is still completely on him, hands running through his dark shiny hair. Being overcome with impulse, you gripped his hair from the root – cousin a groan to erupt from his throat.

Benedict pulled back, the ends of his lips curling. “You… You are something.”

“Come here,” You party whine and demand, tugging him back to your lips.

He wouldn’t dare deny you, meeting your lips feverishly. His hands had grown to be more bold groping at your body. His intimate touch was beginning to make you heat up in nether places. Sounds erupting from your vocals that you have never heard in full. This would be quite the circumstance to be caught in – face-making with the man you are courting. Rather compromising.

But, it felt so good.

This is why it took a lot for you to pull away.

Breathing heavily, placing your hand on his chest – desperately wanting to tear the loose shirt from his body. “This… This is improper.” You heaved, a coy smile stretched on your lips. Benedict breathed just the same, his thumb wiping the corner of your lips adoringly.

“It is… But to hell with decorum.”

You laughed, caressing the back of his neck – wanting nothing more than to be entangled with him for all eternity. “Mind your tongue, Benedict.” You playfully scolded, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. The softness of his untamed strands comforted you, subsiding – not erasing – your unbearable coil of desire.

“ I am minding my tongue…” He leaned forward, wanting to kiss you once more.

“We should get some sleep. I’m sure we are going to need as much energy as possible to bare my mother.” Your hand feels the strength of his throat, accidentally running over her adam’s apple as you descended. “And without sleep, that is impossible, my heart.” The man paused, both of his hands on either side of your face, lightly squishing your cheeks.

“My heart, is it?” Your face heated up, embarrassment flooding your hazy irises. You tried to flee his hands, but he wouldn’t let you. “I adore it. Just like I adore you… My love.”

His words and gaze make it impossible for you to leave. Your sister had to have been awaiting you or is asleep by now. She reminded you not to be too scandalous – whatever that meant. “I must go, despite how difficult you make it.” Your eyes jested, bashfully. Hands gripping his forearms lightly, urging him off – yet, not desiring his lack of touch. “You make it very difficult, might I add.”

“As do you, but you are right.” He slides his hands from your face, down to your shoulders. “I have to put this equipment away, and get a good night’s rest for-”

“My mother.”

“Yes, your mother – and whatever the day will bring.”

You look down to the grass, chuckling. Taking one of his hands in yours, you draw little hearts with your thumb on the back of his hand. “Then, I will leave you to it. Good night, Benedict.” A part of you was sad as if you weren’t going to see him in the morning for breakfast. The hours were too long – you wished you could stay beside him all night. He leans down, to kiss the back of your hand. Holding his lips against your skin, savoringly.

“Good night, y/n. I wish you heavenly dreams.”

You walk backward, slowly sliding your hand from his grasp. A beat passes, eye contact being the pair of yours’ main source of communication – so it seemed. “I love you, y/n Sinclair.”

Thump, thump, thump. A grin spreads on your lips, broad and silly, yet just as beautiful. “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton… Wholly and completely.”

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fantasyheroine · 19 days ago

Text

Written in the Stars - Chapter 10

Pairings: Astarion x Tav

Rating: Explicit

Summary: For months Astarion and Tav have been growing closer and both of them would consider the other a good friend at this point. But is friendship really what either of them truly want? One night has the potential to change their relationship forever. Will the two of them be able to overcome the hurdles a new romance throws their way while they navigate the impending threat of the Netherbrain? Or will past trauma's come back to haunt them permanently? Get swept up in this whirlwind of passion, love, and fear as the characters of Baldur's Gate 3 take on the Cult of the Absolute.

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Beta Read By: @thespookypumpkinwitch

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Chapter 9: Lessons in Lovemaking

Word Count: 8,982

Warnings: Light Dom/Sub, Praise Kink, References to Sex, General Eroticism, References to SA, Fluff, Violence, Blood Drinking, Tav and Astarion are certified freaks

Song: Teacher - Nick Jonas

A/N: Oof. Not gonna lie, halfway through this chapter I started struggling. I apologize if it’s lower quality than usual but I do go back every 7 chapters and do a final edit. So far chapters 1-3 have been fully edited and reposted and I’d highly recommend giving the story a re-read once I’m caught up on edits.

It was during the early stages of scouting that Tav began to show what she’d meant by teaching Astarion how to flirt for real. They were investigating some suspicious tracks down by the river when she misstepped, her foot slipping in a patch of wet dirt. A high pitched ‘aaa’ alerted everyone to her plight, Astarion in particular rushing over to make sure she was ok. Her giggles relieved any concern but before her beau could walk away she flicked a patch of mud at him. He began to scoff but froze at the words that came out of her mouth.

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind getting down and dirty. Right, love?”

With a wink, she purposely smeared a streak of mud across her cheek. A gawk from him and she was standing, only to remove her pack and fish out a carafe of water. Like some sort of theatrical performance, her hand was lifting the container up and above her head before the liquid was streaming out of the opening and down onto her tilted back face. With her free hand, she ran now clean fingers through her slicked back hair, arching like she was bathing in a waterfall. The water dripped down from her nose onto her armored breasts, her tongue darting out to collect a drop or two. When the stream ended, she was thoroughly wet but mud free. A bite to her bottom lip and Astarion was eyed up and down before his stunned gaze was met with a smirk.

Once again her giggles taunted him as she sauntered off to rejoin the others. Subtly, he shifted, adjusting his trousers which were now slightly too tight. To say he hadn’t been prepared to see her body drenched was an understatement. The image his mind had conjured, bringing a faint flush to his cheeks. She had arched like she wanted him to look. And while she had been covered from her neck down in scale mail armor, he could picture quite perfectly what she would have looked like without. With somewhat shaky knees, he followed behind her, the sway of her hips a siren’s song drawing him in. The rest of the morning was spent watching her carefully, mind working to decode whatever game she was playing. Because this was clearly all part of some game. It had to be. But she made no other quips, instead steadily working to track the trail that they had discovered by the water, leaving him to wonder if perhaps her actions had not been on purpose. The footprints faded soon after the mud eclipsed, but Tav, the expert ranger, was able to pick up on where their adversaries had gone without so much as a blink. It was impressive the way she could take one look at the seemingly undisturbed forest and decipher the meaning of a barely noticeable cracked branch here, a fallen leaf there. She was quick with her assessments. Confident. Not a trace of doubt to be found in her countenance. With stealth, she led them through neverending trees until they were standing on an overpass looking down into a makeshift camp. The cultists below were bedraggled, clearly refugees from the attack that had been mounted against Moonrise. How she had found them was a mystery. He certainly wouldn’t have been able to. But that was his Tav. Clever and observant. A true hunter in all terrains. She tracked like a panther, stalking through the woods like she owned them.

Her eyes were calculating as she looked at their enemies below. There was beauty in the sharpness of those orbs. A dangerous gleam he knew all too well. At the beginning, he had mistaken her to be kind. A do-goodey pushover that helped everyone she met. But she enjoyed bloodshed too much. Her smile at a kill curling beyond that of relief. She enjoyed the thrill of it. The adrenaline. Now when she took on seemingly stupid quests, he saw the meaning behind it. It was another chance for her to feel alive. To dangle herself at the maw of beasts she knew so expertly how to tame. Perhaps that was why she had been drawn to him. He made her heart race in all those oh so deadly ways she desired. A question for later. Glancing back down to the camp he felt a strange pity for the people he saw. Here were Humans, Elves, and Tieflings alike that had been fooled into believing in a false god. All sorts of races who had fallen for the well construed lie. They didn’t even know they were pawns. Fodder for a Mindflayer take over. Maybe it was wrong to kill them. They had been brainwashed. Unaware that they were nothing but fools. Though they were followers of the Absolute all the same. They had killed and slaughtered without remorse, meaning, they had to be disposed of. A quick count showed that there were at least twenty currently visible but his ears told him that there were more, further away that they couldn’t see. They’d have to be smart about their attack. With a tingle from their tadpoles, Tav projected to them instructions to follow her before she led them back into deeper woods. Once they were completely obscured and out of earshot she signaled for them to rest.

“Gather your strength and eat your lunches. I will think on a plan of attack.”

No one argued as they all removed their packs and set about consuming whatever rations they had brought. The camp they had found was concerning. Too close to where they themselves had set up last night. A complete eradication was required. But planning could wait. A small grin overtook her face as she spotted Astarion resting next to a bush she recognized. He had reacted exactly how she’d wanted him to earlier. Stunned and speechless while fighting back arousal. Now was her chance to strike again. A casual step brought her closer to him. He paid her no mind, enjoying the food she and Gale had worked to make sustainable for him last night after he had bid her goodnight. Suddenly, she was leaning in front of him, breasts level with his face, only inches away. Meat dangled from his mouth as he gaped at her, eyes flicking between her covered chest and her face as she reached past him to grab at the bush he was sitting beside. Time froze as she lingered a moment longer than necessary, allowing him the chance to fluster at her nearness before she pulled back and revealed what she had swiped.

“Berries.”

She said it as if she hadn’t just been shoving her boobs in his face, a tiny shrug adding to her performance of nonchalance. With a plop, Tav sat herself on the ground next to him. She could feel his scrutinizing gaze, a subtle smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. Before he could speak, she lifted the fruit above her reclined head, dangling the cluster millimeters away from her parted mouth. She took the first dark red globe between her lips with malicious intent, rolling it around her tongue before ever so gently capturing it between her teeth. The picture of her casual relaxation reminiscent of royalty being served. All that was missing was a palm leaf being fanned her way. With her slow bite the berry popped, its sticky juices dribbling down her chin. Again her back arched, just like it had earlier, thrusting her chest front and center. With an exaggerated moan, she relished in the taste.

“Mmmm. Gods! Those were just aching to burst!”

Her tongue darted out to lick up the residue coating around her mouth, eyes going straight to Astarion with the action. As the wet muscle returned to its place, she grinned, glancing down at his lap, before once again meeting his eyes. With wickedness on her tongue she voiced her paralleled observation.

“Kinda like someone else the other night.”

All eyes were on him as he began to choke on the blood sausage he had just consumed. Karlach had a devilish grin on her face while Shadowheart looked down right smug. Gale was blushing and Halsin was chuckling, Tav still eyeing him like she could devour him whole. He wasn’t certain she wouldn’t. A cough and he attempted to regain his composure but lost it all over again as Tav scraped a nail along his cheek. The sharp drag sent pinpicks down his spine, ears and body going taut.

“You know, I could break stone on your cheekbones.”

She leaned in conspiratorially, not once lowering the volume of her voice to make sure everyone could still hear, before crushing another berry between her fingers. She dragged the pink, syrupy mush along the path she had traced on his face.

“But I’d much prefer to make them glisten.”

It was like fire engulfed him as she purred the words. The blood in his veins thrummed and if he had still had a working heart, he knew it would have been thundering. Every nerve in his body was alive. A hot wire snaking its way down to his cock, an obvious tent beginning to form in his leather armor that all could see. His mouth began to form a rebuttal, a snark, a plea, but that sticky finger was now over his lips once again in a shush symbol. Blazing red met her eyes. Her face conveyed all she didn’t need to say. With that one gesture, she was reminding him that he had agreed to keep his mouth shut today. At once, he realized why she had been so forgiving this morning. She had planned all along to torment him. To tease him with the same outlandish innuendoes he had dealt her. A thick swallow. This. Right here. Was his punishment. His jaw went tight as he bit the inside of his cheek. She smirked then pulled her finger away. He heard her words without her ever needing to speak. ‘‘Good boy.’’ His pants tightened further. As she retreated, he couldn’t help the way his gaze traced her lips as he watched her suck on the messy digit, cleaning it of any leftover juices. She wasn’t even trying to hide the lewdness. A groan bubbled up in his chest but the feel of eyes on him had him swallowing the noise. Everyone was watching him, each of their companions sizing him up waiting to see how he’d respond to Tav’s blatant flirt. He knew what they were waiting for. A retort. A quip. A line that could rival hers. He wished he could. But there was an agreement to be honored. And while he didn’t want to remain quiet, he feared what sort of torture Tav would come up with should he break his promise to her. So he settled for a glare, head whipping to eye each of them in challenge. Wisely, no one said a thing but that didn’t mean they weren’t all smirking at his subservience. Reveling in how the tables had been turned.

It was clear now that his darling, little Wood Elf was far more adept at their game of love than he had first realized. Before, Tav had played along with his flirtations using humor and friendliness. Denying him good-naturedly while keeping things lighthearted. Today, she was out for blood. Wielding her words and body like a whip one might find in the bedroom. She wanted him to squirm, wanted him embarrassed and aching. And to his chagrin, he was. The slight damp patch in his pants, making that all too clear. Between pressing her body so close to his and her sultry words, his member was a soldier standing at attention frothing at the mouth for directions. Bile rose like a volcano in his stomach. Clawlike nails digging into the tough material of his trousers as he worked his frustration into his thighs. She was toying with him. Exerting a calm control that he wasn’t quite sure he liked. It didn’t matter how hard he fought against the memories. They came anyways. The feel of Cazador’s hand on the back of his neck as his face was forced to the floor, his body no longer his but rather taken. Another clench of his jaw. Tav wouldn't. She couldn’t.

A pinky wrapped around his. He looked down at it. With that one little touch she was telling him it was ok. That he could ask her to stop and she would. His finger squeezed and she smiled, soft like downy. The comfort was immediate, leading him to rethink her intentions. Her words from earlier that morning floated back into thought reminding him that this had nothing to do with seducing. No. She was simply flirting. Showing him how to tease another in a way that had nothing to do with sex. His panic ceased, letting him assess her taunts with a fresh perspective. As much as he hated being the butt of the joke he couldn't deny that he was also loving it. In all his time seducing, he had never once been on the receiving end. Had never been dealt lines that made him shiver and tingle. It was foreign, yes. Nervewracking, undoubtedly. But it excited him all the same. And when she would whisper those quiet words of praise? A soft caress riddled in sin. He could see his undoing… His head looked towards her. She was eating her bread and cheese like nothing had happened. But her pinky remained on his, grounding him. A silent, ‘It’s ok’. His finger squeezed again and she turned his way. Their eyes met, and he saw that familiar twinkle dancing in her brown. His lips curled into a grin.

Tav hadn’t lied when she said she’d think of a plan. Despite all her teasing, lunch still provided enough time to come up with an attack that would wipe those cultists out. It was a two phase process. First, Gale would darken the sky with storm clouds for one of his scrolls, while Halsin grew spikes around the perimeter obscured by her stealth spell. Shadowheat and Karlach, also enchanted, would encroach on foot while Astarion monitored from the overpass. Then when everything was set, they would all charge, taking the Absolutists by surprise. It was no untruth that they were outnumbered, but Tav had faith that between Gale raining down lightning, Halsin’s spikes, and five of them wielding weapons, their enemies would go down easy. With a hand signal, she ordered them to move out. They made it to the overpass in record time. Green magic tickled at her fingertips as she cast Pace Without Trace on all of them. Halsin, Karlach, and Shadowheart began their descent while Gale wove weaves into the air preparing his spells. Before she followed behind her friends, a jaunty trot took her over to where Astarion was crouched observing the sight below. With a stoop, she placed a quick kiss to his cheek then vanished back into the woods.

Gloved fingers traced where she had kissed him. His ribcage constricting his lungs at the unfamiliar domesticism of it all. She had kissed him. Before battle. Not a goodbye, but rather an ‘I’ll see you soon’. The warmth he felt from that single touch surged deep into his bones. Even when he least expected it she continued to show her care for him in little ways. With a new steadiness, he drew his longbow from his back. It was another gift she had given him. This one enchanted to work in twine with his lifebringing circlet, giving him the necessary lighting charges to not only deal electrical damage but buff his health while at it. Though he didn’t wear the crown today. Or ever. It messed with his hair. Keen eyes tracked movement on the outskirts of the camp as he left his thoughts behind. His companions were getting into position. Each of them taking a side. Instinctively he sought for Tav, finding her to the north. Her blades were drawn, the shadows from Gale’s clouds obscuring her well, but in those gaps of sky that weren’t quite covered, the sun shone down on her, catching those copper brown locks of hers in a blaze. He would recognize that shimmer of bronze anywhere. A smile curved his lips as he watched her creep forwards. She moved like the casual lapping of the shore, steady and sure. A fluidity to her movements that brought agility, precision, and death. His brain tingled and he readied an arrow. With her mental “Now!” the action began.

The familiar burn in her muscles was a welcome one. She had always loved fighting. From the moment he had helped her become a fully realized ranger, she’d sought out battle like it was a force sustaining her. In some ways, it had. The earth was deathly silent in those few seconds before all hell broke loose. It brought about a calm inside her that tamed those dark bits ever looming. With a roar, Karlach and Halsin charged from the east and west while Shadowheart leaped from the south, her radiant spirit guardians burning whoever drew near. Tav worked methodically, taking out enemies one by one on her route to the middle. They had all agreed to reconvene in the center of camp. The more attention they could draw to it, the better, for Gale could take out clusters with his lightning. Her shortswords sang with each slice, her body spinning to a silent beat. She danced her way through the blood, the lure of her sharp smile encouraging cultists to take her bait. For every body that followed her, another one fell. Killed by her deadly strikes or Astarion’s well placed arrows. She’d expected him to defend her, even though she had given explicit instructions to watch the perimeter for anyone trying to escape. But he couldn’t help it. She knew he couldn’t. He loved watching her fight. She had noticed it from their first battle together. The way his eyes had trailed the flash of her blades, the shape of her body. He had been enthralled. Almost enough to land him some wounds. From then on she could always feel when he was watching. His eyes on her more often than not. This battle was no different. Her feet twirled. Today, she’d give him a show.

She didn’t need much backup, what with her evasive footwork and deadly blows, but Astarion provided it all the same. His arrows rained from the sky, each time landing exactly where he wanted. It was as he was knocking another that his actions faltered. Tav was running, not towards the middle as she should have been, but rather heading straight for the oncoming wave from the forest. About five men had made it through Halsin’s spikes, some of them slightly more battered than others. It was clear that they had been on patrol but had come back to defend their camp. She veered right, a somersault allowing her to slash at one of the men’s ankles. He went down instantly as she severed his achilles tendon. Her lithe body came out of the roll with a practiced grace, her blade searing up into the stomach of a brute who had raised his warhammer above his head to smash her. As she skewered him, his body was whipped around to collect the barrage of arrows mounted her way by a nearby archer. With a pull on her sword, the body fell, as she sheathed the steel. Astarion blinked and in that one second her dagger had been pulled from her boot and was flying right into the heart of the archer. Her proficiency with thrown projectiles, impressing him. The third body went down. She spun, her long ponytail whipping around her in an arc that made it seem alive. He readied his bow to assist but once again stopped short at the scene evolving below him. Tav had put her other shortsword away leaving her unarmed as the final two men stalked her.

Magic crackled as she tightened her hair binder, green smoke billowing from where she had touched herself. Then she was sprinting. Faster than he had ever seen her move. Faster than she should have been able to. Her feet took her to the two men before launching her into the air three times the height she should have been able to jump. Her bow was drawn with wicked speed and as she spun herself in the air so that her feet were above her head, an arrow was fired. The closeness between archer and foe allowed the missile to puncture deep. Arrowhead and shaft burying themselves up to the fletching as they pierced through the cultist’s skull, down into his throat. Her bow disappeared, replaced to the notch on the back of her armor, her hands coming down to elegantly push herself off of the dead man’s shoulders before he dropped. As she flipped, she drew her weapons, landing them directly in the chest of the final Absolutist before she landed, booted toes balancing her once again on the earth. There she stood, at the edges of the enemy’s camp, five men dead by her feet. Slowly, her swords pulled back out of the slumped body. Then she was looking directly at him. He was obscured, his talents as a rogue allowing him to easily hide so that he could deal sneaky attacks but it mattered not. She had found him. Despite the distance, despite the height and his low crouch, her eyes saw past it all. He watched the smirk that crawled onto her face, leaving him breathless for reasons he wasn’t quite sure. Skilled hands brought one shortsword across her torso, cleaning it before it was sheathed, the other, however, raised to her lips. When she drew her blade across her tongue, licking the blood off it with sensual intent, he couldn’t help it, he moaned. Gale shot him a strange look but he didn’t notice for his attention was zeroed in on Tav. Her gloved finger raised, curling in a come hither motion that found him scrambling from the overpass, down the rocky cliff face and into the camp. The battle continued and he fought his way to her, working himself north. She did the same, working south, until they came face to face in the center of the bloodshed.

All around them the sounds of fighting clanged. Screams and shouts echoed, lightning crackled. But Tav heard none of it. Her ears were trained on Astarion. His heavy breathing the only noise she wanted to hear. Bright red specks dotted his silver locks, a splatter of blood matting his cheek. A deep breath allowed her to breathe him in. Metallic, herbal, sweet. The viscera adorning his body blended perfectly with his cologne, making him smell dangerous and enticing. Two steps and they were nearly chest to chest. Her eyes glinted as she glanced up at the man of her affections.

“Hey handsome.”

Her tone came out as a taunt. A dare for him to respond. He did so happily. With a bend, his face came within inches of hers, his smirk full of perverted promise, leaving her heart a fluttering mess.

“Daarrrling.”

He purred the word like he was rolling the taste of it around in his mouth. Savoring. Canines flashing. She lifted her sword, forcing him to lean away. The tip lightly scraped against his jaw. He smirked down at her. Blunt teeth bit her lip. With a flourish, the weapon returned to her side, wrists rolling her dual blades in a circle. She turned, grinning at him from over her shoulder as she offered up their preferred fighting position. Wordlessly, his back met hers. They made their way through the remaining cultists as a unit, their bodies knowing this dance far better than they should have. A steady rhythm began beating in her chest. A percussive thundering that only fighting with him could bring about. Each thump equaled another maneuver. Each pump of blood spurring her on. Her laughter bordered on maniacal and soon his outlandish giggles brought the two of them to the edge of crazed. Their combined violence reached a crescendo until Astarion locked his elbow in hers and spun her. She twirled around like she was dancing in a ballroom, his arms dipping her with a lift to her hip before driving her forward into a foe. She stabbed then took his hand, reconnecting themselves to roll herself into his arms. Steel clinked as they stepped in time, Astarion matching her movements with ease. Her sword went through a torso, his dagger into the neck. Behind them, a synchronized thrust to a stomach, their weapons parallel. He kissed behind her ear, she bumped his knee. And again they spun in time. Her shortsword slashed a throat, his dagger stabbing a side. With a giggle she murmured into his mandible, blood spurting from the female barbarian they had just jointly taken down.

“Maybe the next blade you bury can be your sword inside of me.”

His movements faltered for only a second. Teeth working to bite at his cheeks, holding back his smile. His exhale into her hair was one of amusement as his dagger matched hers driving into the next body approaching them. Quick hands sheathed his blades, shooting to her waist. They lifted her into the air. She grabbed his bow and shot an arrow. As she came back down, his nose nuzzled her cheek. With a turn of her head a quick kiss was placed to the tip. Together they readied themselves for the next onslaught but a bright spark electrocuted those who remained. The battle ended. The first thing they looked at was each other. Red and brown connected, love and adoration mirrored in each of their eyes. His hands still on her waist turned her so that their noses could bump proper. Hers moved to tangle in his hair. So much was said through eye contact alone in those few moments it took for their companions to reach them. “I’m sorry for teasing you.” “You’re not off the hook just yet.” “I promise I’ll behave.” “You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.” Lips crept closer together, eyes now singing praises to the other. “You were stunning.” “You fight so well with me.” ‘You’re beautiful when you kill.’ “The blood stains enhance your charm.” Before what both of them were feeling became clearly conveyed. “I love you, Tav.” “And I love you, my Star.” It was as they were about to kiss that they heard Halsin’s deep cough, breaking the trance the two Elves had entered.

“The sun is descending and we have still yet to find a new place to make home tonight.”

The Archdruid was kind enough not to say that they really didn’t have time for her and Astarion to start a makeout session in the middle of a battlefield but Tav heard the truth that went unspoken. With a sigh, she pulled free of her lover’s arms. His hands chased after her body, only settling when one of them found purchase on her low back. A nod to the others and everyone took what valuables they could find before leaving the massacre behind. The search for a new campsite took a few hours. The need to find a place far enough away from the camp they had just decimated, driving Tav to lead them further than they would typically go in a day. For a while Astarion kept his arm slung around her waist, a constant weight that brought her comfort. She could sense the way his mind took him to places that extended far past the surrounding forestry. Where he went in those hours was a mystery worthy of discussion. Worry was beginning to loosen her lips with just how many times his grip had tightened and pulled her closer, her mind reeling at the potential of his thoughts being unpleasant. As the group stopped for a quick water break, she faced him.

“Anything interesting going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

She tried to keep her tone light, not wanting to add to whatever concern might be rolling around in his head, but her brows furrowed a fraction. There was every chance that she had pushed too far today with her jokes and taunts. Brought bad memories back that she’d had no intention of returning. He was still new to all of this, after all, and there was decent reason for him to devolve into thoughts of the past. A gloved hand sought his free one, fingers wrapping around his to offer him support should he need it. But her worries were quickly assuaged when he looked at her.

At the sound of her voice his head turned. His mind had been swimming with ideas detaching him from the present to instead focus on the future. His future. With Tav. As they had walked, his arm anchoring her near, he had been envisioning all the things he wished to experience with her. She had opened his world to a series of new awakenings. Ones that gave him the chance to hope again. He was a mere tenday away from the city where he would take back his life. Regain his freedom. And that left him with the question of what came next. With his eyes locked on hers, a grin overtook his distant expression. His fingers squeezed where their palms connected, his hand at the small of her back moving instead to her waist and grabbing at the band of her chainmail trousers. A tug brought her closer.

“Oh nothing important, just thinking about you.”

He smirked as she faintly flushed. Fighting with her today, as a couple, had been amazing. While they had fought together before, it was an entirely new and exciting prospect to do so as her mate. Her heart partner. He was awash with fantasies of the life they could have. The adventures they could have. She was every bit as dexterous as he was, meaning that the two of them could likely pull off a rather high risk heist without getting caught. Or they could plunder ancient temples, solving tricky puzzles that required a quick wit they both conveniently possessed. Her thrill for exploration meant they could travel to faraway lands, swindling city inhabitants with their dual charm. And her love of adrenaline meant she wouldn’t shy away from whatever battles they found themselves in. They could steal and sneak and fight and journey until their knees ached and their home was full of spoils. A home that they had built or perhaps a home they’d purchased. But better than even all that, he could do with her the things he had never gotten the chance to. Things he hadn’t realized he wanted until her. The soft. The mundane. Like washing laundry together in a river that no longer burned. Baking bread in a cabin while the fireplace crackled. He could hold her close when the cold bit and the memories lingered and through it all her light would shine, bringing him warmth and a joy he hoped he’d never lose. Distracted fingers drew circles on her hip as his smile turned soft. He kicked at her foot.

“We make quite the team, darling.”

A smile in return was given, a little laugh loosed at the wistful look on his face. It was as if there were stars in his eyes as he smiled down at her. She could only imagine what had brought about such a look. One of ease and contentment, of tender longing. It was a face he rarely wore and she was flattered that thoughts about her had been the cause of it. Her hand detached from his, stroking a path up his chest to slightly play with the lapels of his leather armor.

“Glad you think so.”

For a while they just stood holding each other, a staring match happy and full of love. But soon enough Tav’s lips twitched into something more mischievous. Her fingers curled against the panels of his armor pulling him down so that she could whisper in his ear.

“Personally, I’ve been thinking about how well you’ve been doing today. Taking what I give you without so much as a peep. Like a good little pet. I must say, I’m impressed.”

As was her way, she used Astarion’s own lines against him, curious eyes watching to gauge his reaction. He responded wonderfully. Caught off guard with a slight swoon. At his audible swallow she did her best to bite back her giggle. He looked like a man wrecked. Lips parted in a quiet pant, eyes unfocused. Who would have thought a little bit of praise could make him lose his composure in such a delicious way. The information was filed away for later use. She would definitely be adding this tidbit to her list of things to make Astarion break. To his credit, he did his best to speak. His voice shakier than usual but not nearly as bothered as she had hoped.

“Well I…”

A kiss to pointed cartilage cut him off. And then she was teasing him again. Pointing out just how much she was aware of his struggles.

“How long can you keep this up, lover? I can practically feel the tension building beneath your skin. How much further can I push you before you break?”

It took all of his self control to not pin her to the ground and show her just how much tension he had built up, but conversation from the others a few paces away reminded him that they were not alone. Nor would now be an appropriate time to indulge what with the sun rapidly descending and a camp still to move. He let out a strangled sigh. Oh how he wanted her. Wanted to kiss those sinful lips until they were raw and unable to tease him between her moans. But this was all part of the game she’d concocted and he was beyond determined not to lose. No rebuttals and no jumping her bones. In a feat of feigned nonchalance that took all the strength he had left, he pushed Tav away from his body. A hand swiped through his curls, partly to steady himself and partly to try and appear unbothered. With a sly grin, muscled arms crossed, the leather around his biceps groaning at his flex.

“I think you underestimate my will.”

A brown eyebrow quirked. They both knew he was affected. But his attempts to appear otherwise were admirable if not humorous. Mirroring his position, her smaller arms crossed across her chest, metal scales clinking at the movement. Her head tilted in a wordless rib.

“Or maybe you just enjoy it.”

Fangs were flashing in a grin so wide he could feel the stretch in his cheeks. She wasn’t wrong to think he was enjoying it. To his utter surprise he was and had been since her little display at lunch. It was fun to play with her in this way. To be teased and flirted with in a manner that suggested no ulterior motives other than an attempt to fluster. A half laugh escaped him as he huffed, his shoulders readjusting his posture to appear more composed.

“Now that would be quite the scandal.”

Her grin deepened.

“Indeed.”

Brown eyes flashed in delight, clearly entertained by his performance. Her brow remained arched, head still tilted as she looked him dead on but her smile had changed. The joy she felt clear beneath her grin. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, a sensation still so new that he thought perhaps it was indigestion from his previous meal. But then her head was shaking as she chuckled and he knew it wasn’t the food. With a theatrical bow from him she giggled in the way he adored then returned her attention to leading. It wasn’t long after that they found a suitable location to set up for the night. The space was a little less dense with underbrush and trees and close enough to the river that only a few minutes travel would be required to reach the water. It was by no means an ideal camping spot and most certainly couldn’t be considered luxury, but it provided shelter and protection all the same. With quickened strides to combat the setting sun, Tav navigated them to where they had rested the night before. Her ease in the forestry allowed them to make good time, arriving to their old site just as the sun had disappeared past the horizon. With a short dolling of directions, everyone set to work gathering their things as fast as they could, those who finished early assisting in packing goods onto the two bears. A similar procession to the days before assembled and soon they were all back to trekking through the forest. As they walked, a compliment was given to Tav about her expert ranger skills which led to a clever line thrown his way.

“Well the woods are one of my favorite terrains. Second, only, to a certain rogue’s underdark.”

The laugh he sputtered out clashed with collective groans, Tav’s proud smirk highlighting the comical atmosphere that’d descended. Unlike when he had been dealing the jives the rest of their companions didn’t seem all that bothered despite their noises of protest. Some even snickered to themselves as they glanced between him and Tav. Her quips kept coming until the mood surrounding them all was light and full of mirth. Everyone was laughing at one thing she said or another. Some of them more obscene and others simply down right ridiculous. With each new innuendo shot his way, he struggled more and more to not break down into a fit of giggles, but every so often a laugh worked its way free. It was after they had made it to the new campsite that he finally broke. He had already pitched his tent and set his weapons aside before tackling the challenge of locating his supplies from the bear caravan and slew of undead servants. It was when he had collected a heap of burlap rucksacks into his arms that she bounced over to him and swept the items free from his grasp. With perfectly poised innocence she dealt a kiss to his cheek before uttering words so outlandish he had to double over clutching his stomach as he laughed hard.

“Here darling, allow me to relieve you of your heavy load.”

His raucous cackling was beyond satisfying, a smug smirk settling itself onto her face as she started to skip away. She didn’t make it far before the sacks she’d stolen were dropping as Astarion barreled into her. His arms enclosed around her waist, lifting her from the ground as his mouth found her neck, dealing out playful nibbles to her skin. Her shriek of surprise soon devolved into giggles as he affectionately attacked her flesh. When her feet met earth once more she was shoving him away good-naturedly before running off with his things. A leisurely chase began, fast feet pursuing her steadily until both of them came to a stop when he tackled her onto his pile of pillows. He was nipping at her neck again, voice low as he tried to talk to her.

“Tav…”

A tug on his hair cut him off.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t you dare. We had an agreement.”

With a not so annoyed huff, bodies shuffled so that he could look down at her. With her on her back and him propped on his side next to her they looked quite the adorable couple. A hand found her hip as he switched to hovering above her. His eyes were sparkling in a joy he had never experienced before at the sight of her below him once more, only to roll as she reminded him yet again of his earlier promise.

“Yes. Yes. Keep my mouth shut and all that. Pray tell, how long are you planning to drag this out? It’s been all day. Surely I’ve learned my lesson.”

His body retreated from hers to go back into his sideways position but he kept his hand in place on her hip. Her gaze was a challenge as her face turned toward his, fingers coming to the back of his head to spin his curls. Her tone remained teasing but there were undercurrents that suggested her will was faltering.

“Have you now? And here I was thinking you still had so much yet to learn.”

His eyes narrowed into familiar slits that occurred before he said something seductive. Fingertips snaked their way to cup her ass tapping a pattern into the armored flesh.

“Well then. I wait with bated breath for your next instruction, pup.”

His voice came out low and husky. His cool breath fanning against her smattering of freckles. Her shiver was inevitable but it did nothing to deter her from continuing their game. With a tone to rival his, she took her turn.

“Careful. You shouldn’t look so eager. I might get the wrong idea and have to punish you more often.”

His mouth snapped shut. A growl rumbling throughout his chest. His eyes flashed with something akin to fire while tension coiled like a wire beneath his skin. He bristled with desire. Desire to have her. Desire to tease her. Desire to have a turn to play in this thrilling game. But she squirmed away from him, slipping from his grasp like a slithering snake. Her placating pat to his arm had him blowing out a breath before he was following her like a lost puppy to the campfire where she joined Gale in dinner preparations. His presence was a hindrance to them both as he lingered everywhere Tav went. She walked away to set out dinnerware, he was behind her when she turned. She cut a slab of raw meat into pieces, he was stealing chunks to suck out the blood. He became such a nuisance that with a humorous chastise from her he was assigned a spot on a log he wasn’t allowed to move from. His grumbling was not quiet as he went to sit, eyes still tracking her every movement like Fenrir did his prey. Cooking took over half an hour, a glance not once spared his way. He sighed and harumphed doing his best to garner her attention all to no avail. Finally as the last sirloin was being laid on the cast iron pan she spoke to him.

“You know, I bet I could sear this steak on your abs from how hot you are. Wanna try?”

The way he instantly perked up brought a chuckle to her lips. The pan thrusted forward as she worked to flip the meat. With his spirits suddenly renewed, she watched as Astarion teasingly lifted his shirt to show off the chiseled musculature she had mentioned. Setting the cooking instrument aside, a saunter took her over to him. With an unnecessary lean forwards that stuck her ass into the air, she poked a finger into his exposed skin while making a sizzling noise. With a loud laugh from him, she was pulled onto his lap, a flurry of kisses being pressed all over her face that led to dinner being completely forgotten. The rest of the night went pleasantly, chatter and conversation dulling to a distant hum as she lounged in Astarion’s arms. Every so often he would press a little kiss into her hair before soon their companions were all bidding them goodnight. With their departure, the rogue’s hold became a little firmer. More insistent. With a twist he was placing his teeth to her wrist as he raised her arm to his lips. His fangs dug divots into her flesh as he sunk his mouth a little lower onto her skin.

“Care if I have a nibble?”

His grin was goofy, the tension from the day alleviated from having his paramour in his arms. All he wanted now was a good meal and some quality time with her. Her head lolled back into his shoulder and she whispered into his neck.

“Only if I can bite back.”

Her clever response found him laughing again, mouth withdrawing from her wrist to tease her ear instead. When she was groaning and shifting in his lap he pulled away.

“Well in that case, come to my tent little lover and you can have everything you desire.”

Her delusional giggle was response enough for him to sweep her into a princess carry and dart away to his red shelter. The instant the flap closed, his lips were against hers in a passionate collision that had them both pulling away lightheaded. Teeth clashed as he drank her in once more, the sweet taste of her kiss driving him mad. His mouth pressed to hers again and again in a feverish form of worship that left her breathless and giggling. His chuckles joined hers as he slowly laid her down on his bedroll. Strong thighs pinned her down as he moved to straddle her hips, mouths never once disconnecting. Their tongues danced over and over and he noted happily that she was putting up no fight to him taking the lead. With curiosity he realized that he had no desire to do anything but kiss her silly. All day he had been dying to take her to bed but that ache below his belt no longer existed. His dick was as flaccid as could be, even as he made out with Tav. It was like all her delightful teasing had rewired his brain. And that’s when it clicked. The game didn’t have to end in sex. In fact it had never once been her goal. She flirted with him because it was fun. Because she enjoyed watching him react and seeing just which buttons she could push. This was what she had meant by showing him how to banter genuinely. There didn’t have to be an ulterior motive. They could just exist and tease however they pleased. And at the end of the day nothing would have to occur if they didn’t want it to.

A purr like rumble rose in his chest, their lips parting as he transitioned into nuzzling his face into her neck like a needy cat. A calming hand stroked his hair and his purring intensified. He rumbled away into her neck while she held him close and pet his head. Lazy, languid kisses were given to skin as he nuzzled deeper until she was tentatively baring her throat in invitation. His nose found her pulse, inhaling deeply. Her blood smelt like a promise of forever, her skin like the comfort of home. With a little push from her to his scalp he kissed the thrumming artery before ever so gently biting down. His drinks were unhurried as he simply enjoyed her taste and nearness. Her fingers carded through his hair at a steady pace, her small sighs sounding happy and pleased. As he drank he was reminded just how precious the woman below him was. Not only had she given him a place in her camp but she allowed him repeated access to her life essence and as of recently had gifted him her body and heart. He knew he could never repay her generosity, live up to what she saw in him but damn him to the hells if he didn’t try. When he picked up on the tell tale signs of her fatiguing, he withdrew his fangs to return to his leisurely kisses across her flesh. Her taste remained on his tongue leading to a pleasurable murmur from him.

“Mmm. Have I ever told you how good your blood tastes?”

Head pleasantly dizzy, Tav released her thousandth giggle of the day.

“Only once or twice.”

He was chuckling with her again, silvery curls tickling her forehead as his face pressed closer to hers.

“Hmh. Well it’s divine.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or some depraved, innate curiosity but a question came tumbling forth that took both of them off guard.

“How so?”

Red orbs widened at the unexpected turn in conversation.

“You want me to describe how your blood tastes?”

Neat brows furrowed briefly before her face settled into one of soft interest.

“Humor me?”

His head was shaking, curls once again tickling her skin before he was agreeing with amusement.

“Very well.”

He leaned down to slot his face back into her neck, tongue darting out to lap at the still sluggishly bleeding puncture wounds. At his retreat his eyes closed, tongue rolling the blood around his mouth as he thought. Swallowing, he tried to explain to her her aroma.

“The flavor is exquisite. A heady combination reminiscent of all my favorite wines. Underneath that is something uniquely you. Almost woodsy or maybe floral. It tastes how you smell.”

A shallow dip allowed him to take another sip, his fangs finding the tiny holes with ease. With a pull back he repeated his previous action of savoring the blood before continuing.

“There’s this lightness to it that sits on the tongue nicely. Most blood is coppery. Bitter. Thick. Not yours. A single drop of your essence is the purest of honeys. Sweet and silky. It goes down with no resistance. Like velvet on the tongue. Truly a refreshing rain in the driest of deserts. A man could get addicted to a substance like that… In fact, going without it for months nearly drove me insane.”

She wasn’t sure how she was still able to blush but her face was turning red, her heart hammering with rapid speed at the eloquent compliments. A lingering thought remained in the back of her mind. One she would definitely ask later when things were a bit more heated. But for now she struggled to get words out, flattered and flustered at his unintentionally sensual descriptions.

“Oh… Wow… Um…”

Laughter vibrated resoundly in his chest, reverberating against hers as he laid himself atop her body. Hands wrapped to cradle her head as he stared lovingly into her eyes.

“Good to know it is possible to make you speechless. I thought I had lost my touch.”

With a roll of her eyes she swatted at his arms, gaze trailing to his bloodied lips. That dangerous curiosity roared again.

“Can I have a taste?”

Confusion contorted his features and he glanced at her mouth.

“Of your own blood?”

She was nodding ardently, brown orbs flickering from the red trail dripping down his chin then back to his ruby eyes.

“You described it in so much detail. I have to know its flavor for myself.”

His gaze searched hers looking for any indicator that she was joking. When he found none his nose nudged her cheek in a request for returned access. Her waves swayed as she rolled her head to the side once more, giving him more than enough room to take another drink. Drawing the blood into his mouth, he let it sit in wait until his face was hovering above hers again. After giving her lips a closed mouth kiss he pulled up into a seated position, before letting the blood trickle from his lips down into hers. When he decided she’d had a sufficient amount to make a judgement of its quality he swallowed down the rest of what remained before crawling over her again to resume laying on top of her.

She did her best to roll the viscous liquid around in her mouth like he had but its thickness made her want to gag. She couldn’t discern any of the elements he had pointed out, the taste the same as when she would accidentally bite her cheek. With effort she managed to swallow down her mouthful, nose immediately wrinkling in disgust.

“I’m afraid I’m not picking up on what you do. It’s just super metallic.”

His low chuckles were a pleasant sensation against her chest and she buried her face into his hair. A lingering kiss was smoothed across her puncture wounds, easing the throb and igniting sparks down her spine.

“That’s because you’re not a Vampire, darling.”

His nose traced a line from her neck to her clothed breasts where he gingerly rested his head above her beating heart. For hours they simply laid in each other’s arms, enjoying the quiet of the night and the peace they brought one another. When she started to yawn he pulled away, sitting off to the side to allow her space to get up. Her hands found his cheeks pulling him in for a sweet kiss before she was standing and making to leave his tent. His pinky reached for hers causing her to stop at his touch and turn her attention back on him.

“It is a gift, you know. To give me your blood time after time while at the same time giving me your heart. I won’t take advantage of it.”

Her soft smile was as much a reassurance as her words, her hand squeezing his as she whispered.

“I know. Sweet dreams, Star.”

He let her go but not without matching her tender words with some of his own.

“More like sweet memories, dear. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”

Her beautiful grin warmed him more than the sun ever could and before she left she blew out his flickering candle. He listened with closed eyes to the soft pattern of her footsteps before the rustling of her tent signaled she had made it inside. His trance that night was nightmare free, letting him relive every precious moment he had spent with her.

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion/tav #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #female tav #astarion #astarion romance #astarion/oc #baldurs gate fanfiction #bg3 tav #romance #fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x tav

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fantasyheroine · 19 days ago

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Thank you @rahuratna for always sharing your thoughts on each chapter. It means so much to me that you take the time to analyze my writing. The next chapter will be out today meaning I will be waiting anxiously at my desk to see what you think of this next segment.

Written in the Stars - Chapter 9

Pairings: Astarion x Tav

Rating: Explicit

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Chapter 9: Wisdom From Faraway Woods

Word Count: 6,836

Warnings: Fluff and a little bit of spice at the end

Song: Sunshine of Your Love - Cream

A/N: I’m so sorry that these chapters are taking longer to come out than I intended. Life is a cruel mistress dictating a need for me elsewhere which prevents me from being able to write. I hope you all will stick with me, though, despite my inconsistent uploads as there is still so much story yet to tell.

Astarion kept his hands busy, mending a piece of cloth that smelled like her. It was habit at this point. Repairing her linens, her armor. She hadn’t ever asked him to do it. In truth she’d never asked anything of him besides the routine dolling of directions that came from her leadership. But somewhere along the way between her constant denials of his amorous propositions and the furthering development of their budding friendship he’d taken up the task of fixing her things. Now it was like second nature. Softly sneaking into her tent when she was distracted to gather her items in need of repair. Methodically working the needle through torn fabric as his heightened hearing focused on the sound of her patterned breathing as she slept in the worn canvas structure he always made sure to build his own shelter next to. His hands shook tonight as he worked. She had seen through him today. Perceived the things he had tried so gallantly to hide. He shouldn’t have been surprised. She had always been inside his head, working dedicatedly to unravel him from within. Still, he hadn’t been aware of just how thoroughly she understood him. It was unnerving. The kind of unsettling that people usually felt around him. And yet, it made him feel whole. Like a void inside was suddenly filled. A light finally shone in a world sequestered in dark. His hands stopped. He had been a fool today. Parading around the fact that they had slept together the same way Lae’zel displayed the heads of her enemies. A show of some sort of conquest. A triumphant victory. Sex with Tav had been neither.

To have her body against his was not some success that was to be bragged about. It was a sacred bonding that she had gifted him. A secret language she had let him start to learn. It was trust and understanding, a display of vulnerability that was not to be taken for granted. And like an ass he had thrown all of that back in her face completely obliterating the sanctity of their mutual affections. A heavy sigh tightened his chest before the exhale of air released it. Yet again he had fucked things up. But she had only yelled once, maintaining a level of patience that even the most trained monks had to envy. He deserved her anger, her hate. He deserved to be tossed aside, all previous agreements as to the status of their relationship stricken. But no. No. She still loved him. Had even promised as such. Yes, he most definitely did not deserve her. Red dropped to scan the article of clothing still in hand. It wasn’t her usual attire. That asymmetrical white top she paired with the form fitting grey vest. This blouse was looser, the off-shoulder sleeves somewhat sheer with a sweetheart neckline that possessed detailed lace trim. It was old, the white of the cloth slightly yellowing to more of an ivory. It looked so delicate, so feminine. Wholly unlike the form fitting corsets and leathers she preferred. She never wore it. He had found it at the bottom of her trunk when rummaging for anything in need of mending. Shameful, he knew, to dig through her clothing without permission. But she hadn’t set aside anything for him to fix so he’d had to improvise. When in her life had she ever worn something so pretty? So… gentle?

Tav was a walking, talking mystery. That much had become obvious over time. He couldn’t puzzle her out like she had so clearly decoded him. But he wanted to. He wanted to know her. Know every little thing that made her, her. What made her tick, what made her smile. The things that made her cry, made her hide. He longed to know her past, her life before him and this infernal parasite. Needed it like a fish needed water. He was drowning in the sea that was her essence. Her presence. The memory of her blood and scent on his tongue driving him mad. Things had to change. If he wanted even a fraction of a chance of being allowed to learn her, then he had to be better. No more performances. No more hiding. She deserved his honesty. In the morning, he’d apologize. Own up to his bad behavior. All he had to do was make it through the night and hopefully come day he could set things right. Another look at the shirt in his hands. The fabric clearly held some sort of meaning to her. Tav was not one to hold onto things without reason. Was this a piece of her past? Did it have a story? Or was it just another one of the thousand things she kept buried? Would she tell him about it if he asked? An idea crept its way into his mind, one that would keep him busy throughout the night. He reached for his colored thread.

The stars were just beginning to disappear, the sky a hazy slate blue. There was something enchanting about watching the night fade to day. The brief hours where the stars and sun collided; like long distance lovers finally allowed to embrace. It had always been her favorite. His footsteps were easy to notice, the pattern of them always the same. She scooted to the side of the rock she lounged atop of. He took the invitation silently, slotting himself further away than she would have liked. From the corner of her eye she noticed how tired he looked. He had clearly not slept. Silence reigned supreme as they each didn’t speak. He watched her while she watched the day break. Tav knew Astarion was gathering what he wanted to say and she had learned that giving him space often yielded the best results. She had pushed him last night. Voiced aloud what he’d refused to. It was different than how she usually treated him. Letting things go until he brought them to her himself. But then again their relationship was different now. No longer two friends dancing around feelings but rather lovers navigating something new. Communication was going to be the key to making whatever they were work. Communication, that perhaps, neither of them were ready for. Brown eyes drifted closed, chin lifting, as her head fell back. She took a deep breath before her ears were twitching in response to his words.

When he had left his tent she was easy to spot, her body reclined against her elbows, her face raised to the sky. He had often found her like this. Basking in the start of a new day. Frequently he had wondered what she found so fascinating about the sunrise. Surely it wasn’t something to marvel at day after day. The sun rose, the night faded. The same way it always did. But she watched every time like it was something new. Most of their companions required longer rest than the two Elves did. Meaning that this time existed solely for them. Only Halsin, the third Elf of their party, roused when he and Tav did. Though today the bear man’s tent was quiet. Not a single candle lit. He and Tav had privacy. His hand neared hers as he adopted a similar pose to the woman beside him. But instead of viewing the sky he viewed the way she relaxed under the cresting of dawn. Neither of them spoke for a long while until the silence had stretched longer than he could handle.

“You were right. I was defaulting back into old patterns.”

Watching her was enjoyable, another habit he had picked up, but it wasn’t when his mind was clouded with guilt. There was a reason he had come out here after all. Her head turned towards him. The way she stared made him feel bare. Like she was leafing through his thoughts the way she would a book. He held her gaze. For too long he had hidden behind pretending. If she wanted to see just how wrecked she made him then he’d let her. Chestnut orbs flashed in understanding. He knew she saw all he didn’t say. The fear he felt, the regret he held. He owed her a proper apology. A heartfelt ‘I’m sorry for being a complete and utter arsehole yesterday’. And yet, he couldn’t get the words out. The feel of them too unfamiliar in his mouth. Too exposing. So he waited, maintaining eye contact, hoping that what he had given her could be enough.

Tav watched as his jaw worked to form words that never came. Too soon. He didn’t quite know how to apologize but that was ok. She could wait. After all, he had admitted it. That he was wrong. That his behavior had been inappropriate. It was a start. To be honest she didn’t know what she had expected him to say when he had come to sit beside her. Maybe more denial. Maybe an excuse. Those would have been in line with how he typically operated. But he had owned up to it and in his own way was working to make things right. It was refreshing. She wasn’t mad. Hadn’t been yesterday either. Not really. Her outburst came from exasperation more than it had anger. All she’d wanted was to talk about it. Soothe his worry and confess her own. She was just as terrified of losing him as he clearly was of losing her. But time for that conversation would come later. Hair tickled the back of her neck as she turned her face back to the stars.

“It’s ok.”

His head was shaking, the sun glinting off the silver strands of his curls. It was not ok. None of his behavior had been ok. He had embarrassed her, possibly humiliated her. He had made a mockery of their connection, their intimacy. He had broken their unspoken agreement to do better. Be better. She had to know he didn’t deserve to be let off so easily.

“No. It’s not. I treated you poorly. You deserve better.”

Better than him. The Vampire Spawn who knew nothing other than cruelty. Small fingers tugged at his wrist, insisting he move closer. With a brief moment of hesitation, he shifted so that their shoulders could touch. Her head slotted into the crook of his neck with ease, like it belonged there, but for a second he felt cold dread. An all encompassing fear that came from being touched. Then her hand entangled with his ever so softly and he let the breath he’d been holding out. It was ok. She wouldn’t hurt him. Her thumb rubbed little circles into the flesh below his pinky somehow perfectly syncing to the time of her breathing. All the tension in his taut muscles melted away as she soothed him with her gentle touch.

“I don’t blame you Astarion. It’s hard to undo patterns.”

Her hand never stopped its tiny strokes, coaxing the guilt out of him circle by circle. It had always surprised her how honest with himself Astarion could be considering his centuries worth of shit. Most people from his situation would have been lost. Unable to recover. And yet the man beside her had never once stopped trying. Stopped fighting. She admired him greatly for that strength. It was the kind of strength she had struggled her whole life to maintain. He softened against her at her subtle acceptance of his not fully formed apology. Once again, they understood each other in a way known only to them. Pink and orange clouds were overtaking the remaining blue of night. It was hard to hold back her content sigh at the unfurling painting. With a nudge of her head to his chin she encouraged him to look with her.

“Do you know why I watch the sunrise everyday?”

His crimson gaze glanced up. The sight was undeniably beautiful but he had a feeling that aesthetics had nothing to do with her habitual stargazing. Their joined hands lifted as she reached to touch the burgeoning colors. His porcelain skin turned lavender under the array, hers becoming golden. She spread their fingers so that the sun balanced like a ball between his ring finger and her thumb. With her hand over his, they held the light together. Black eyelashes lowered as he turned to look at Tav. Her attention was already on him, a steady smile sitting across her lips which helped to ground him.

With her other hand she motioned again to the horizon. When he didn’t look away from her, it dropped to her lap. His gaze pierced deeply and she could see all the turmoil that sat behind those glittering rubies. Another smile.

“Each break of dawn is a new beginning. The day before has become the past and with it emerges the chance to try again. To improve on the areas you fell short. It does not excuse previous actions, of course, but the slate has been cleaned.”

A nod from her towards the sky and he was turning to look at their entwined fingers again. Her head rested against his shoulder once more as she maneuvered his hand to cup the ball of day. It was nearly perfect the way she had aligned his palm to rest just below the flaming orb. It truly looked like he held the sun in his hand. Her words were a brush against his jaw as she laid her lips upon his skin, not quite kissing but rather tenderly appreciating.

“With the rising sun, you hold a world full of potential. What are you going to do with it, Astarion?”

The way she so patiently encouraged him to take this opportunity to make amends was incredibly endearing. For the thousandth time she was showing him grace. Proving yet again that she forgave him long before he had ever even realized he needed forgiveness. Did he truly deserve such unwavering devotion? Her body shifted and he almost didn’t feel the gentle kiss she gave to his neck, it over so fast he thought perhaps he’d imagined it. When her hand dropped away from his to instead find purchase once again on the rock, he couldn’t stop the way his body quivered at the lack of contact. He wanted to reach out and pull her back into him. To think that he had come to ever crave another’s touch. It was something he had never considered he could regain. His whole life he had hated the feel of another person’s skin on his own. Too often his body had not been his. Simply a tool to be used by others. Abused and defiled. But when she touched him, softly, without any hidden meaning, he felt like a man again. Not a body to be taken. A pretty face to be admired. But a person. A real, living person. His eyes met hers. She was studying him once more. But not in the ways that made him feel exposed. She sat in quiet contemplation, the brown of her irises open and inviting. *What ever does she find so fascinating about me?* He didn’t know. But maybe someday she’d tell him. Let him in on the secret as to why she always smiled around him. With her every slow blink he realized she was waiting. Waiting to see what the new day would bring. Waiting for him. His adam’s apple bobbed with his thick swallow.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes twinkled, the corners crinkling as she smiled. She was looking at him the same way she had been admiring the budding day. Like the sight was a beauty to be marveled. Was he really something to be marveled? The typically pointed shape of his eyes became round ocular disks. His Elven ears disappearing behind his hair as they went flat. He felt like he should say more but what could he say that hadn’t already been said? That she hadn’t already seen? She knew him. Saw through him. And for the first time in his life he appreciated that they didn’t need words to speak. Her body leaned in towards his, her hand stroking a curl behind his ear. The pads of her fingers grazed the cartilage and his eyes fluttered closed.

Tav pressed a sweet kiss to his brow letting her lips linger. She saw the understanding in his eyes. That he knew she had forgiven him. That she wasn’t upset. It was strange being so in tune with another person. Never before had she felt such a connection with anyone. The ability to communicate without ever once opening your mouth, without moving or even blinking, it was a form of intimacy she hadn’t even known existed. It scared her. Those dark parts within herself threatening to ruin her newfound peace. With a deep inhale she breathed in the scent of him. The citrus and herbal tones of his cologne steadied her heart. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him. No mistake that she wouldn’t forgive. She had realized that long ago. In such a short time he had managed to steal the thing she guarded most. Her heart.

“I know.”

As the final signs of night faded they remained embraced. Whatever invisible thread of fate had brought them to this moment tightened its grip. With starkissed, sunbleached string it tied their souls together. Weaving a tapestry of potential. The sound of stirring companions eventually broke them apart. Tav cracked her back as she smoothly slid from her position above Astarion.

“Well, best we get this day started.”

She was almost fully to her feet when his hand wrapped around hers. All previous movement stopped as she turned to look at him in question.

“I have something for you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to bring up what he’d done with her old shirt. Worry causing him to chew on his bottom lip. Would she get mad at him for ruining an item dear to her? He hadn’t really stopped to process that she might not want it tampered with before he had already begun altering the blouse. Mending the tear had been quick but the work he had stayed up all night doing was anything but. It would be too late now to undo his renovations to the fabric should she get upset with him. He was rambling as he brought her to his tent, the increasing furrow of her brow making him worry even more.

“I fear I might have destroyed its sentimentality but my thought was that perhaps if I revitalized it you would wear it again. I don't think I've ever seen you wear it. It would be nice if you wore it.”

They stopped near his outdoor table and he motioned for her to sit on the red foot stool before he dipped into his tent, returning with an item hidden behind his back. He debated whether or not he should even show her the damn thing knowing full well that not only had he altered a clear piece of her past but also done so without permission. Tav remained ever patient as he fought back his fear of being ridiculed and subsequently beaten for his secretive misdeeds and it was that patience that granted him the courage to thrust the bundle of cloth into her hands.

As the fabric met her palms it took her a moment to recognize the object. The off-white top had been significantly altered. What once was a delicate, but rather plain undershirt now sat as a fully realized blouse, a garden of embroidery thread blooming along the bodice and sleeves. Laurels and ferns connected pink, light blue, and peach wildflowers that framed the shape of the bust running down to the midline of the front. A matching collection of flowers and leaves could be found on each sleeve in smaller arrangements. Finally the waist had been cinched and ruched to create a tighter fit on the body. A slight part overtook her lips as she analyzed the freshly restored article of clothing but soon she was glancing back at the white haired Elf shifting from foot to foot.

“You went through my things.”

He couldn’t conceal his grimace as he was called out. Yes. He had rifled through her personal belongings. Her clothing trunk in particular. Came across quite a few pairs of naughty undergarments too while he was at it. A fact he has stored away for later. Though if she knew all that he’d surely be in the dog house. An attempt was made to appear indifferent. He tried to play like he wasn’t completely guilty, a shrug resettling his shoulders as he prepared to be put through the wringer.

“You never set anything out.”

Her melodic giggles took him by surprise and he looked away from his nails he was pretending to examine to instead focus on her. With a bounce in her step, Tav stood and spun to face the mirror he kept on the table. She held the blouse against her body, turning this way and that as she sized up what the piece might look like on her. A large smile spread across her lips, a puff of air blowing a stubborn strand of hair from her blemish free face.

“You know, I think you made it better.”

Setting the shirt down, she worked to remove the one currently covering her body. As she got the top to the bottom of her bra, Astarion sidestepped so that he was blocking any potential view of her from the campfire. Another giggle escaped her. It was far too early for anyone other than Halsin and them to be up and she knew that should the Druid see her shirtless he would think nothing of it.

“Halsin won’t care if he sees me. No need to be so protective.”

A low growl resonated in his throat, turning Astarion more beast than man with the noise. With two steps backwards he was nearly touching the She-Elf. She paid him no mind as he scanned their surroundings all the while continuing to take off her shirt.

“He might not care but I would.”

Another flurry of light giggles met his ears and he was growling again. What on earth had possessed him? He wasn’t one to typically shy away from exposed bodies, so why did her unabashedly showing hers bother him so much? A rustling behind him had his neck careening to get a look. Tav’s head was buried below the thin cotton, her right arm halfway through the wrong sleeve. Within seconds his hands were on her, spinning the shirt around the correct way before falling to the exposed skin of her waist. Her face popped through the top with a grin and he had to shake his head to suppress the chuckle that threatened to escape. *So adorable.* His eyes found hers through the mirror and while he knew she couldn’t see him that didn’t change the way she looked in exactly the right place. Carefully, his cool fingers smoothed over the ruched fabric and he realized with pleasure that he had made the shirt slightly too short. No problem there though, for now her midriff was exposed in a delightful way.

Warm hands encompassed pale ones, copper hairs tickling under Astarion’s chin as Tav leaned against him. For a few moments she simply admired herself, a slim finger gently tracing along the embroidery. The stitching was immaculately done, not a flaw to be seen. Where had he learned such a skill? It certainly wasn’t something one simply picked up out of the blue. No, this work was that of a master tradesman. Someone who had spent countless hours perfecting their skill. A shift of her arms forced him to hold her tighter, his palms pressing into exposed skin.

“It’s beautiful, Star. I don’t know how you knew, but somehow you managed to make it a perfect picture of where it came from.”

The soft praise had his stomach doing flips. Never before had one of his risks paid off so wonderfully. Instead of being admonished and ridiculed he was receiving her genuine commendation. The fear he had held melted away as the back of her head nestled deeper under his chin. For the first time he was grateful for his lack of reflection for he could feel the way his lip was quivering under the newfound experience of being complimented, not for his looks but rather something he had worked at in secret. Something he never thought held much value. For decades he had taught himself how to sew. The clothes and armor he had died in the only items he had to cover himself with. Cazador, in all his cruelness, never once gave his spawn anything. Not even clothes for them to wear. From the moment he had been caged, it was evident that he had to maintain his only things. From then on he had taught himself how to mend cloth, stealing needles and thread when he was allowed out of the mansion, perusing swiped tailoring books whenever he could. A litany of terrible repairs slowly became carefully curated craftsmanship until he had all but mastered everything one could do with a needle. Soon the unraveling of seams or the popping of buttons were naught but a five minute fix he could do with his eyes closed. A glance back in the mirror. Here was the love of his life stood in something he had made. Proudly displaying one of the only good things that had come from his imprisonment. With a step he backed away, retreating into something more comfortable.

“Glad to hear I didn't ruin something of value.”

At his sudden absence Tav turned to study him. He was looking at the dirt, a wrinkle in his nose the only visual indicator that something was wrong. Her face dropped in understanding. She knew the signs of someone questioning their self-worth. Could see the doubt that came from years of being told you were nothing.

“You gave it more. Now when I look at this shirt I won’t just remember its past, where it came from, what it means; I will see you. And that is infinitely more precious.”

He was quiet for a while, head still downturned. She waited. For all his bravado, Astarion was one of the most vulnerable out of their team. She had picked up on it instantly, the way he masked, played pretend. Years ago she had been the same, still was in some regards. And the one thing she had learned that helped the most was patience. Finally, he looked at her. Not at her face though. He was once more studying the top he had altered. Again she waited. Waited for him to form the thoughts so clearly circling his head into words.

“Where'd you get it?”

A reminiscent smile took the place of gentle concern. With a glance down she pictured the first time this shirt had graced her body.

~~~Her whole body had been aching, the lightheadedness of blood loss messing with her perception of space. The last thing she could remember was a heavy blackness overtaking her view of the forest. Now as her eyes squinted in the candlelight she could make out the walls of a canvas tent. The sound of shuffling brought back her awareness, her body trying to sit up.

“Best not to do that sweetie. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Her voice felt like fire in her throat as noise tried to make it past the dryness.

“Where…?”

Calloused hands were pushing her back down onto a pile of furs, the face of a stunning woman coming into view. She looked like an Elf but was of a race Tav had never seen before, even with all her worldly travels. Her skin was a glittering bronze, her hair a pale, golden blonde, but what stood out about her the most were her eyes. A blazing burnt copper, almost orange in appearance had they not looked like pools of reflective liquid.

“Calm yourself, dear. You dealt yourself a lot of damage. It’s best you don’t move for a while longer.”

She couldn’t help but nod as the enchanting elf righted herself, standing to approach a table full of herbs and vials. The feeling of soft cotton brushed against her bare chest and with interest she looked down to see that her clothes had been changed. Her battered leather armor had been replaced with a delicate white blouse, trimmed with intricate lace that was loose enough to allow room for her wounds to breathe.~~~

A deep breath returned her to the present. She looked at Astarion who was watching her carefully, that little sad smile on her lips still in place.

“It's from another time. One where I was a different person to who I am now. Someplace dear to me.”

“Where?”

Tav glanced to the sky as if seeing a place that lived among the clouds. Remembrance swirled in her eyes as fondness replaced the previous sad. Brown met red as she glanced back at him. He wondered if she would finally let him in. Let him know all that she hid.

She debated with herself heavily on whether she should divulge more than she had already given. It was instinct to hide it. Her past. Even the parts that had been good. But for him she wanted to be better. More open. What did she have to hide when he himself had revealed his own dark, twisted past? A leap of faith opened her mouth and out of it came the first pieces of personal history she’d exposed to any of her new companions.

“The Misty Vale. There’s a druid's grove there, founded in honor of the original Green Lady. I stayed with them for a time during a rough patch.”

Her gracious honesty was more than he’d been expecting. Too often had she avoided talking about herself, using clever deflections that he was more than familiar with, that he had used on her until she’d gotten him to open up. Now he was witness to the unconditional trust she held for him. To know that she’d impart a piece of her past to him was more intimate than spending the night beside her bare body. More intimate than their silent conversations. It was a gift that only she was capable of giving and she had chosen him to be the recipient. Not Karlach, her very obviously best friend. Not Halsin, the person she turned to for guidance and wisdom. She chose him. Her low chuckle brought his attention to her lips. They quirked in that oh so familiar way they always did before she’d tease him.

“Go on. I can practically feel your question.”

His head shook as he crossed his arms in a display that clearly said he didn’t believe her.

“Will you actually answer if I do?”

Her grin stretched wider and she shrugged.

“Only one way to find out.”

Sharp eyes narrowed into slits as he considered the odds of her answering. There was every chance that her willingness to share had run out and she’d return to deflecting. But the slim opportunity of getting to know more about her drove him forward. He sighed, attention turning back to the sun that they had watched rise. She was so much like that ball of light. Warm, welcoming. A force of good he had spent too many nights praying for that never came. Until her. She was sunshine incarnate. The ray of day banishing his night. But had she always been this way?

“Who were you before this, Tav?”

Pointed ears twitched as they picked up on her subtle, but shaky, exhale. His eyes went back to hers. She did her best to give him a half smile. The sight of it made his heart ache. No. She hadn’t always shone in the light. There were too many shadows in that smile.

Bare feet spun her so that once again she faced the mirror. She took her time fingering over every flower, every leaf. For a long while she just looked at herself. Every version of who she was, who she’d been flashing like a moving picture in her reflection. She saw every iteration of herself. The adventurous little girl from her childhood, the troubled one from her teens. She saw all the things she had tried to be before the image returned to the one hundred and twenty five year old woman of today.

“I’ve been many things. But the person I was when I got this…” Unsteady hands gestured to the blouse still adorning her body as she turned back to face him. “Was somebody lost to herself.”

Confusion erupted on his face. He could feel his brows furrowing. If that top had come from a time when she hadn’t been at her best then why bother keeping it? Surely it brought back memories that were better served forgotten. Her expression smoothed, softening the hardness that had taken over her usually mirthful, caramel orbs. A slow step brought her closer, well traveled toes digging into the earth she so often worshiped. His hand rose, twisting in the air to emphasize his lack of understanding.

“Then why keep a reminder of that time?”

Another step closer. Each step held a sway of her hips. The billowy, above elbow sleeves of the blouse swished like they were bestowing a kiss to her skin. A vine grew from the back of her hand wrapping around her middle finger and blooming a gardenia bud. She stopped to view it, head tilting as she watched it grow.

“Because, I became who I am today because of this shirt. It is not only a reminder of the bad but of the good that came from it. If I had never lost myself, I never would have found who I’m meant to be.”

His breathing had turned heavy as he watched Tav approach him. She looked like an enchantress. With every step she took, grass and wildflowers erupted around her feet, leaving a trail from the table to where she stood now. The unfurling bud grew so that it sat in her palm, its scent permeating the air as it slowly bloomed. He swallowed hard.

“And who is that?”

She closed the remaining distance between them, plucking the now fully grown flower from her hand. With a hairpin from her reddish brown waves she fastened the gardenia to the place on his shirt right above his undead heart. Pretty peach lips turned up in a genuine smile as she smoothed down the ruffles of his v-neck collar.

“Currently? It’s the person who’s going to lead a band of misfits to save Baldur’s Gate.”

He huffed a half laugh before struggling to keep air in his lungs as she began toying with the ties of his poet’s shirt. Her fingers ever so lightly brushing his chest. Her voice was low and full of promise as she continued to enlighten him.

“We’re ever changing Astarion. That’s the beauty of life. We can be whoever we want.”

It was a battle now to not grab her and pull her into him. To take those torturous hands of hers and put them fully against his chest. Against his skin. With an evident shake to his timber he managed to ask:

“And what do you want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes. A sensuous lick to her lips succeeding in drawing his attention to them. With tippy toes she leaned up so that they were face to face.

“I want… You.”

Her breath was a ghost across his skin, sending a shudder all the way down his spine. With more conviction than he felt he tried to deflect.

“I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Rolling back onto her heels she gave him the space he obviously needed. As always she wouldn’t push. Learning your worth was a personal journey. One that she wasn’t sure he even knew he was on. Another flower sprung to life in her palm and this time she took it and tucked it behind her ear. Her smile sang reassurances as she grinned at him, playing into his deflection with stone hard conviction.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. It doesn’t change anything.”

Because she wanted him. Out of all the people she could have, she wanted him. His eyes were ablaze with passion as he pulled her in by the waist. Promises were whispered against her ear with small kisses given to punctuate his sincerity.

“I’ll keep things in check today. No more outlandish lines.”

Her airy chuckle made heat pool in new places. With a step away from him she smiled and shook her head.

“Truthfully, I don’t mind the innuendos, even the bad ones. All I care about is why you say what you do. What you’re trying to gain…”

She paused in thought, once again looking at him as if she saw right through him. Her head tilted, ears coming forward like an intrigued dog. One perfectly shaped eyebrow raised before she was again toying with the strings on his shirt.

“Have you ever flirted without it being part of some performance?”

She already knew the answer to her question but so rarely did she ask these things for responses. She wanted him to think. Reflect and review. Growth could only come from looking within and for too long he had been shying away from mapping his subconscious. Every word she had spoken to him today had been intentional. Yesterday had proved to her that he was still under the control of his fears. If she could show him that he was the one in charge, that he possessed power over his past, then maybe, just maybe, she could have the life with him she dreamed of. And maybe, just maybe, he’d want it too.

The question took him aback but then he considered it. Had he ever flirted without it being part of some performance? His gut reaction was to say no but then he was looking at her. At those freckles on her nose, the playful smile on her lips. The lines blurred. His whole attraction to her had begun as a ruse. A fabrication he had concocted to gain protection. A means to see Cazador’s end. But had it truly been false? He had always found her pretty, or more so beautiful. But anyone with eyes could have seen that. She was undeniably stunning. So what had really drawn him to her? The answer materialized from the mist he shoved uncomfortable thoughts into. Yes. That’s what it was. Her hands brought his attention back to her as they snaked their way from his chest up to cup his cheeks. Her mouth teasingly brushed over his.

“Let me show you how it's done when you genuinely like someone.”

As he fought to keep his eyes from closing, her left hand slipped to the back of his head acting like it was going to push him close enough to close the small gap between their mouths. Before he could kiss her she yanked on his hair forcing his head to retreat. Her free hand slipped to place a finger over his lips in a shush symbol. Her once coy expression turned malicious as she impishly grinned.

“All you have to do, is keep these pretty little lips shut. Think you can do that for me, handsome?”

Fangs bared and nostrils flared at the control exuding from her. He wasn’t sure if he hated this change in personality or loved it. Her hand kept a firm grip on his head, keeping him in place until he answered. His instincts urged him to fight back but the look in her eyes had him rooted to the spot. She looked deadly but not in a ‘I’ll kill you’ sort of way. No. This was full of hidden meanings that had his skin prickling and his nether regions tingling. One tap to his chin. A subtle reminder that she was waiting for a response. With her fingers still tangled in his hair he offered up a shallow nod. His head was released but he was not free of her just yet for she was pressing her chest against his, her mouth once again hovering over his open one.

“Good boy.”

With that final praise she gave him the kiss he had been craving, wasting no time in shoving her tongue inside. A single lick against the roof of his mouth and she was pulling back. Keeping this little connection between them short and sweet. High dexterity allowed her to dodge his attempts to grab her for more, feet spinning her away with a dramatic twirl. Her light giggles were all that remained as she left him standing in a daze determined to begin her day.

#astarion/tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #female tav #astarion romance #astarion/oc #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate fanfiction #fluff #bg3 tav #romance #fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion

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fantasyheroine · 26 days ago

Text

Not Without You

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Rating: Mature

Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Fighting, Various Weapons, Arrow Wound, Blood, Wound Care, Barely Conscious, Losing Consciousness, Spawn Astarion (He might be a little OOC here), Explicit Language

Word Count: Around 1100

Written For: @badthingshappenbingo @fandom-free-bingo @fluffyjuly @whumpmasinjuly-archive

Squares/Prompts Filled: N3 - Shot With An Arrow for BTHB | Card B: O2 - Stealing From Thieves for Fandom Free Bingo: Virtues and Vices Edition | Fluffy July Day 30 - "Listen to my heartbeat." | Whumpmas In July Day 30 - "Brace yourself."

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

The plan had been straightforward.

Just a simple repossession of stolen material to its rightful owner.

The goods stolen from a traveling cleric caravan were valuable, but nothing sacred enough to risk your lives over. or so you thought. Still, your group had agreed to recover them, more for goodwill than gold. A mission to restore faith, not test it.

But the moment you breached the thieves' hidden stronghold, carved deep into the moss-choked cliffs north of Rivington, you realized something was wrong.

Too many guards.

Too much coordination.

And one too many eyes watching from the shadows.

You’d been right to flank with Astarion. He’d insisted, of course. “Darling, you might be a clever little minx with a blade,” he’d said, tracing your jaw with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes, “but you bleed far too easily for my liking.”

You thought it was just another dramatic line.

You didn’t realize how true it would become.

The battle broke loose like a thunderclap. You were fast, slipping between cover, throwing daggers, your magic sparking with practiced ease. Astarion was faster. A blur of death and destruction, slashing through thieves with a grin that bordered on gleeful.

The first wave fell easily.

Then came the second.

A rogue archer, clever bastard, had taken position on the crumbling ledge above, half-hidden behind debris and brambles.

You never saw him.

The arrow tore through your side like a burning brand, lodging deep beneath your ribs. You gasped, staggered, and fell hard, your daggers clattering against the stone.

Time stuttered.

You didn’t scream.

But Astarion did.

“NO!”

It wasn’t his usual sardonic drawl, no mocking lilt. It was raw. Terrifying. A sound you’d never heard from him before.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. One second he was beside you, the next, gone in a crack of displaced air. The vampire spawn misty stepped straight onto the ledge, fury given form.

Astarion butchered the archer.

There was no grace, no precision. Just rage. He drove his blades into the man’s chest over and over, blood spraying his pale face and silver hair. You weren’t sure when the body stopped moving. Astarion didn’t seem to notice or care.

By the time the others reached you, the battle was over, but the real war had only just begun.

You were too pale.

Your skin clammy and slick with sweat, eyes glassy with pain. You were trying to sit up, but your limbs shook uncontrollably. The arrow was still in you, buried to the fletching.

“Stop moving,” Astarion growled, kneeling beside you, voice taut with terror. “You’ll make it worse.”

“I…I didn’t see him…” You choked, blood staining your lips.

“Shh. Don’t speak.” His hands hovered, unsure where to touch without hurting you more.

And then-

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Astarion stared at you, as if you’d just said something unspeakable.

“Sorry?” he echoed. “Why in all the bleeding Hells would you apologize to me?!”

“I should’ve...should’ve dodged, or-”

“You were ambushed,” he snapped, voice trembling. “Do not apologize for bleeding. Do not apologize for hurting. Gods, why must you always-"

He cut himself off, jaw clenched so tight it clicked. His hands shook as he lifted you into his arms.

“I’m taking you back to camp. Right now. I can’t treat this here.”

The journey was agony.

Each step jolted the arrow. You buried your face in his chest, trying not to scream, your fingers clutching at his shirt. He whispered to you the entire way, frantic, disjointed things.

“I can’t lose you.”

“You’re mine...you promised.”

“This world isn’t worth a damn without you in it.”

His tone was different than usual. Not teasing. Not playful. Terrified.

By the time you reached camp, you could hardly hold your head up. He didn’t bother with tents or audience, he lay you down on the closest bedroll and immediately set to work.

Karlach reached out with a hand, her voice gentle. “Astarion-”

“No!” he snarled. “Don’t touch her. I’ll handle this.”

Even Shadowheart, no stranger to triage, backed away. She saw something in his eyes, something feral.

Astarion knelt beside you, covered in blood. Yours. Theirs. His own, maybe.

“This is going to hurt,” he said, voice shaking.

You nodded faintly.

“I need you to be brave for me, my love.”

You were always brave for him.

“Brace yourself.”

He gripped the arrow and yanked.

The pain was worse than anything you’d ever known. It stole your scream. The agony flared white-hot, your body twisting before going limp with shock.

You didn’t hear yourself sob.

But he did.

And it broke him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

He worked quickly, binding and stitching with shaking hands. The blood wouldn’t stop. His breath caught in his throat more than once. You kept fading in and out, consciousness slippery as water through your fingers.

The wound was deep, but no longer bleeding. He’d cleaned and dressed it as best he could, muttering quiet oaths under his breath the entire time. Your face had gone pale again. Not just from blood loss this time, but from exhaustion. From everything.

He lay beside you on the bedroll, carefully maneuvering your body so that your head rested against his bare chest. His hand gently smoothed down your hair as your breathing evened out, little by little.

The pain was still there, he could feel every wince, every twitch, but you were safe now. And he wasn’t letting go.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“I can’t lose you,” he said again, hoarse. “Not you. Not after everything.”

You reached for him with trembling fingers, brushing blood from his cheek. “I’m here…”

It was steady and strong.

“You nearly weren’t.”

He brought your head to his chest. “Listen to my heartbeat,” he whispered.

For centuries, it had been silent.

But now it beats, and it beats for you.

“You gave that back to me,” he murmured into your hair, voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t even realize how empty I was until you loved me.”

You made a sleepy sound against him, not quite words, just a soft acknowledgement that you were still there. Still listening. He smiled, heart aching.

“My fierce, reckless little light,” he whispered. “I’ve faced monsters. Gods. Death itself. But nothing frightens me the way the thought of losing you does.”

He brushed his lips across your temple. You didn’t move, but he felt your fingers tighten just a little over his chest, like you were grounding yourself in the sound of him. The beat of him.

“I would tear this world apart for you,” he continued, his voice gentler now. “But I’d rather keep it whole…if it means I get more nights like this. Holding you. Feeling your warmth. Listening to you breathe.”

You let out a soft sigh and curled further into his embrace.

Astarion cradled you like a precious, delicate treasure, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip even an inch.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “So damn proud. You fought so bravely today. Yet even after all that, you were still worried about upsetting me.”

He laughed softly, full of wonder and heartbreak.

“You absolute fool,” he said, smiling into your hair. “How did I ever deserve you?”

The stars glittered overhead. The fire had burned low, casting soft shadows across the camp. The others were silent. The danger had passed.

And here, wrapped up in his arms, your ear over his heart, you were safe.

“You don’t have to be brave anymore, my love,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Not here. Not with me. I’ll be brave for the both of us.”

He kissed the top of your head softly.

“Sleep now,” he whispered. “Sleep, and dream sweetly. I’ll be here when you wake.”

You drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

And Astarion didn’t move, not even once. He held you all through the night, whispering soft promises against your hair, until dawn lit the sky.

You woke slowly, like surfacing from the depths of a dream you weren’t quite ready to leave.

The ache in your side was sharp but dulled, bandaged tightly beneath your nightshirt. But what you felt first wasn’t pain, it was warmth.

Astarion’s arms wrapped around you, his fingers gently brushing along your waist. His chest pressed against your back, rising and falling in a calm, steady rhythm. His cheek rested in your hair, and his breath ghosted across your neck.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Neither did he.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice already thick with emotion. “Thank the gods.”

You turned your head slightly and felt him shift, gently guiding you to lie on your back. His hand hovered protectively over your bandaged side. His eyes were bloodshot, and his usually pristine hair was slightly mussed.

“You didn’t sleep,” you said softly, fingers brushing his cheek.

“Didn’t want to.” He smiled, tired but sincere. “I was too afraid I’d close my eyes and…wake up without you.”

You opened your mouth to reassure him, but he leaned down and pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again,” he whispered against your skin. “You’ve already apologized far too much for getting shot. You were brilliant yesterday, even if you scared me half to death.”

You smiled faintly, the corner of your mouth tugging up.

“I’ll accept one thing, though,” he added, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “An agreement that you’ll let me fuss over you now. Just for today.”

You laughed, soft and hoarse. “Just today?”

He grinned, and gods, it was the most beautiful thing you’d seen. “Fine. Tomorrow, too. And maybe the rest of eternity.”

He sat up slowly, slipping out from under the bedroll to grab a fresh set of supplies from a nearby pack. His shirt hung open, his chest covered in faint bruises and bloodstains that had long since dried.

“I’m going to redress the wound, my sweet,” he murmured as he knelt beside you again. “It may hurt a bit, but I’ll be careful.”

You nodded, your trust absolute.

He helped you sit up slowly, sliding in behind you so you could lean against his chest as he worked. His fingers were delicate as he unwound the old bandage, his brows furrowed with concentration.

When you winced, he immediately paused.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

“Ah-ah.” He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “None of that. You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to be soft. That’s what I’m here for now. To care for you.”

He gently cleaned the wound, whispering little nothings as he worked.

“You’re so brave.”

“I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“You terrify me in all the best ways.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, soaking in his voice, the way his fingers moved so gently across your skin. When he finished re-bandaging the wound, he pressed a lingering kiss to the center of your back, just above the dressing.

“Finished,” he murmured. “You did perfectly.”

He helped you lie back down and climbed in beside you again, pulling you back into his arms as if you belonged there.

“You’re still shaking,” you whispered, resting your hand on his chest again.

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I’ll stop eventually. I just…need you closer a little longer.”

You tilted your chin, and he understood instantly, his lips met yours in a slow, gentle kiss. Nothing hungry. Just soft. Full of relief and devotion.

He cupped your face in his palm, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips. “And I’m yours. No more pretending otherwise.”

“No more pretending,” you agreed, your voice breaking just a little.

He kissed you again. And again. Pressing them to your forehead, your nose, the corners of your mouth.

Then he held you tight and tucked you against his chest, letting your ear rest over the sound of his still-beating heart.

“Sleep a little longer, my darling,” he whispered, stroking your back. “The world can wait.”

And with his heartbeat in your ear and his lips in your hair, you drifted back to sleep.

Safe. Loved. Home.

Astarion Tag List: @kashii9652 @labyrinth-runner

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fantasyheroine · 26 days ago

Text

For the first time could Astarion Ancunin the known rake actually like someone? Will the ton approve if he does? Our Diamond finds herself falling deeper into his web but she is not afraid, for it is the way he speaks to her that has her question if there is something more to this supposed Viscount.

Chapter Three - Hungry Like The Wolf

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3 (Bridgerton AU)

Pairing: Viscount!Astarion x Debutante!Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Tags: Overprotective Brothers, Possessive Astarion, Picnics, Another Gift, Daring Touches (Non-Sexual, but the tension is there), Did I mention Sexual Tension?, Dancing, The Queen is intrigued, Your brothers are livid, and your mother...well, she's coming around a little...

Word Count: Around 1500

Written For: Baldur's Gate 3 Regency Week 2025 Created By @lady-sapphyre

Squares/Prompts Filled: Baldur's Regency Week 2025 Day 3 - A Country Ball / A Sunday Picnic

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion Art By: @demonicxtyrant

A/N: Here's chapter 3, my loves! If you want to be added to my Astarion tag list send me a DM, ask, or comment on the fic. ❤️

The streets of Mayfair were already bustling by the time your carriage arrived outside Madame Delacroix’s Modiste. The morning sun gleamed over carriages and cobblestones alike, and your brothers flanked you as though escorting royalty, not a sister.

Which, in their eyes, you now were.

The Season’s Diamond.

Every head turned as you stepped down from the carriage, your gloved hand light upon your eldest brother’s arm. Men tipped their hats. Women whispered behind gloved fingers. And several young gentlemen, emboldened by the open air, tried their luck.

“A vision this early in the morning, Lady Y/N, the city is blessed today.”

“Might I hope for the pleasure of your company at the country ball this evening?”

You smiled, gracious and practiced, but your brothers had gone rigid beside you. Their eyes tracked every movement, every bow too low, every gaze that lingered too long.

One young lord, barely older than a schoolboy, stumbled over his words so thoroughly in your presence that he dropped his hat and flushed crimson. Another, more confident, offered you a flower he’d plucked from a nearby cart, only to earn a steely look from your younger brother that sent him backing away.

You offered your thanks politely, but your mind was elsewhere.

Because though you didn’t see him, someone else was watching.

From the shadow of a nearby alleyway, Astarion leaned against a wrought iron lamppost, one gloved hand resting atop the other, his gaze predatory and gleaming.

He observed your admirers like a cat among canaries, his lips curling upward in a slow, wolfish smile each time one of them dared approach you.

And when you disappeared into the Modiste’s, the bell above the shop tinkling sweetly behind you, Astarion finally moved.

He approached the group of lingering suitors with deliberate, calculated steps.

“Charming, weren’t you?” he said idly to the one who had offered you the flower. “Tell me…was that your finest attempt at wooing? Because if so, I’m afraid I have some rather disheartening news for your prospects.”

The young man bristled, but Astarion’s smirk only deepened.

“Oh, don’t worry. I understand the appeal of chasing such a radiant diamond.” He leaned in, voice low and syrupy. “But that one? That one is already spoken for.”

His eyes glinted crimson in the shadows.

No one argued.

Inside the Modiste’s, you had no idea what had transpired outside.

Madame Delacroix was fluttering around you like a proud hen, fussing with fabric swatches and murmuring about silhouette and style.

“The country ball, Lady Y/N? Oh, you’ll outshine the chandeliers, I swear it on my scissors.”

Your brothers waited just outside the fitting room, their voices grumbling faintly behind the curtain as you stepped into a gown of soft cornflower blue and cream lace. It hugged your waist, framed your shoulders, and when the light caught it just so, you looked every bit the queen’s chosen.

But it wasn’t the ball you were thinking of.

It was him.

You didn’t know why your heart beat faster at the memory of his gaze, his voice, that smirk that unsettled and thrilled in equal measure.

You only knew this: you wanted to see him again.

Later that afternoon, you took your parasol and strolled into Hyde Park, accompanied, of course, by Edmund and Thomas. They hovered like armed guards in morning coats, murmuring about keeping you from further scandal.

But the moment your shoes touched the path, you saw him.

Astarion.

Leaning against a tree near the rose garden, dressed immaculately in a deep burgundy waistcoat, a folded blanket tucked under one arm, and a knowing smile already in place.

“I had hoped to steal you for a moment,” he said, striding forward with all the arrogance of a man who knew no one could stop him. “A walk, a conversation…perhaps a picnic?”

Edmund stepped in instantly, bristling.

“Absolutely not!”

But you lifted your chin, silencing him with a single word.

“Yes.”

Your brothers looked at you in stunned disbelief.

But it was your choice. And you meant it.

Astarion’s smile widened as he unfolded the blanket on the grass. He did it all himself, no servant, no fanfare. Just him, a crystal decanter of chilled lemonade, a silver tray of sliced strawberries and sugared pastries, and a small velvet box.

“A gift,” he murmured, pressing it into your hand as you sat across from him.

“For a woman rising above every dull-eyed debutante in this city,” he said softly. “I find I quite like the heat you bring with you.”

Inside the box was a brooch shaped like a phoenix in flight, its wings encrusted with tiny rubies, so intricate it looked as though it might take flight from your palm.

“Astarion...it's stunning. Thank you.”

Astarion carefully poured you a glass of lemonade while you made a plate of fruit.

You took a sip and sighed, and he watched you with heated eyes. The moment you took a bite of a strawberry, his pupils dilated. His gaze honed in on your lips.

You swallowed.

He was so close.

And though your brothers paced at the edge of the grass like caged lions, he never once looked away from you.

“You are…dangerous,” you whispered. “And infuriating.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a flash of teeth. “But you’re still here.”

You looked at him, your pulse fluttering. He leaned forward slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek, his glove grazing your skin with devastating delicacy.

Your brothers called your name sharply, but you didn’t flinch.

You were too far gone now.

Because this wasn’t just temptation.

This was inevitable.

The estate of Lord Radley had spared no expense for the country ball. Lanterns floated above the terrace like captive stars, musicians played from a canopied alcove, and the ballroom glistened beneath sweeping floral garlands and golden candelabras. It was a dream conjured from wealth and vanity, and you were its crown jewel.

You arrived on your brother’s arm, clothed in the Modiste’s newest masterpiece. Your hair had been pinned up like art, jeweled combs glittering beneath the chandeliers. And when you entered the ballroom...

Every single head turned.

Gasps. Murmurs. Awestruck stares.

“The Diamond,” someone whispered.

“Radiant,” said another.

“She could rival Aphrodite herself…”

You tried not to blush, though your brothers puffed with pride like peacocks. Even your mother, though anxious, smiled softly as she adjusted your glove.

But you only cared about one pair of eyes.

And they weren’t there.

Not yet.

The country ball was lively, strings humming through the air, silks swaying like candle flames, and the scent of roses and champagne mingling in the perfumed heat of the ballroom.

Guests had flooded in from every corner of the county, all eager to bask in the presence of the Queen’s chosen Diamond.

You.

And you dazzled effortlessly. You were grace incarnate, laughing softly as young lords stumbled over their compliments, as matrons whispered behind fans and fellow debutantes stared daggers from behind fluted champagne glasses. The crown your beauty bore was not of gold, but of attention, and it weighed on every woman in the room like envy.

Your dance card had been claimed within minutes of your arrival. You had just curtsied into the arms of your fifth partner, a well-meaning but hopelessly dull Lord Hensley, when the temperature in the room seemed to shift.

There was a hush. A flicker of movement at the edge of the ballroom.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Viscount Astarion Ancunin.

He hadn’t been on the guest list. He hadn’t been announced. He hadn’t even been seen entering. And yet, there he stood, dark and striking in a midnight coat embroidered with blood-red thread, a single black rose pinned to his lapel. His crimson eyes found yours instantly across the crowd, locking with such deliberate focus that it felt as if the very floor beneath you gave way.

Your brothers stood near the refreshments table, the moment their eyes found him, you felt their anger radiating from them.

“He isn’t supposed to be here,” your eldest brother hissed through his teeth, taking one furious step forward.

But Astarion ignored the commotion.

Without hesitation, he moved like a shadow through the ballroom. The crowd parted for him, some out of recognition, others from whispered fear. And though Lord Hensley still spoke beside you, something about carriages and weather, his voice faded to nothing as the Viscount approached.

When he reached you, he didn't bow immediately. He simply looked at you. Like a man starved, famished by proximity, barely containing himself from devouring you in front of the entire ton.

Then, slowly, he bowed.

“My lady,” he murmured, voice as smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. “Forgive my impertinence. I had no intention of allowing this evening to pass without stealing just one dance.”

Lord Hensley sputtered. “But...her card is...she’s dancing with me, sir.”

Astarion straightened. And he smiled. That sharp, knowing smile that hinted at things unspoken and nights undone.

“I do apologize, Lord Hensley,” he said, voice saccharine. “But I’m afraid I don’t take well to being told no.”

Then, with scandal in every breath, he extended his hand to you. And your heart, oh, your poor heart, fluttered like a caged bird.

You could feel the weight of every eye in the room. The Queen herself, seated on her raised dais, leaned slightly forward. Her brow arched, lips twitching with something unreadable. Was it approval? Curiosity? Intrigue?

Your mother's expression was equally unreadable as she stood off to the side.

You placed your gloved hand in his.

And that was it.

The music swelled, and Astarion pulled you effortlessly into his arms. His touch was light but commanding, his steps perfectly timed. No man had ever danced with you like this. No man had ever looked at you like this, like you were not just beautiful, but a secret only he could uncover.

“You’re glowing, darling,” he whispered low as he spun you, the heat of his breath brushing your cheek. “Though I suspect you already know that.”

“I’m glowing because the Queen chose me,” you replied, unable to hide your smile, or the soft flush crawling up your neck.

“Mmm. The Queen is wise,” he murmured. “But I wonder…did she know she was offering you up to the wolves?”

Your breath caught as he lifted you and spun you gently.

The dance was a blur, time slipping through fingers, music fading into heartbeats. When it ended, the silence that followed was louder than applause.

Astarion bowed again, gentler this time. But before he released your hand, he bent just slightly, brushing a kiss, not to your cheek, nor your lips, but to your wrist, just above the glove. An improper touch. A branded promise.

Then he vanished into the crowd as swiftly as he’d come, and in the stunned silence of the ballroom, you could still feel his fingers around yours.

The Queen watched, fanning herself slowly, a small smile curving her lips.

“Well,” Her Majesty mused aloud, folding her hands. “Perhaps the wolf has met his match.”

Your brothers watched from the edge, murderous and helpless.

And your mother, though pale, watched with eyes that began to soften, because something was happening on that floor.

Something undeniable.

The wheels of the carriage thundered over the cobbled streets as lantern lights flickered past the windows in streaks of gold and shadow. Inside, however, the mood was anything but quiet.

Your eldest brother practically vibrated with fury on the bench across from you, his gloved fists clenched on either side of his knees. His eyes, sharp and stormy, had barely left your face since you’d stepped off the ballroom floor.

“Tell me, what were you thinking?” he burst at last, his voice tight with the effort not to shout. “Dancing with him? In front of the Queen? In front of everyone?”

“He wasn’t even invited!” Thomas added, his voice laced with disbelief. “He had no right to be there, let alone put his hands on you.”

“He didn’t put his hands on me,” you said softly, though even you couldn’t deny how intimately he had looked at you, how the press of his palm to yours had felt more like a claim than a dance.

Your mother, seated beside you, released a long-suffering sigh and pressed a hand to her temple. “Oh, darling, you do realize what this means, don’t you? The whispers. The speculation. You’re the Diamond of the season, and now you’ve been seen with him. The ton will talk.”

“And it won’t stop there,” Edmund snapped.

You said nothing.

The carriage hit a rough patch in the road, causing the lantern above to sway. Thomas shook his head.

“I still don’t get it. What does he want with you?”

The question hung in the air.

“I mean…he’s so cold. And odd. And-”

“I don’t think he’s cold at all,” you interrupted softly.

Everyone stared at you.

Edmund leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Please, for the love of the saints, tell me you aren’t…entertained by this man.”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you looked out the carriage window. The city passed in dark silhouettes, and your gloved hand drifted to the one in your lap, brushing over the exact spot where Astarion’s lips had ghosted across your skin.

“I’m not sure what I am,” you murmured truthfully.

Your mother sighed again and reached for your hand. “Darling, I only want you to be careful. This…this man. He’s not like the others. He doesn’t follow the rules.”

“He makes them,” Thomas grumbled. “And if you’re not cautious, he’ll break you just to see if you make a pleasant sound while shattering.”

You barely held back a smile.

They didn’t know what it felt like to have his hand at your waist. They didn’t hear the softness in his voice when he said your name. They hadn’t seen the hunger in his gaze, controlled, yes, but desperate, aching.

Your mother squeezed your fingers. “Promise me you won’t see him alone.”

You turned to her, and nodded gently. “Of course.”

And yet, as the carriage rolled on into the dark night, every beat of your heart whispered a silent treason:

I hope I do.

Astarion Tag List: @kashii9652 @labyrinth-runner @roguishcat @linllewellyn @fantasyheroine

#bg3regencyweek #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate astarion #astarion #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bridgerton #bridgerton au #bg3regencyweek2025 #viscount astarion

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fantasyheroine · 26 days ago

Text

Things heat up as the Diamond of the season questions why she is so undeniably drawn to the Viscount of sin. With his gift upon her skin she can't help but anxiously await when she will see him next.

Chapter Two - The Diamond and the Devil

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3 (Bridgerton AU)

Pairing: Viscount!Astarion x Debutante!Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Chapter Two Tags: Slight Angst, Fluff, Gifts, Rumors, Astarion is bold, your brothers are furious, and your Mother is worried.

Word Count: Around 1500

Written For: Baldur's Gate 3 Regency Week Challenge Created By @lady-sapphyre

Squares/Prompts Filled: Baldur's Gate 3 Regency Week 2025 Day 2 - A Surprise Caller / A Peaceful Promenade

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion Art By: @demonicxtyrant

A/N: Here's chapter two, lovelies! Let me know if you wanna be added to my Astarion tag list! ❤️

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of your family’s Mayfair residence, casting light across the cream-colored carpet and gilded moldings.

You sat with perfect posture, clad in the softest blush-pink muslin day dress, your hair pinned with mother-of-pearl combs, and your face schooled into sweet civility, even as you fielded your fourth caller before noon.

Tea had been poured. Your mother was perched like a hawk beside the pianoforte. Edmund stood like a statue near the hearth, and Thomas had taken it upon himself to polish his fencing blade in the corner, clearly trying to appear as threatening as possible.

“Yes, Lord Pembroke,” you said with a soft smile, nodding demurely as he fumbled with his teacup, “the Queen was indeed very gracious. I’m honored she named me her Diamond.”

“Oh-oh indeed!” he stammered, cheeks flushed. “You…you shone like Venus herself, truly. I...well...should you ever wish to attend Vauxhall…”

Edmund cleared his throat sharply.

Lord Pembroke jolted upright, nearly spilling his tea.

You hid your smile behind your teacup.

By midday, there had been four more.

Lord Timothy Whitethorne, the second son of a Viscount, whose family was hoping to find him a respectable match to distract him from his “artistic whims.” He bowed low, swept your hand up in both of his, and declared you:

“A celestial creature fallen from the very seams of the firmament.”

Your brother Edmund coughed into his fist.

He went on to recite a poem, his composition, of course, in which he rhymed ‘maiden’ with ‘unladen’ and ‘heart’s desire’ with ‘funeral pyre.’

By the end, your mother was smiling tightly, and Thomas looked like he might throw a pillow.

“That was…intense,” you offered kindly.

“I write from the soul,” he whispered, eyes wide and yearning.

“Perhaps you ought to try writing from the brain,” Edmund muttered.

Next came Sir Reginald Haversford, whose boots gleamed with fresh polish and smelled vaguely of lavender oil and too much ambition.

He greeted your mother first, already trying to win favor, and bowed precisely, the way etiquette manuals prescribed. You suspected he practiced in mirrors.

“My lady, might I say you have the bearing of Helen of Troy and the complexion of fresh cream?”

“You may not,” you replied lightly, sipping your tea.

Unperturbed, he leaned in, lowering his voice.

“I should like to accompany you to the theatre this week. I’ve already secured a private box.”

Your mother’s eyebrow lifted. “Rather presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“I find confidence is often rewarded.”

“Yes,” Thomas muttered. “And arrogance often leads to a punch.”

Sir Reginald smiled, unbothered, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You gave him a gentle smile and asked, “What’s your opinion on last season’s scandal between the Viscount of Elcombe and Lady Hathaway?”

He blinked. “Er…I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“Exactly,” you replied, sweetly dismissing him with a sip.

Lord Henry Dunmoor was, clearly, not prepared to be in the same room as you.

He tripped over the edge of the rug as he bowed, dropped his calling card twice, and called your brother sir three times, once even to Thomas, who was only three years older than him.

“I-I think it’s very brave of you to, uh, be so…um…fashionable?” he tried, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“That’s very kind,” you said warmly, unable to help your smile.

He blushed so fiercely that his ears went pink.

“I-I brought you these,” he stammered, thrusting a bouquet of daisies at you with such force, petals scattered like snow across your gown.

Thomas leaned toward Edmund. “I almost feel bad for this one.”

“He won’t survive another five minutes in here,” Edmund replied.

You accepted the flowers with gracious calm, even as Henry nearly knocked over a side table on his way out.

The one that nearly earned a second glance was Mr. Elias Greaves, the soft-spoken son of a well-respected antiquarian.

He brought a slim leather-bound book as a gift, a collection of translated elven poetry, and spoke with a warm timbre, his hands moving with nervous honesty as he explained his favorite lines.

“I thought…perhaps this verse reminded me of you. Not the words themselves, but the sense of it. The stillness behind beauty.”

That one you did smile at, genuinely.

“Thank you, Mr. Greaves. That’s a lovely thought.”

Edmund approved. Your mother, too. Thomas even grudgingly said, “At least this one reads.”

But as sweet as Mr. Greaves was…there was no fire. No curl of danger. No spark of awareness in your belly.

And so the day wore on, one caller after another. They smiled and stumbled, recited and rambled, gifted you handkerchiefs, painted miniatures, sweets, pressed flowers, and once even a framed sketch of a horse “He reminded me of your grace,” the gentleman had explained. Your mother needed a full glass of wine after that one.

But your heart remained untouched.

Until the final caller.

It was just after seven when the butler entered once again.

He bowed, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

“Viscount Ancunin,” he announced.

The room went still.

You rose slowly, heart thrumming, as he entered.

No coat or cane, no flourish or pretension. Just Astarion, clad in a dark tailored frock coat that clung to his form like a second skin, blood-red silk cravat at his throat, and gloves the color of onyx. A single curl had fallen forward over his brow.

His crimson eyes flicked over the room once, taking in your mother, your furious brothers, and then settled on you.

“My lady,” he said, bowing low, “you look positively radiant tonight.”

You inclined your head, voice calm despite the sudden fluttering in your chest. “Viscount Ancunin.”

“Astarion,” he corrected gently, and from the gleam in his eye, you could tell he loved the game, this careful dance of propriety and defiance.

From behind you, Edmund took a step forward. “I’m afraid my sister is quite fatigued from the day’s-”

“I’ve brought her a gift,” Astarion interrupted smoothly, holding out a small velvet-wrapped box. “Something to ease the exhaustion.”

Your mother’s lips tightened.

You took the box without hesitation, fingers brushing his gloved ones, and oh, he lingered just long enough to make your skin burn.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, shaped like coiled ivy leaves, dotted with garnets. Deep red. Like blood.

Like the rose.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

“I thought it might suit your complexion,” he said, eyes sliding to your bare wrist. “Might I?”

You nodded, breath catching, and he stepped closer, undoing the clasp with skilled fingers and fastening it around your wrist with exquisite care. His touch lingered just a heartbeat too long.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Edmund snapped, breaking the spell.

“And yet, here I am,” Astarion replied, entirely unfazed.

His eyes met yours again. “May I request the honor of your company for a short promenade?”

The air snapped tight.

Edmund stepped forward again, voice hard. “You can’t just waltz in here with trinkets and charm and expect-”

“I expect nothing,” Astarion replied lightly. “I merely ask. Lady Y/N is free to say no.”

“Absolutely not,” Thomas said, stepping forward. “Not without a full escort. We’re not fools, Ancunin. We know what happened in Bath. And in Suffolk.”

“Ah,” Astarion said lightly, “the rumors. They do travel faster than carriages these days.”

He looked to you again.

“I make no excuses, my lady. I simply request a walk. With your family’s loyal guardsmen close behind, of course.”

You smiled, not coyly, but with quiet, steel-laced decision.

“I would enjoy some air.”

Fifteen minutes later, you stepped out into the gardens, your hand resting in the crook of Astarion’s arm. The sky had darkened into soft lavender, stars beginning to pierce the velvet overhead. Your slippers whispered against the grassy path as you walked beneath wrought iron arches tangled with night-blooming jasmine.

Your brothers followed at a distance, seething in silence.

Astarion leaned closer.

“They would sooner set me on fire than let me near you.”

“They don’t like you,” you murmured.

“They shouldn’t,” he said with a smile. “They’re right not to.”

You turned to glance at him.

“You don’t deny the rumors, then?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Some of them are exaggerated. Some…are not.”

Then, softly, “but I have never ruined anyone who did not wish to be ruined.”

Your heart thudded.

He turned to face you beneath a flowering arbor.

“I am not a good man,” he said, voice like smoke and velvet. “I never will be. But I am entranced by you, my diamond. And I will not pretend otherwise.”

You looked up at him, this elegant, mysterious man who wore danger like a crown, and felt the first ache of real desire coil low in your belly.

Your brothers’ footsteps scuffed behind you. A cough. A clearing throat. A warning.

But you stood firm.

“Then I suppose we shall see,” you said quietly. “Whether I wish to be ruined at all.”

The hour was late.

The hall outside your chamber had finally gone silent, no more footsteps pacing, no more brothers arguing, no more doors slamming or whispering behind fans. The drawing room battles were over, your mother’s nerves soothed with a fresh glass of wine, and your brothers sent to bed with stern looks and unfinished threats still simmering on their tongues.

But you were wide awake.

Wrapped in your nightgown and robe, you sat on the cushioned window seat of your chamber, forehead resting lightly against the cool glass pane, the city beyond cloaked in silver shadows. London was quieter now, its lantern-lit streets dim with the hush of midnight.

Your fingers toyed absently with the ivy leaves of the bracelet resting on your wrist.

Garnets.

Blood red.

They're dark as wine, rich as sin.

You hadn’t taken it off since he fastened it there, hadn’t dared. It felt like a claim tethered to your skin, tingling with suggestion.

You could still feel the ghost of his fingertips, the press of his thumb against your wrist as he closed the clasp.

It shouldn’t still be on your wrist.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to remove it.

Because this...this felt like a secret just for you. A silent promise that bypassed all the pomp and protocol of the Season.

He hadn’t brought a calling card.

He hadn’t left a note.

He had left only a single blood-red rose, its petals soft as a lover’s whisper, its meaning unmistakable.

No gentleman would have been so bold.

And no proper young lady would have accepted.

You curled your legs under yourself and sighed, the hem of your nightdress spilling like cream across the window seat cushion. The air was cool, but your skin burned, warmed by the memory of his voice, the way it curled around your name like silk dipped in wine.

His words haunted you. Not because they shocked you, but because…they thrilled you.

“It’s cruel, really…to shine so brightly, and still be unaware of how many men would damn themselves to possess you.”

The rest of the night had passed in a whirlwind. The moment the front door closed behind Viscount Ancunin, your brothers had erupted.

The drawing room had practically shaken with the force of their outrage.

“He should not have been allowed entry!”

“Did you see the way he looked at her?”

“He’s dangerous, Mother, you know what they say about him!”

You hadn’t spoken much. You hadn’t needed to.

“He’s playing some game, and she’s the pawn,” Thomas insisted.

But you weren’t a pawn. Not anymore.

Because no game ever felt this electric.

No polite caller ever made your knees soften with just a glance.

No well-mannered prince or awkward baron had ever made you feel like the air was charged, like every moment was one heartbeat away from shattering into something…forbidden.

You touched the rose again, where it now lay in a crystal vase beside your bed. Its scent still lingered, spiced, sweet, and dark like something from a faraway story.

You should have been frightened.

You should have listened.

But their warnings slid from your heart like rainwater.

Because if he was dangerous, if he was the villain of every debutante’s whispered cautionary tale…

Then why did you already hope to be next?

Outside your window, a cloud passed the moon.

And for a fleeting second, the city fell into complete shadow.

You shivered.

Not from cold.

From anticipation.

And in the silence of your room, your fingers traced the garnet bracelet once more, lips parting with a breathless murmur.

“What are you, Astarion Ancunin?”

Because you had a suspicion.

A dangerous, exquisite, unspoken suspicion…

That he wasn’t just a Viscount.

He was the kind of man who rewrote stories.

And you were already his favorite tale.

Astarion Tag List: @kashii9652 @labyrinth-runner

#bg3regencyweek #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #Viscount Astarion #bridgerton #bridgerton au #bg3regencyweek2025

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fantasyheroine · 26 days ago

Text

This story is an impeccable blend of BG3 and Bridgerton. I highly recommend to any fans of both. Viscount Astarion is a known rake but will his tendencies reign true when faced with a Diamond who can play his game? Only time will tell as the wolf and the maiden dance their way through this forbidden love.

Chapter One - The Pick Of The Season

Fandoms: Baldur's Gate 3 (Bridgerton AU)

Pairing: Viscount!Astarion x Debutante!Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Chapter One Tags: Fluff, Angst, Astarion knows what he wants, Regency vibes, Protective Brothers, A Concerned Mother, Pining, Dancing, Gifts, Anxiety

Word Count: Around 1500

Written For: Baldur's Gate 3 Regency Week Challenge Created By - @lady-sapphyre

Squares/Prompts Filled: Baldur's Gate 3 Regency Week 2025: Day 1 - A Most Charming Introduction / A New Social Season

Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics

Astarion Art By: @demonicxtyrant

A/N: This AU series will have 7 chapters and although not all chapters will have 18+ content, some will so this series will be rated 18+ for that reason. Each chapter will have its own set of content warnings. If you would like to be added to my Astarion tag list, please DM me or send me an ask.

There was an almost oppressive stillness in the throne room. The polished marble floors gleamed, the air perfumed with lilies and tension. Debutantes stood in a neat line, powdered and primped within an inch of their lives. Petticoats rustled. Fans fluttered nervously. Mothers wrung gloved hands.

And on the throne, beneath an arch of gold and ivy, Queen Charlotte looked bored to death.

“Another?” she sighed, propping her chin on one jeweled finger, eyes glazed as the next girl curtsied before her. “Who is this one?”

“Lady Arabella Humblethorpe,” murmured Brimsley at her side. “Daughter of the Earl of-”

The Queen cut him off with a single raised brow. “Plain. Eyes too wide. And that dress…is that mauve?”

Arabella bobbed again, stammering through her rehearsed greeting. The Queen waved her on with disinterest.

“Next.”

It went on like that for a while. One blushing debutante after another. A parade of pastel dresses and brittle smiles. The Queen did not hide her discontent.

“Are they growing more insipid with each season,” she muttered, “or am I simply aging beyond patience?”

Brimsley offered a diplomatic cough. “Your Majesty, there is…one more.”

The Queen rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope she manages a simple curtsy.”

And then the doors opened.

At first, it was just a hush. A subtle change in the atmosphere. Like the room was holding its breath.

And then you stepped inside.

Slowly. Gracefully. Your posture is perfect, your chin lifted. Your gaze is steady, not boastful, but unapologetically present. You didn’t try to command the room.

You simply did.

Your gown was a masterstroke, moonlit silk, soft and luminous, the embroidery catching every ray of sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows. Diamond pins shimmered in your coiffed hair, and your gloves were the palest ivory, matched by the pearl choker at your throat.

And as you began your walk down the center aisle, all idle whispers ceased.

Even the orchestra faltered for half a beat.

Queen Charlotte straightened. Her eyes were sagacious, sharp, always searching, locked onto you.

Her fingers paused mid-flick of her fan. Her lips parted.

She leaned toward Brimsley. “Who. Is. That?”

He blinked. “Er...Miss Y/N. Newly arrived in London, Your Majesty. Her family recently took up residence in Mayfair. Her lineage is…respectable.”

“Respectable?” the Queen hissed. “She walks like she owns the room.”

And you did.

When you curtsied, you did not wobble. You did not rush. You did not tremble.

You held her gaze.

And that was when Queen Charlotte smiled.

Not the polite, mechanical smile she gave every girl before. This one was slow. Pleased. Genuine.

“My, my,” she said aloud, her voice rising so all could hear. “At last, someone worth watching.”

Gasps fluttered through the audience.

You stood, but said nothing. The moment did not need filling. You were radiant, composed, stunning, and entirely unforgettable.

The Queen stood.

Every lady in the line inhaled.

Brimsley’s eyes nearly bugged out. “Your Majesty?”

“This one,” the Queen said, gesturing to you with a regal wave of her fan. “She is the one.”

She turned to her court.

“I hereby name Miss Y/N…the diamond of this season.”

The applause was deafening.

You curtsied again, deeper this time, your heart thundering, but your face remained serene.

Behind you, girls whispered. Mothers looked faint. Lady Cowper nearly collapsed.

And standing at the back of the room, half-shadowed by the golden columns, Viscount Astarion Ancunin watched it all unfold with the faintest smirk.

“Interesting,” he murmured to no one in particular, swirling a glass of red wine he had absolutely not been invited to drink inside the Queen’s court.

“The Queen’s diamond…and she’s not even pretending to be a lamb. Oh, this will be fun.”

By the time you stepped into the Queen’s ballroom later that evening, every pair of eyes turned to you at once, as if Her Majesty’s words had turned you to starlight itself. You were no longer simply a debutante.

You were the prize, the envy, the target, and you wore it well.

Your gown was fresh tonight, gossamer silk in ivory and pale rose, a subtle glittering thread catching the candlelight as you moved. Your hair was styled to perfection, your gloves newly pressed, your skin still warm from the Queen’s approving kiss on your cheek hours before.

But nothing shone brighter than the way you walked.

You did not flutter. You did not flinch. You glided into the ballroom like a woman born to rule it.

Your dance card filled up instantly. By the time the first waltz began, five suitors had already offered flowers. A sixth had delivered poetry...badly. And one bold young lord offered his grandmother’s sapphire ring as a “token” of his interest, to which you’d smiled politely and suggested he return it to the poor woman’s finger before she noticed.

Your reputation was already forming, beautiful, impeccable, and intelligent.

Untouchable.

But at the far end of the ballroom, drinking alone from a crystal glass of something dark and red, Viscount Astarion Ancunin watched you with a predator’s patience.

He hadn't approached you after your naming.

Not during the tea hours. Not at your carriage ride in Hyde Park. Not even when you passed each other in the Queen’s own drawing room earlier that afternoon.

He was waiting.

And now, the orchestra struck up the fourth waltz of the evening, the music swelling as couples moved onto the floor, and that was when he chose to strike.

You had just curtsied to Lord Harrowby, your hand in his, ready to dance, when a sharp intake of breath rippled from the line of guests. Movement. A shift in the crowd. You barely had time to register it before a new figure swept between you and Harrowby like a shadow overtaking light.

A tall man in velvet red with pale skin and crimson eyes.

“Forgive me,” came that voice, deep, rich, lazy with confidence, “but I simply must insist on claiming this dance.”

Lord Harrowby blinked. “Viscount Ancunin...this dance is spoken for-”

“Spoken for,” Astarion drawled, turning his head just enough to show the sharpness of his smile, “but not yet begun. Which is fortunate for me, don’t you think?”

He turned back to you, his crimson eyes locking on yours with startling focus.

The crowd hushed.

Your breath caught.

“My lady,” he said, bowing deep, his eyes never leaving yours. “Allow me to finally make your acquaintance. I am Astarion Ancunin, Viscount of Nightshade Manor. And I have waited all night for this.”

His gloved hand hovered in the air, awaiting yours.

Not demanding.

Not begging.

Offering.

A challenge. A dare. A promise.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

You simply placed your hand into his.

He moved like smoke and silk, pulling you onto the floor with a grace no other man possessed. He didn’t simply guide you, he drew you in, step by step, until you were caught in a dance unlike any other.

His hand settled on your back, firm, but never inappropriate. His other curled around yours with perfect precision.

He did not ask if you were enjoying yourself.

He already knew.

“So,” he murmured, as he turned you beneath a glittering chandelier, “the Queen’s diamond.”

You raised a brow. “Disappointed?”

He grinned. “Delighted. I adore rare things.”

Your pulse quickened.

“Though I must admit,” he continued, voice velvet, “I expected someone more…manageable. You, my dear, are a surprise. And I am a man who adores surprises.”

“And I,” you said with an arch smile, “am a woman who loathes being toyed with.”

That made him laugh, a soft, wicked thing.

“Who said anything about toys? I’m thinking of something far more…enduring.”

He twirled you then, his hand at your waist, the motion slow and controlled, and when he drew you back in, your bodies nearly touched.

“You haven’t smiled once during your other dances,” he said, lips close to your ear. “But you’re smiling now.”

“You presume much.”

“I do,” he purred. “And I’m rarely wrong.”

The song was ending. You both slowed, his hand lowering, yours slipping from his as the final note rang out.

But Astarion didn’t let go.

He bowed low over your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His lips were cool.

His eyes stayed on yours the entire time.

“Until next time, my diamond.”

And just like that, he vanished. Gone into the crowd before you could draw breath, as though the entire dance had been a dream conjured just for you.

Your next suitor approached, looking pale and rattled.

“Are you...Are you all right?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

You were still staring at the place where Astarion had stood.

Still feeling the phantom press of his hand at your back.

Still reeling from the words he’d whispered like a secret just for you.

The carriage ride home from the Queen’s ball had been eerily silent.

Well, silent from you, at least. Your mother had been fanning herself so violently she might’ve taken flight, and your eldest brother Edmund had muttered under his breath the entire journey, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking.

“He cut in...cut in, Mother. At Her Majesty’s ball. During the Queen’s diamond waltz. He didn’t even glance at Harrowby, he just took her. Like a bloody thief-”

“Language, Edmund,” your mother had snapped, “we’re not fishmongers.”

“Do fishmongers attend the Queen’s ball now?” your younger brother Thomas asked, voice laced with sarcasm. “Because if so, Viscount Ancunin fits right in.”

By the time your family arrived home, your feet aching and your head still spinning with the phantom feel of Astarion’s hand at your waist, the tension had boiled into a full eruption.

Now, in the drawing room, the clock ticking just past midnight, the air was thick with fury, floral perfume, and the red rose on the silver tray had only made things worse.

It hadn’t come with a note. No card. No signature.

Just a single, perfect blood-red rose, left on the marble steps of your Mayfair townhouse.

The butler had nearly tripped over it.

And you had known. The moment you saw it. The scent. The precision. The silent, calculated boldness of the gesture.

Him.

“That man-” Edmund spat, pacing like a caged beast, “...that bloody leech dared to send you a rose? What next, Y/N, shall we expect you to elope in the night and wake up a scandal in the morning?!”

“Edmund,” your mother warned, though her face was pale and her hands clutched her pearl necklace like a rosary. “Let us remain composed-”

“You saw him, Mother! You saw what he did! The way he looked at her!”

“Yes,” she whispered, “like he wanted to devour her.”

The room fell briefly silent.

You sat on the chaise, still in your gown, your gloves removed but your hair pinned high, cheeks flushed not with embarrassment, but something else.

A memory danced behind your eyes:

The flick of Astarion’s gaze as he bowed before you.

The feel of his fingers laced with yours.

The heat of his breath when his lips brushed your knuckles.

Thomas strode toward the tray and snatched the rose up as if it were venom.

“I’ll throw it into the fire.”

“Don’t you dare,” you said calmly, voice as smooth as satin.

They all turned to you.

Your mother blinked. “Y/N…”

“I’m not going to faint over a flower. Nor will I act like I’ve been ruined because a man had the courage to see me.”

Thomas growled, “He’s not seeing you, he’s...hunting you!”

“Oh, come now,�� you scoffed lightly. “If I were being hunted, I believe I’d feel afraid.”

Your eyes flicked to the rose.

You didn’t feel afraid.

You felt…wanted.

Desired. Not for your title or the Queen’s favor. But for the fire in you. The defiance. The will to be more than just a prize.

“Let’s not pretend we don’t know who he is,” Edmund snapped. “The ton whispers about him for a reason. Three debutantes. Three. Last season alone.”

Your stomach clenched, but not with shame. With a sick thrill.

“They say he ruined them,” Thomas added darkly. “One was sent to the countryside. Another to an aunt in Bath. And the third?” He glanced at your mother.

Your mother’s lips trembled. “Her family packed her off to France. She never even got a proper goodbye.”

“And now he’s set his eyes on you.”

You rose slowly, smoothing the folds of your gown. The rose remained on the tray, but your fingers brushed along its velvet-soft petals as you passed.

“Perhaps,” you said softly, “it’s not the ruin he’s interested in.”

“Y/N-”

You turned to face them. Your mother’s pleading eyes. Your brothers’ anger, so thinly veiled beneath their fear. You understood it.

You just didn’t share it.

“You think I don’t know what people say about him?” you asked. “Do you think I haven’t heard the whispers? I have. But let me tell you something...none of those whispers were spoken by him. None of them was the truth. Just frightened little rumors, passed around by men too dull to match his charm, and women too bitter to admit they wanted more.”

Silence.

“He cut in on my dance. Yes. Boldly. Unapologetically. And not a single other man in that room would have dared.”

Your voice lowered, heat curling behind every word.

“And that is exactly why I want to see him again.”

They stared at you like you’d gone mad.

But you hadn’t.

You were simply awake now. Aware of what it meant to feel alive in a world built to keep women safely in line.

Your mother whispered, almost too quiet to hear, “You mustn’t fall for him, darling. He’s the kind of man that tastes like sin and disappears by morning.”

You smiled faintly. “Then perhaps I want a taste.”

Astarion Tag List: @kashii9652 @labyrinth-runner

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fantasyheroine · 28 days ago

Text

Written in the Stars - Chapter 9

Pairings: Astarion x Tav

Rating: Explicit

Playlist for the fic

Read on AO3

Beta Read By: @thespookypumpkinwitch

Banner Created By: @rahuratna

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Chapter 9: Wisdom From Faraway Woods

Word Count: 6,836

Warnings: Fluff and a little bit of spice at the end

Song: Sunshine of Your Love - Cream

“You were right. I was defaulting back into old patterns.”

“It’s ok.”

“No. It’s not. I treated you poorly. You deserve better.”

“I don’t blame you Astarion. It’s hard to undo patterns.”

“Do you know why I watch the sunrise everyday?”

“With the rising sun, you hold a world full of potential. What are you going to do with it, Astarion?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Well, best we get this day started.”

She was almost fully to her feet when his hand wrapped around hers. All previous movement stopped as she turned to look at him in question.

“I have something for you.”

“You went through my things.”

“You never set anything out.”

“You know, I think you made it better.”

“Halsin won’t care if he sees me. No need to be so protective.”

“He might not care but I would.”

“It’s beautiful, Star. I don’t know how you knew, but somehow you managed to make it a perfect picture of where it came from.”

“Glad to hear I didn't ruin something of value.”

“You gave it more. Now when I look at this shirt I won’t just remember its past, where it came from, what it means; I will see you. And that is infinitely more precious.”

“Where'd you get it?”

A reminiscent smile took the place of gentle concern. With a glance down she pictured the first time this shirt had graced her body.

“Best not to do that sweetie. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Her voice felt like fire in her throat as noise tried to make it past the dryness.

“Where…?”

“Calm yourself, dear. You dealt yourself a lot of damage. It’s best you don’t move for a while longer.”

A deep breath returned her to the present. She looked at Astarion who was watching her carefully, that little sad smile on her lips still in place.

“It's from another time. One where I was a different person to who I am now. Someplace dear to me.”

“Where?”

“The Misty Vale. There’s a druid's grove there, founded in honor of the original Green Lady. I stayed with them for a time during a rough patch.”

“Go on. I can practically feel your question.”

His head shook as he crossed his arms in a display that clearly said he didn’t believe her.

“Will you actually answer if I do?”

Her grin stretched wider and she shrugged.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Who were you before this, Tav?”

“Then why keep a reminder of that time?”

“And who is that?”

“Currently? It’s the person who’s going to lead a band of misfits to save Baldur’s Gate.”

“We’re ever changing Astarion. That’s the beauty of life. We can be whoever we want.”

“And what do you want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes. A sensuous lick to her lips succeeding in drawing his attention to them. With tippy toes she leaned up so that they were face to face.

“I want… You.”

Her breath was a ghost across his skin, sending a shudder all the way down his spine. With more conviction than he felt he tried to deflect.

“I don’t know if I deserve that.”

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’ll keep things in check today. No more outlandish lines.”

Her airy chuckle made heat pool in new places. With a step away from him she smiled and shook her head.

“Truthfully, I don’t mind the innuendos, even the bad ones. All I care about is why you say what you do. What you’re trying to gain…”

“Have you ever flirted without it being part of some performance?”

“Let me show you how it's done when you genuinely like someone.”

“All you have to do, is keep these pretty little lips shut. Think you can do that for me, handsome?”

“Good boy.”

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