#SOME OF THE ASTARION SHEET IS THERE I JUST CAN'T DO THE RED

[lazylittledragon]

hello!!! exciting exciting news!!!

MY BOOKS ARE OPEN!!! sort of

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i have a lot of flash up on my tattoo instagram and i can do custom work as well so please message me with your idea/chosen flash + size + placement if you're interested!!

[parvulous-writings]

i was wondering if i could request some headcanons of the male romancable companions (ie: wyll, astarion, gale, halsin) w/ an affectionate/clingy reader :] thanks!!

Wyll

Wyll LOVES the affection - he's an incredibly passionate man, and adores the fact that you're as mad about him as he is about you.

He's more than happy to hold hands or link arms whenever you feel like it, offering you comfort at every turn of your adventure.

He's a little taken aback at first, when he realises how clingy you actually are, but within the same breath it's already growing on him. To know that he is wanted, loved and adored by you warms his heart, and he always makes sure to reciprocate any affection that you give him.

There are times where he tries to urge you to tone it down, few and far between, but there are times. It's usually because you're in dangerous territory and he wants to be able to leap into action at a moment's notice. He does make sure to keep you close to him when you're walking - either behind him or beside him.

Aside from that, whenever you're close to him, handholding is a must. Either that, or linked arms. He just likes knowing you're close, and knowing that it also brings you some comfort. He also LOVES to give you kisses when he can - on the cheek, the knuckle, the forehead.

At night he always pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you to nestle against you - or you, him. He doesn't mind who holds who between the sheets, so long as the two of you are together, he's happy.

"My love, your embraces are such sweet refuge from our travels... It's a damn shame I have to leave it come morning..."

Astarion

His first reaction is to tease you about how clingy you are, and he does so relentlessly. The fact that you always have that need to be near him, to hold his hand or just have a hand on him is amusing; of course he's known many people who are like that, but it never fails to make him chuckle.

He'll make little comments to you when you sneak your hand into his whilst you're on the road; "Oh? Can't bear to be away from me, I see.", and the same when you try (and ultimately fail) to sneak into his tent at night. He finds it sweet, and after a time, it deeply touches him that you still come to him, despite what he is, despite what he's done, and despite what he could do to you.

Kisses are abundant in the confines of the tent, or when the two of you are alone - he really likes kissing your collarbones, and the area where he normally bites you. He likes to lick the spot too, especially before bed.

Astarion doesn't typically go for the whole public displays of affection thing - he isn't really sure how to react to it, and dually doesn't want to reveal his more vulnerable side to the masses. He will, occasionally, pull you close to him by the waist, though, if he feels like someone is 'encroaching on what is his'.

That being said, as the relationship develops, he becomes equally as needy as you sometimes, as he gets more comfortable with his vulnerable side, and comes to understand what he wants, and what he needs to heal.

Gale

Gale has absolutely no issue with public displays of affection - but his face will likely go bright red every time. On the road he likes to walk beside you, he doesn't necessarily need to hold your hand but if you want to, he will. He does like holding your hand whilst you're eating though - don't ask him why, he'll just deflect with another question.

One way he indulges your more clingy nature is by letting you lay over his lap whilst he reads, and keeping a hand on your head or your shoulder - sometimes he'll even read aloud to you, as well, should you ask. He also likes being the big spoon whilst you both sleep!

Another bit of affection he likes to repay to you - after you smothering him in kisses all day - is to feed you. He takes quite a bit of pride in making dinner for the pair of you, and feeding it to you afterwards, just so that he can see every little reaction you have to the dish.

He won't deny that he likes having you close as well, it's almost integral to his day that he has at least some quality time with you - he's not clingy per se, but he does like some good quality time together.

Halsin

Halsin is actually flattered that you're so affectionate. He enjoys being able to hold you close, knowing that you enjoy it as much as he does. To be able to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to his chest, is a great thing for him, he enjoys it very much. He also really likes when you sneak up on him to hug him from behind - as a larger man he doesn't always get to be on the receiving end of affection.

He likes hugging you close or having you sit on his lap (or lay against him in bear form) whilst the two of you spend time out in nature. He's a big lover of time spent in each other's embrace, and he feels no shame in being what some may describe as 'overly affectionate' - though of course he is aware that there is a time and place when it comes to certain activities.

Will playfully mention about how you always yearn to be close to him, but it's never in a derogatory way; if you asked him why it wasn't derogatory, he'd simply say: "It would be wrong of me to pass judgement on you, for something I so often do myself, my love.." He's a massive softie - a big man with an even bigger heart.

He will definitely try to hug you every opportunity he has, when you're in camp together. He's also suggested a few times for him to carry you on his shoulders when you become tired from walking. "Come, my heart - it is no trouble for me.. What is troubling, however, is seeing you struggle. Put aside your pride, it is not needed here.."

[justporo]

Do you have any headcanons on what Astarion and Tav's home would look like? :)

You bet, I do! But I put some more thought into it over the day so may I present you with:

Domestic headcanons about what Tav's and Astarion's home in Baldur's Gate would look like

After your adventures and some looting of certain castles you go to buy a small but luxurious townhouse in the Upper City of Baldur's Gate - probably criminally under its actual worth but you two are just so convincing, aren't you?

Dark wooden floors, high windows (with thick brocade curtains of course), wrought-iron balcony and fence - it's giving gothic and dark academia but in a homey and warm way

Soft lighting everywhere, lots of candles and candelabra, a fire place of course and oil lanterns that make every room feel warm and cozy

Astarion has impeccable taste and enjoys a bit of decadence (of course) and really finds joy in picking out furniture and decorations - he's going for noble, rich, palace-y, posh vibes, but tasteful

Also Tav would stop him from going overboard - she's not used to all the pompous stuff and cares more about the pracitcality of it all; also she's definitely the one who brings in some plants and greenery; also some nice stuff for Scratch because I'm sure Tav would insist on being the one to keep him

When Tav says she'd rather likes it simple tho... "Simple, love? Everyone can have simple, but not just anyone can have beautiful!" "So... you are not denying that beautiful means more complicated?" "No, but isn't that also why you chose me after all? Because I'm intricately complicated and incredibly beautiful?" Can't argue with that logic

Tav's also focused on making it cozy though and especially creating comfy little corners where they can just lounge together: like a little alcove to sit and read or look out the window or some pillows on the wood floor so you can sit in front of the fire place

There's a chaise-longue somewhere in the house - maybe in the incredibly over-sized dressing room, so Astarion can lay on it and watch Tav dress

DEFINITELY NO MIRRORS - no need to remind Astarion of that particular part of his condition; also why would he need it if you can tell him how beautiful he is everyday?

There's also a piano (as we have learnt before *wink*) and lots of books and trinkets and artworks - Astarion likes all stuff having to do with arts

It might be messy, at least at the beginning, you're both not used to having and holding onto stuff, also Astarion's desperately trying to find himself - that comes with creative chaos

Is there even a need to mention the bed is huge? And also has very much cliché dark red silk sheets? But it's probably the piece of furniture where you spend the most of your nights, not only for mingeling but just sitting and laying there, reading, drawing, talking, teasing each other

Also at some point you'd probably get a joint portrait but you don't want it to be too stiff and regal rather wanting it to show how much joy you give each other

The kitchen is to spoil Tav: when Astarion finds out you enjoy cooking and are pretty skilled at it he gets you all the best equipment he can find - even though you don't know how to use half of it - yet

Oof, I could maybe keep going some more... Thanks for the message, it was fun to think about this. (Also I know I might be swinging between medieval and more victorian vibes but hush, it's a fictional world where everything is possible) Also I knew I wouldn't yet do requests - but really that was just me putting something out there I already thought about. And I'll do some requests soon!

[morgana-ren]

On the subject of cheating…. How do you think Astarion would react to a dark urges Tav who doesn’t show any disapproval towards him for infidelity but does try to brutally murder all of his other flings

I can’t reconcile if he would be upset about them having too much agency in this situation and stop it or just into Tav being possessive of him in the way he’s possessive of them

He wakes to the pleasant and unmistakable tang of blood.

It's not uncommon for Astarion to greet the morning steeped in the sweet, saccharine scent of blood. Not at all. In fact, it's most welcome upon first waking, ranking among a deep, rich brandy and defiled silk sheets for his favorites. A metallic bouquet of a lovely, robust breakfast just begging to be supped on, just for him. If you were to ask him, there's truly nothing finer in the world.

An indulgent inhale has him sitting up, slipping a lazy hand through his hair and tongue running over his fangs as his mouth waters. The pit of hunger gnawing at his gut isn't quite so terrible as it used to be when he was but a filthy spawn, but he wouldn't ever deny himself the decadence of breakfast served up to him in bed.

The source of the delectable scent lies flopped over on the opposite side of the mattress, and he glances over with sleepy, hazy eyes to admire the sight. Her long, silky hair splays raggedly over her face, one of her arms limply hanging off the edge in what cannot be a comfortable position. The sheet haphazardly wrapped around her only scantly covers her rear, and by proxy, the sloppy mess he'd made between her thighs a few hours prior.

Clearly, he'd worn her clean out.

He chuckles; he can't help it. He's almost proud of himself-- if it wasn't so commonplace, that is. It's so terribly difficult for these weak and paltry little things to keep up with his kingly stamina, and he cannot begrudge the delicate humans that end up beneath him for losing consciousness.

Still! It's time to wake up, as he's remarkably hungry and he will not go another second without sinking his fangs into her swan-like neck.

"Darling, you sucked me dry and left me ravenous," He reaches for her, tracing a teasing claw up the dotted curve of her spine. "It would be positively unacceptable to leave me in such a state before you go."

She doesn't respond to his sentiment, and so after several seconds of testing his patience, he prods at her upper arm, eventually resorting to jostling her lightly with his hand, pinching her flesh between his clawed fingers--

--and it's only then that he realizes that her skin is ice to the touch, and he cannot feel her chest move with her breath in his palm. While that is entirely normal for him, it's not normal for small human women.

The sharp aroma of blood is far too palpable, even for his palace.

His red eyes truly focus on the girl contorted in his sheets for the first time: Her skin far too pallid, her stench far more enticing than it had been hours ago. His hand goes to brush the hair from her face, and there's a slick, wet feeling between his fingers as he does.

He is hit with the subtle yet bitter scent of freshly dying blood. Something that is usually sequestered only to beings beginning a state of decay. Something that should not be in his bed.

Unsettling, he thinks, but mostly irritating. Dead, hmm? He's almost certain he didn't kill this one on accident. Fairly certain. He callously rolls the woman's dead weight onto her back, frowning as he's met with a scene that he's quite certain he couldn't have done accidentally.

What was her throat is now a gaping maw of blood and bone-shine, scraps of gore clearly ripped out from inside. Her mouth-- or what is barely left of it-- is twisted in an eternal wordless scream, her face eternally contorted in some unseen horror. Her lovely eyes are wide and frozen in terror, unblinking and milky. Upon further inspection of her body, there is a hole where he assumes her still-beating heart had once been, clawed savagely free from her ribs by some brutal, unrelenting force.

He scowls, needling his lower lip with his teeth. It's a shame, he thinks with an exasperated sigh. He's sure was a beauty before all of this.

Another vicious, deadly beauty clearly demands his attention now, and he pushes the dead whore off the bed with an annoyed huff, snatching his long silk robe from the bedpost before affixing it around his body.

"Such a pity," He fastens the tie around his narrow waist, stepping carefully around the bedframe to stand in front of the newly made corpse with a grimace. "You were so vivacious last night, dear girl. But you're making the wrong kind of mess of my sheets, and I cannot abide that."

With a careless tug, he rips the remains of the young woman off his mattress, her mutilated body landing on the floor with an uncomfortable, wet thud. He steps over her, striding towards the door, feeling decidedly irritated. He was planning to spend a lazy afternoon in bed, but it appears something more urgent demands his immediate attention.

"Good morning, my lord--" A servant greets him just outside of his door with a sweeping bow and an expertly balanced tray. Astarion doesn't bother to look at him, instead grabbing a morning glass of wine, taking several deep swigs before finally sneering unpleasantly down at the man.

"Where is my wife?"

Another scraping bow, but Astarion doesn't stay to witness it. Rather, he takes off down the hall in search of someone more important. Someone that, he imagines, was rather busy last night after he fucked-- Hells, what was her name? He doesn't remember. Did he ever know?

"In her garden, sire."

"Right," Astarion carelessly tosses the glass back onto the floor, where it shatters to pieces. "There's a rather putrid corpse on the floor in there. Have it taken care of. I want it spotless before I return."

"Yes, my lord."

He tries to recall as he makes his way through his palace and towards the garden, and ultimately decides he doesn't care.

He finds his lovely wife right where he expects to, taking a leisurely stroll in her strangely fruitful garden. The scent of damp, rich soil permeates the air, mingling with odd, exotic flowers he has brought her and lush, fertile plants that she has coaxed into life with her hands. Blossoming organic life from nothing is not something that he imagined was in the wheelhouse of a favored child of Bhaal-- quite the opposite, really-- and yet, she seems to have nurtured a niche talent for it of late.

It irks him that she's grown somehow cold to his affections. She no longer stares at him with owlish eyes and flushing cheeks and a rapidly beating heart; rather she seems to shrug off even his most endeavored attempts at seduction with an ease that, if he didn't know for a fact that he was the most powerful and attractive man in a country mile, might hurt his pride.

She seems entirely at peace and unbothered, gently cradling a small rose between her fingertips, admiring it as it slowly blooms into a lovely, blood-red bud. The placid expression of someone either entirely unacquainted with the art of murder, or a masterful artist with it, and he knows all too well which one. As he approaches, she doesn't acknowledge him with anything other than a brief turn of her head and flick of her eyes.

"Your garden is looking lovely as always," He saddles up behind her despite her aloof silence, gingerly sliding his arms around her waist and leaning to scent along the side of her neck. "As are you, my sweet girl."

She only hums her acknowledgement, her ever-present sly semi-smile unfaltering as he speaks, still clearly far more taken with her flowers rather than his company and flatteries.

A deadly mistake for everyone other than her.

"Been busy this morning, little love?"

"Oh, only as much as usual," She gives him nothing--no guilt, no anxiety, just the hints of a mischievous, murderous smile-- as she releases the flower from between her fingers, turning instead to continue sauntering through the row. "I try to keep busy."

A quick sniff reveals all he needs to know. He doesn't need to get any closer to the freshly filled hole to smell the rancid stench rising from it. Underneath the sopping wet dirt, mingling with fertilizer and fallen leaves is the unmistakable stench of dead flesh; A muscle steeped in still blood, to be specific. Buried beneath soil alongside the foreign seeds lies what is left of the mangled heart of the woman he'd taken to bed last night, now planted in his wife's garden in some macabre ritual to sustain yet another carnivorous horror she's gotten her hands on and is now coddling into growth.

"I can see that," He croons, eying a fresh mound in the dirt, clearly freshly dug. "Is this one new?"

"Just this morning, dear," She lulls softly, a barely discernible playful edge to her voice. "Newly planted."

Dozens more peculiar vines twist up from the ground in various states of growth in nice, even spaces carefully organized into rows. Under the lively essence of plants and sticky-sweet flowers is the painfully apparent stench of decay and rot; Months and months of the still-lingering scent of blood of all the lovers he'd taken, turning spoiled and foul in putrefaction in her grisly little garden. All of their lives ended preemptively by his wife with the same feral glee that a rabid mongrel must feel upon sinking its fangs into a terrified, defenseless creature.

All for daring to indulge in him.

What a senseless thing. Died so futilely and no doubt miserably at the hands of his wife, alone and panicked only feet from their powerful king, and for what? Finding their way into his bed? How absurd. Who could resist him? Who would dare? He almost pities the funeral procession of poor creatures whose hearts have become fodder for the dirt, no honoring of their lives save his consort's nursery, fed and weaned on their innards. Their final moments belong to his insatiable wife's ruthless bloodlust through no fault of their own, and yet--

--Something about her vicious possessiveness over him smolders in his core, igniting a twisted arousal that coils the length of his spine and constricts like a serpent until he simply cannot stop himself. Deadly, precise, perfect little wife of his, so vicious and yet so precious to him. He swears her bloodlust only serves to stoke the flame, and how he longs to devour her.

(How long has she denied him? How long has she teased and tested him, tantalizing him with memories of burying himself inside of her sweet, tight heat with merciless drive, supping from the delectable blood of her soft body, her voice crying his name like a chant to some dark God until she rips what is left of his soul clean from him to take it into herself. She would yield for no one, a primal and ferocious creature beneath the veneer of illustrious, undead beauty, and yet she would heel to only him, letting him lose himself in her warmth, her fire until he burned--)

He reaches around and whirls her to face him so that she cannot feign indifference under his scrutinizing gaze. She knows better than to fight his manhandling and allows him to spin her towards him, though she refuses to wilt under his sultry glower. Her expression remains entirely passive as his hand reaches up to take her chin between two fingers, squeezing hard enough to have her wincing.

"Another one, darling?"

"You dislike the roses?" She blinks big eyes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. She hasn't been innocent a day in her life, and today certainly isn't a start.

A part of him wishes he could remain angry-- or at least a little indignant-- about the fact that she believes she has some overarching and indisputable claim on him, but deep down, he knows that she's right; she does have a staked claim in his heart in a way no one else ever possibly could. Even as his eyes and body might stray from her, he is forced to admit time and time again that nothing compares to his wrathful little lover. The strays he shepherds into his bed don't fill the gaping hole she leaves within him in her absence, her wretched denial of him. It is only silently that he acknowledges his wayward lust is just his spiteful response to her cruel neglect.

"Don't play the fool for me, my dearest girl, you're a terrible actress. Another concubine. Another corpse in your grim little graveyard. Is calling it a well-tended monument to your jealousy perhaps too romantic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my love," She smiles gently, lifting a hand between their chests and up to her face, slipping a finger between her plush lips. He smells the lingering blood on it and yet he cannot take his eyes off her tongue as it curls sensually around the length of her knuckles and how immaculate it might feel on him. He cannot help himself but think just how graciously daddy Bhaal has blessed him with his beautiful daughter; How fiercely alluring it is to watch his undomesticated little monster clean up her homicidal mess.

It started as all things do: With a seed. A bladed joke bloomed into irritation and resentment. His endless libido and her cresting bloodlust come to blows over priorities. The only woman who dared to gainsay him, her lovely little hands covered in blood and the power of Bhaal coursing through her veins keeping her too wild to be truly tamed by his vampiric blessing. His appetite for domination was insatiable, as was hers.

A child of Bhaal would not be tamed-- even by him.

He craved obedience and reticence-- he craved raw reverence and worship. To be viewed with wide eyes and admiration and blind devotion from some poor, pitiful creature too weak and foolish to resist him; To be seen as a God before a miserable little mortal; For his subject to offer willingly for a chance to taste of his splendor.

It is the only thing his beloved would never give him: acknowledgement of his superiority; submitting before him, allowing him to enforce his will upon her willingly. She is a fanged and clawed creature, wild by nature, and she would not purr her praises chained at his feet. She commands respect-- even from him.

She could never play the fool for him, encouraging him to believe that she was helpless against him, or weak, or pitiful, or foolish. It would insult her pride and her lineage. She is a force of nature in her own right, and he could never truly own her without her consent-- consent she has withheld.

And so, he would tell you that he simply retaliated.

She never spared him a sour word when he teased the waters about bringing other people into their marital bed. She only smiled that damn smile of hers and told him that he can do as he wishes as the king. Hells, she hardly seemed to notice when he first took some pathetic creature into their sheets for some harmless fun. The reaction he yearned for from her, some measly sign of her devotion to him, she wickedly denied him, seemingly knowing full well the impact it had upon him.

It drove him to madness, a spiraling misery fueled by his pride. He refused to beg for her, and she would refuse to kneel before him. He came to believe that truly she did not crave him with the same veracity that he longed for her. He no longer sought her out, and she did not come seeking. Surely, if she loved him, she would show some sign, some indication of caring that his fingers caressed a pale pastiche of her rather than where they desperately longed to be: Tracing her lovely mouth, coaxing her clever tongue, circled around her neck, between her warm thighs--

--And then corpses began popping up like flowers, and his beloved suddenly took up gardening.

She grinds his patience to a fine powder, and something about that gets his fires burning hotter than it ought to. Her insouciant dismissal of him, the absurdly casual slaughter of insignificant sex partners and then having the audacity to seem almost bored of his presence. She clearly cares enough to rip the bleeding hearts out of his inconsequential conquests, and yet, here she stands, utterly unfazed by him, having the audacity to feign indifference.

"If you're jealous, my love, you only need say so," He hushes to her, batting her cheek softly as he forces her to look up at him. "You needn't kill everyone who finds their way into my bed. I would cease if you simply said the words."

"Jealous?" Her brow furrows, head cocking, her lips jutting into a little pout. "I don't know what you mean."

What he asks is simple, so dreadfully simple. So easy, so, so easy--

Acquiesce to me.

And yet, she dares to deny him even as there is blood on her hands from strangling and wringing his full attention from his lover's corpses.

The wall of the greenhouse he built for her isn't particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less as he shoves her against it, bullying his body against hers with brutal force, slamming her head against the glass with a lightning-fast palm encircling her throat.

"Why do you insist on being such an obstinate little brat?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and he squeezes tighter in response, choking the air from her little neck and stoppering the words on her tongue. There is a flash of something in her eyes once they open again, but he isn't entirely certain which sin it's indicative of: wrath or lust, or some degenerate mix of both.

It had to be her.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord," She croaks as he allows it, her hand clasped on his wrist as he clenches the rounds of her neck. He swears he sees her lip twitch in the ghost of a smirk even as he suffocates her. He holds all the power over life and death over her, and yet she is insufferably calm.

"I warned you not to play stupid, darling. You know very well what I mean." He growls against her ear, frustration and arousal building to impossible levels. Of all the women in Toril, it had to be her-- it had to be--

"Admit it," He hisses, sharp fang nipping at her ear. "Just admit it, and ask-- beg me, and I'll stop."

He feels the chuckle bubble in her throat even as he cannot hear it through the pressure he applies to her windpipe. "Beg what, my lord?" Her eyes narrow, her amusement apparent even as she has a practiced expression of apathy, whispering back to him with a strained voice still somehow full of unmitigated audacity. "Do you think I suffer?"

His lip curls downwards, and he realizes that he has no leverage here other than her violent jealousy, which she will happily unleash upon his unfortunate bedfellows rather than swallow her pride and cling to him as she should. She has no qualms with murder, and he might as well hand-deliver her victims. It has become an inevitable truth that whoever finds themselves romping beneath the sheets with their king won't be leaving alive because the queen would rather die than admit she cares that he spends his affections elsewhere.

"You can't hold out forever," He knees her legs apart and wedges himself between them, grinding his lust into the clothed heat of her core. "You will beg for me. You will acquiesce. You know your place is at my side."

He pushes forward again, lips brushing against her cheek, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers spiraling down her spine. The way she rhythmically gyrates her hips deliberately against where he wants her most has his hands flexing, kneading deeper into her flesh. His nails dig into her deceptively soft skin, sliding one hand up her body to grope gratuitously at her curves before crawling up to thread his pale fingers through her hair. With the silky strands weaved between his knuckles, he yanks, exposing her throat to the mercy of his razor-sharp fangs like a wolf perched over carrion. He'd die before admitting the overwhelming, frantic need she inspires within him, but he swears if he doesn't have her now, he will perish.

She exhales ragged and husky, squirming against him in apparent need, but still manages to stand her ground. "I am at your side, my lord. Your front, to be more specific."

"On your knees, on your back, whatever I demand. Give in to me. Heed my command, my love," He releases his fingers from her neck, both his arms snaking behind her to scoop her ass in his palms and hike her up against his waist, bidding her wordlessly to lock her legs around him. She does it instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck, tugging playfully at his silver hair as she does. He keeps her up with easy purchase against the wall, keeping her prisoner between a wiry cage of eager limbs and foggy glass panes. "Submit to me of your own free will. Kneel to me, your husband and king, and submit to me fully."

His voice is low and husky as he exhales against the shell of her ear, doing his best to swallow down the desire to rip her pretty dress to shreds with his bare hands and ravage her on the filthy ground of her greenhouse.

"All you need do is say the words," He mutters, barely audible even to her, the scent of her driving him to the precipice of insanity. "Say you belong to me, body and soul. Submit to me, girl, and I'll never have need of another."

He feels the derisive chuckle in her throat reverberate against his own mouth and pulls away to observe. Her eyes are glassy and low as they meet his, moist lips parted in a little 'o', trying so hard not to do that hateful little smile of hers. His hand tightens in her hair, jerking his hips ruthlessly against her once again. So close now, he can feel it, he's going to destroy her, ruin her, tear her to pieces only to put her back together and do it again--

She dares to deny him, dares to have the raw audacity to mock him-- he's going to hurt her so badly, sink his fangs into her neck and drain her fucking dry, force himself inside of her until she has to beg him through hiccupping sobs to stop, unable to fend him off in his full power. He will show her who is the master--

"No."

She cranes her head forward just a little and gives him a mockingly gentle peck on the mouth. It's deceptively gentle and cruel in its intention, entirely meant to taunt him. In his shock at her gall, he is stalled, almost paralyzed and entirely unresponsive and numb to the tidal wave of rage and lust that collides in a nuclear cocktail deep in his gut. It's but a brief moment before he regains control over his senses, and when he does--

"Maybe," She flicks her tongue out, licking a small, red stripe up his cupid's bow. "But not yours-- and you can try, my love."

He releases his grip on her hair only to grab her cheeks, digging his fingers into her jaw so hard that he can feel her gums scrape against the ivory ridges of her fangs. Her wince of pain doesn't escape him, fueling the inferno inside of him as he snarls, baring teeth down on her as a predator might.

"You dare to play games with me? You are a miserable, stubborn little whore and I'd see you put back in your proper place!"

It's more animalistic growl than spoken sentence, and even as he squeezes her face, he can see the twitches of a smile on her crumpled mouth. He can smell the blood on her tongue, the utter defiance in her expression, and despite his frenzy of anger, he throbs between her thighs.

--and yet it's him on the cusp of inescapable frenzy, the taste of her now blasting away the dull, gray months and the now; this one fiery moment where she is wholly his, reminding him of the untamable bonfire of desire she stokes within. His beloved consort, his wife, until death take them both or not at all--

It should drive him into a blind, red rage, but it just makes him harder, pulsing against her insistently, his body demanding entrance to what is rightfully his--

"You will always belong to me."

He crushes his mouth to hers so hard it pains the both of them, more devouring gnashes and fierce, hungry greed for her than passionate kiss. His fangs break the skin of her lip, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, determined to taste every inch she offers up to him. She mewls weakly into his mouth, trying to break the kiss to breathe, but he won't allow it; she only breathes by his will and he'd see her reminded of that--

A battle he will win.

"Mine-- only mine--"

He pants it sloppily into her open mouth, still desperately trying to swallow her essence into himself. She manages to tug away from his unhinged fervor, though only briefly, just to heave and whoop air into her lungs, desperate to catch her breath before she speaks:

"Not if you're not only mine."

It's a fool's facade, this game they play. Around and around and around once more, each demanding prostration of the other only to burn themselves on their own encompassing greed for the other. A toxic whirlwind of emerald-green jealousy and blood-red rage, enveloped entirely by hazy, punch-drunk lust. Two titans locked in a battle for dominance, chasing the vulnerability of the other one.

He hard-swallows, using every ounce of strained willpower he has in his willowy body to retreat away from her, casting his savage need into an abyssal pit inside of him and sealing it before it swallows him. instead. Slowly, he manages to peel away, slowly setting her feet back on the ground, doing his best to compose himself despite the very blatantly obvious signs of arousal and his apparent state of both mental and physical dishevelment.

"I won't humor you forever, darling," He purrs, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back away from her, distancing himself from her control over his body that he loathes. "I always get what I want. You should know that."

She blinks up at him again, her lips puffy and skin smeared with swatches of blood that he has to bite his tongue to keep from tasting. "Not this time."

His lips quirk in a condescending grin at her adorable little show of defiance, resituating himself within his linen pants without shame. "We'll see, my dear."

With that, he abandons the 'conversation,' turning to walk out of the greenhouse, only sparing one last glance at her garden of flesh-- and then once back at her. It breaks his willpower in a way he is miserable to admit, but his need for her overwhelms his pride.

One last snarl in her direction, and he turns to stalk out, itching to backhand the smugness from her pretty face. If he does, he knows well enough that he will not be able to walk away from her. He will take her here and now in a maelstrom of blood, violence, and ruthless sex, and he will lose this little game of control, and he cannot have that.

Still, that doesn't mean she is allowed to believe she has any choice in the matter.

"It's been long enough. I am expecting you in my bed tonight. Do not make me come searching for you. You won't like what happens if I must seek you out."

She seems surprised and almost pleased with his minor acquiescence. It comes in the form of a demand, but she knows full well that it's the best she's going to get. She offers him a sweet smile, smoothing her skirts back down her legs from where he'd hiked them up around her still-quaking legs. He can still smell her, the wet between her thighs, the rich, royal blood flowing through her veins, her body that sings to him a siren song luring him to his fall. If he doesn't break something in soon, he is going to combust--

"We'll see."

He traipses back into the palace, body shuddering and shivering in its effort to control the raging hormones. He is ravenous, needing to drain someone dry and be drained dry-- and soon. Another well-trained servant greets in the halls, cautiously approaching upon seeing his dour expression, bowing from some distance away in case his master decides to lash out.

"My lord--"

"A concubine. Now. Sent directly to my chambers. We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Do not keep me waiting."

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Four

Summary:

The next morning you wake up with a bang - literally. But something feels off about last night, and you can't quite put your finger on what exactly.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.3k Tags/Warnings: dom!Astarion, praise kink, hair pulling, cunnilingus, shower sex, vampire bites, blood drinking, Astarion pulls some shady shit ngl

Listen. Listen. I'm taking your face in both of my hands and planting a little smooch on your forehead. This has been very light and silly up to this point, but it's going to start to get a little darker. Nothing major, and nothing that will go unresolved, I promise. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. If you'd like a warning more specific than what I've already provided, message me (not on anon, I won't publish it) and I'll be happy to tell you. [EDIT: I think I unintentionally evoked a darker image in this chapter than I wanted to, here's a little more context for it.)

In better news, can we TALK ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL RENDER THAT BEAKER MADE? I said the words "I wonder if anyone has rendered Astarion in a towel" and Beaker goes "I gotchu fam." Beautiful. Brilliant. Wonderful. Go follow her this INSTANT. And as always, Zaria for the betaing and the feedback 💖

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

You're barely awake when you feel Astarion’s hand resting on the bare skin of your hip. You sleepily snuggle back into him, and already he’s half hard. A barely voiced breath escapes your throat as he presses into you and plants a sultry kiss on your back. You squirm with the overwhelm of sensations before you've had a single cognizant thought. He continues peppering your back in sloppy kisses as you grind against him wantonly. His fingers dig into your waist and he pulls you into him hard, his now fully erect dick pressing into the dip of your lower back.

Good morning indeed.

You roll over and crush your lips into his, fingers tangling in his messy hair as you desperately try to taste him. He pulls your leg over his hip and you arch your back into his touch. He slips his tongue between your lips and you groan into his mouth, hungry for more.

You pull him so that he’s fully on top of you, his weight pressing down between your legs. He pushes the length of his cock up against your folds and you groan into his mouth, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

His lips leave yours and he plants a trail of kisses down your chest, pausing only briefly to suck on your nipple. Your hands grab at the satin sheets as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud and you cry out when he uses his dull front teeth to bite down lightly.

You slide your hands back into his curls, crushed and limp from the pillow, his usually neatly coiffed hair falling onto his brow. He looks up at you as he continues down your body, his eyes even more red and piercing when not obscured by his frames.

He reaches his destination between your legs and you whine, hips bucking into him as his cool breath tickles your folds. He parts them lightly with two fingers and flicks the tip of his tongue against the hood of your clit, pulling a deep moan out of you.

He reaches under you and pulls your legs up over his shoulders so he can get a better angle on your cunt. He licks a fat stripe up your slit and the sound of your needy keening curls his lips into a smile.

“Ggnn, ‘star-” you mumble incoherently, mouth still sticky from sleep. He slides a single slender finger into you and your ankles dig into his back.

“Mmm, so wet, and just for me?” he hums contentedly, and all you can do is mewl in response. He pumps his finger agonizingly slowly while his tongue lazily laps at your clit.

You fold your arms over your eyes, even the dim light in the room proving to be too much for your senses. Your hips instinctually roll into him, aching for more, but his touch remains frustratingly light.

“‘Starion, please,” you whine, and he rewards your neediness with a second digit. You groan around the stretch, pushing down on his hand up to his knuckles. The throbbing of your neglected clit is borderline overwhelming. You slide a hand to touch yourself but he smacks the back of it.

“Naughty,” he warns lightly and you growl at his continued teasing.

“Then fucking do your job,” you snap, and his fingers still. 

“Sorry, that was mean,” you say quietly, chagrin keeping you from looking at him. He huffs out a quiet laugh.

“Yes ma’am I will,” he purrs and dives into your cunt. Whereas his previous ministrations were slow almost to the point of painful, he now devours you like a starving man having his first meal in days. You cry out with the sudden change in pace and slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Astarion pulls away and in an instant his lips are next to your ear.

“But I want to hear every sound that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours, darling,” he says in a low and dangerous voice. “I want my name dancing on your tongue when you come.” He grabs your chin and turns your head to face him. “Understood?”

You nod, your breath caught in your throat. His fingers tighten slightly and you know he wants a real answer.

“Yes,” you manage to squeak out in a small voice, your pussy aching to be touched again.

“Yes what?” he growls, and his tone sends a jolt of lightning directly to your core.

“Y-yes sir,” you stammer, and his lips stretch into a devilish grin.

“Good girl,” he coos and he finally releases your face from his tight grip. This is a new dynamic, but you're not complaining. If anything, his vaguely threatening tone is turning you on more.

He returns to his spot between your legs and continues to lasciviously lick you up like you're his little treat. He twists sounds out of you that are completely unfamiliar to your own ears. His fingers sliding in and out of your cunt, the feel of his tongue teasing your clit, the ever so faint scrape of his fangs along your inner lips, it's quickly proving to almost be too much.

“Astarion, ah-” you pant, and you're rewarded with a growl of approval from him. He increases the pace of his fingers, causing your toes to curl and your thighs to begin to squeeze around his ears.

“Look at me,” he snarls and your gaze snaps to his, his red eyes nearly black from lust. He curls his fingers just right and you crash over the edge, a string of swears and praises jumbled up with his name tumbling out of your mouth. 

He continues licking you through the waves of aftershock and you almost fear disintegrating on the spot. When you've finally made it to the other side, Astarion sits up and licks his fingers with a smug look on his face.

“Shut up,” you mumble and cover your face with your hands, embarrassed by just how hard he made you come.

“I haven't said a damn thing,” he says with a satisfied grin. He extends his hand to you to help you off the bed.

“Come shower with me,” he says, and you look at him skeptically.

“I don't think I have another one in me,” you admit sheepishly, and he barks out a surprised laugh.

“I had no expectations, although now that you mention it,” he says, giving you a salacious once-over that brings color into your cheeks, “I'm sure you do.” The way his voice drops immediately makes your pussy tingle, and you almost want to stubbornly say no. But your eyes trail down his lean body and onto his cock, which is starting to twitch lightly.

Gods, it's pathetic how down bad you are for him.

He returns to where you are on the bed and captures your lips in a soft but heated kiss. You melt into his arms and allow him to lead you to the bathroom. He breaks away from you to turn the water on and you need to grab the sink to steady yourself. 

He pulls you into the glass and porcelain box and kisses you deeply as the water soaks through to your scalp and runs down your back. He grabs what looks like a bottle of homemade shampoo from the shelf and squeezes some into his hand. It smells like him, the scent you associate so thoroughly with him. You shiver as he lathers it into your hair.

He massages your scalp and you close your eyes, leaning in to the gentle touch. You rest your hands on his hips, still dry, and lightly run your nails along the dip in his back. He shudders in response, and you open your eyes to see him looking down at you with a soft smile. You tilt your head back, letting the water rinse the suds out of your hair as you lean up to kiss him.

He repeats the process with conditioner, his touch impossibly gentle. Your hair slides through his fingers like silk and you practically nuzzle into his hands like a purring cat.

“Do you like that?” he hums under his breath. You can only answer with a pleased and sedated nod. He slides his hand down the side of your face and to your neck.

“How about… this?”

His hand suddenly tightens around your throat, not hard enough to constrict your breathing, but definitely enough to make you stand at attention. Your eyes snap open and his heated gaze boring into you causes an involuntary moan to slip through your lips. He pulls your face forward and presses his cheek to your temple. 

“You like it when I tell you what to do, don't you?” he hisses into your ear. You dig your nails into his hips as you make an incoherent noise of assent.

“Good girl. Open.”

Your mouth pops open obediently, and he roughly shoves his thumb between your lips, the rest of his hand cupping your face. You suck on it greedily, eager to please. Desperate for more praise.

What has this man done to you?

His eyes flutter closed momentarily while you work his thumb with your tongue. You claw at his lower back, pulling his hips into yours so you can feel his hardening cock, groaning when it makes contact with your thigh.

“Turn around,” he snarls and you comply, the water from the shower head splattering down your back. He grabs your waist and presses his erection into your crack, pulling a stuttered breath from your lungs.

He slides a hand up your back and into your hair, pulling your head back roughly. He lines himself up with your entrance which is already dripping for him again. He slides in easily, pushing your chest and cheek against the cool tile. You groan as he bottoms out and you push your hips back into his.

He bends over your back and lightly nips at the crook of your neck.

“Yes?” His voice is hoarse as he asks for permission. Your lips can't form words, so you pant out something in the vague shape of “uh-huh.”

The slicing pain of his fangs mingling with the sharp sting of his hand still pulling on your hair and the stretch of his cock inside you is deliciously torturous. You reach a hand up behind you and twist your fingers into his curls, keeping him latched to your neck as he drinks. He pumps in and out of you, each thrust timed with another swallow of your blood.

Your grip loosens as your life force ebbs away just a little too much and he pulls off you with a frustrated growl. He picks up his pace and takes your cries of pleasure with him.

“Say my name,” he says in a husky voice that absolutely sends you.

“Ah-starion,” you pant, the sound of your voice bouncing back to you off the tile. The grip on your hair tightens.

“Say you're mine.” His voice is starting to take on a note of hungry desperation.

“Nngh I’m- ah- I'm yours,” you manage to stammer out through your building climax and his driving pace. He pulls your head back and bites your shoulder roughly, licking the puncture wounds that form. You push against the tile into him, chasing your second orgasm of the morning.

His breathing grows ragged as his pace falters, and the throbbing of his cock as he comes brings you to your own finish.

“Fuck, Astarion!” You call out his name in the clearest voice you've been able to conjure since he woke you with tender kisses on your back. His hand tightens at the sound before his whole body relaxes around you and pulls out, lightly massaging your scalp where he had been tugging.

You're both panting as you turn around and rest your head against his chest, and he plants an exhausted kiss on the top of your head. You look up at him through hazy eyes and suddenly realize with a laugh that his hair is still dry.

“Do you want some help-” You begin to reach up to touch his white curls but he catches your hand midair.

“I- no, it's fine. I'm very particular. Why don't you towel off while I finish up here?” His voice is gentle but it has an edge to it that you can't quite identify. He sees your concerned expression and lightly kisses your lips.

“I’ll be right out, I promise. There's an extra robe in the closet across the hall.” His disarming smile is comforting, mostly. Part of you wonders if he regrets opening up last night.

You pad into the kitchen looking for a remnant of something to eat. His Majesty is sitting on the counter and assesses you with disdain. Your barely touched plate of risotto is still sitting on the table. You open the fridge to find it

empty?

Completely bare, save a few bottles with a red sloshy liquid, without even leftover ingredients from the dish he made. You furrow your brow in confusion as you look for any physical proof that he cooked for you. You snoop around, opening drawers and cabinets as His Majesty watches you with careful judgment.

No cooking implements, no pots and pans, just a few dishes and glassware.

What?

You finally open up a cabinet that houses the trash and you find a used scroll of Create Food and Water. You blink, bewildered as to why he would feel the need to lie about his ability to cook. It's almost a little cute. 

You're about to close the cabinet door when something else catches your eye. A potion bottle. You still, trying to hear if Astarion is still in the shower. It seems like he is, so you reach into the trash to pull it out.

It's an empty potion of Charm Person.

Your face grows hot as you realize what happened. And your confusion only grows, because nothing about your behavior has indicated anything but being completely smitten with him.

You rewind the mental tape of last night, that the food tasted even better the second time you tried it. You squirm with the discomfort of the knowledge.

But you only had a few bites before the two of you moved on to other activities. Your education in potion use is fairly limited, especially with one of these newer ones, but you're pretty sure that you'd need to consume more for it to have made a significant change in your faculties. The wine probably clouded your head more than the potion.

You hear the shower shut off and you freeze. Are you going to confront him about this now? Should you just grab your clothes and go? You glance at His Majesty, hoping for some sort of answer, but he just stares back at you coldly.

Before you get a chance to decide, Astarion comes into the kitchen with a towel around his waist, gently drying his hair with a cotton tee shirt.

He sees you with the potion bottle in your hand and he stops. His expression is unreadable as he looks at you over his glasses. He’s wearing the round frames again.

“Uh. Hey. You don't need to do this,” you say awkwardly, holding up the bottle. “I came here on my own accord, I don't need convincing. Or, you know.. charming.”

“Sorry, I- I don't know why I did it. Old habits, I suppose.” He shrinks back, and you're reminded of his uncertainty and vulnerability from last night. Is this… somehow related?

“Well… don't do that shit again. You can just talk to me, you know,” you say icily. Then, to lighten the mood, you add, “I don't bite.”

That makes him smile and you feel a sense of satisfaction. He walks over to you, takes the bottle out of your hand and trashes it. He punctuates the gesture with a kiss to the top of your head.

“I am truly sorry. It was out of line and you don't deserve that. It won't happen again.” He tucks a damp lock behind your ear and cups your cheek adoringly.

“It better fucking not,” you scowl playfully. Then, to show there are no hard feelings, you stand on your toes to bring your lips to his. He returns the kiss and it quickly becomes heated, his hands tangling into your hair.

You manage to pull away, breathing heavily.

“Okay, I really don't have a third, so let’s cool it,” you tease, and he responds with a sheepish grin.

***

You text Shadowheart on your way home.

-Are you still in my apartment?

-Yeah, I said I would be. How did it go? Considering the hour I'd say pretty well.

-Yeah, it was nice. Well, mostly.

-MOSTLY??? What happened. Do I need to call on Selûne for some revenge?

-Lol no, nothing so dramatic. I'll fill you in when I get home.

-Hurryyyyyyyy, you can't keep me waiting.

You wave to the doorman on your way into the building. He makes a noise in his throat and you turn.

“Yes?”

“Thou hast taken up a bosom companion,” he says in his characteristically stilted way of speaking. Your jaw drops.

“Withers!” you scold, completely scandalized. 

“Tread carefully. I would not care to see you get hurt.” He nods at you solemnly and you give him a genial smile.

“Thank you, Withers. I'll be careful, I promise.”

He responds with a judgemental “hmm,” and you laugh.

Back in your apartment, you regale Shadowheart with the night’s - and more importantly, morning’s - events. When you get to the part with the potion, you need to pull her back to keep her from reigning down violence on him. 

“I’ll destroy him. Did you tell him that? That you have someone who will commit murder for you?” she seethes and her protectiveness makes you laugh.

“I didn’t have to, I told him not to pull that shit. He seemed genuinely contrite afterwards. I don’t think he put it together just how gross it really is.”

Shadowheart gives you a look that says, “oh, honey,” but chooses to remain silent. You take a deep breath, still a little lightheaded from the morning’s activities. 

“Are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.” She grabs your wrist and looks at you with concern. You wave her off and cross to the kitchen to get water.

“I’m fine. Just a bit woozy. I think he drank more than usual this morning,” you say nonchalantly as you fill up a glass. Shadowheart’s silence behind you is deafening.

“You think he… what?” she spits, and you choke on your drink. You may not have told Shadowheart about the blood drinking. She knows he’s a vampire, but… oops.

“Um… nothing. It’s… it’s nothing,” you stammer, grinning sheepishly.

“Tav!” she exclaims and stalks over to you. “Te absolvo,” she incants, bapping you on the head in the process. You’re pretty sure that isn’t part of the spell.

But suddenly you feel better. The lightheadedness is gone, and you think the wound on your neck has even closed up.

“Wait, you can do that?” You stare at her, shocked. You can’t believe you hadn’t thought of this before.

“Don’t take this as permission to get your kinks in whenever you want. I can only do that so many times,” she warns, and you beam at her.

“But your spell slots refresh when you sleep,” you remind her mischievously.

“You’re about to become an absolute menace, aren’t you?” she complains. Your smile widens and she groans.

[dr-demi-bee]

Day 7 - Ice Cream

Lighthouse Days of Summer, prompt #7: Ice Cream

Miri/Gale. Late game primalweave sillies. Fluff and flirting. Dorks in love. Terrible word play.

The tadpals have been trying to allow themselves to enjoy the quiet moments of rest between the hectic chaos of their efforts in Baldur's Gate. It's been clear not all of their crew was familiar with life in the city - and some were adjusting better than others. One of the things the crew has been enjoying is introducing the ever curious Miri to new experiences.

The other night they had learned Miri had no real concept of desserts. While lythari clearly did have sweets, and they did eat them during special occasions or celebrations - it mostly came in the form of fruit or honey. Nothing so lavish as hand crafted cakes or creams or cookies. They did not even have a word for 'dessert'.

So each of them has taken to delighting Miri with new treats. And it turns out she has quite a sweet tooth. Wyll and Karlach had whisked her to a bakery yesterday evening to experience cake. Astarion had given her a small satchel of candies from a store he likes in the upper city. Shadowheart had introduced her to brownies made with dark chocolate. And tonight...

Gale was introducing her to ice cream.

He finds Miri sitting on one of the couches in the communal space of their rooms in the Elfsong. She's diligently practicing her writing - gripping her quill carefully and slowly tracing letters from a reference sheet Gale made her. He pauses in the doorway to admire her quiety, a small smile tugging at his lips. Her tongue pokes just past her lips as she concentrates and it's hard not to laugh.

"You're doing wonderfully, my love." Gale remarks as he crosses the room to join her on the couch, glancing over her work.

Miri looks up at the sound of his voice, smile warm and eyes glittering.

"Thank you, vhenan," she returns as he settles beside her.

Gale chuckles as he sits, draping an arm around Miri and gently pulling her close to his side. She shifts to lean into him, tucking in close. He rests his cheek against the top of her head and peers over at the reference sheet, noting the progress she had made.

"You're catching on quite quickly," he notes, pride evident in his voice. "Soon you'll be reading and writing like a seasoned scholar."

"I think you overestimate," Miri muses, pausing again to look up at him, "But thank you."

"You have a quick mind and a thirst for knowledge," Gale disagrees affectionately, "I have no doubts you'll surpass my expectations. You always do."

"You are very sweet," Miri says with a soft smile. She snakes her free arm around his waist - balancing her scroll against her knees as she tries to keep writing.

"I'm simply stating the truth, my love," he murmurs, fingers tracing idle patterns on her shoulder. He lifts his free hand to gently tip her head back so he could meet her gaze. Rich brown eyes are soft with affection as he leans down to capture her lips in a tender kiss.

Miri huffs a soft laugh through her nose, returning his kiss sweetly, quill and papers forgotten in favor of his affectionate embrace.

When they part their foreheads press together. The sighing exhale as she relaxes further reminds him of the way she chuffs and sighs as a wolf. A sound that so clearly says content and comfortable.

Gale can't help but be endeared by Miri's wolfish mannerisms. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face with an affectionate smile,letting his knucles skim over her cheek.

"You know," he murmurs with a soft smile, "I sometimes see a flicker of the lupine in your expressions. Especially when you... huff like that."

"Not surprising," Miri returns with a lopsided smile.

A mischievous glint sparkled in Gale's eyes as he chuckled. "Oh, certainly not, given your nature," he agrees. His fingers dance through the whispy tendrils that frame her face and gently tug on a lock of her wine red hair.

"But I must say, it is quite endearing." His smile turns wicked as he adds in a clearly self-satisfied amusement, "Or should I say, paw-sitively endearing?"

Miri's pleased smile twists at his atrocious word-play. "That's not even a good pun," she chides playfully.

Gale feigns offense the criticism, putting a hand to his chest. Miri's lips press together with a wry amusement.

"Excuse you. I'll have you know that was an absolute masterpiece," he retorts with a smirk he can't surpress. "You're just being fur-nicious."

"These word plays only work if I know the word in Common you are butchering," Miri returns with a shake of her head.

Gale huffs a laugh, his smirk softening into a crooked smile.

"Fair point," he admits. "But I can't resist." He leans closer, his eyes dancing with mirth. "I know you secretly claw to hear more."

Now Miri groans in earnest and rolls her eyes. Gale's smile widens with a sense of victory.

"Admit it, you're enjoying this a little bit," he murmurs, entirely too pleased with himself, "You howl with delight."

Miri's head falls back with an exaggerated growling groan, leaning away from him.

"Gale, for goodness sake."

Gale can't suppress his laugh any longer, the sound bubbling from his lips in waves. He keeps his arms around Miri, pulling her closer despite her protest.

"I can't help it, my love, I enjoy seeing you a little ruff-led," he says through his laughter, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"You are insufferable," Miri complains without malice, holding his face between her hands and resisting a laugh of her own.

"Maybe so," he agrees, his laughter subsiding into a wide grin. "But you love it, don't you?" He leans in with a cheeky smile, his lips hovering just above hers. "Admit it, my puns are pawful, and yet you dig them."

Miri laughs exasperatedly, grinning despite herself. The look on Miri's face only fuels Gale's amusement. She pushes at him without any force and his laugh redoubles.

"Enough, you tiresome wizard!"

"Oh, come now, my love," he teases in a rich timbre, "You can't resist my brand of humor. It's paw-some."

"You have used that one already," Miri returns with a scoff.

His fingers thread through the hair at her nape, diffusing her ire with an effortless sensuality. He leans just that little fraction closer, his breath fanning across her lips as they share air.

"You canine deny it." Gale murmurs with a warm, rich chuckle. Clearly smug as his hands give her waist a affectionate squeeze. "Just admit you hound for more of my puns."

"I shall tape your mouth shut," Miri growls playfully. She covers his mouth with a hand, expression torn between amusement and irritation. "I should have gone with the others to the bakery again. Instead I am subjected to this."

Gale's eyes dance with mischief, his laughter faded, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with barely suppressed amusement. Despite her attempt to silence him, his lips curve into a smirk beneath her palm.

Still holding her waist, he leans in even closer, pressing the hand she holds against his face to her lips. Nothing between them but her own fingers, warmed by his hot breath.

"You're enjoying this, love," he murmurs, his voice muffled but still smug. "You can't resist me, puns or not."

"Despite myself, yes," she huffs in return, pressing her forehead to his once more.

Gale chuckles against Miri's hand, breath fanning in puffs across her palm. He tips his head from under her hand to press a lingering kiss to Miri's forehead before pulling back to meet her eyes, his gaze softened.

"I think I know something to make up for my unmatched wordplay."

Miri gives him a skeptical look. "...such as?"

Gale flashes Miri a charming smirk with arched brows.

"Ice cream," he answers, casually.

Miri's brows furrow with a clear bewilderment.

"Cream from ice?"

Gale can't hold in the surprised laugh that rises at Miri's baffled expression.

"Not from ice," he clarifies, his fingers drifting through her hair. "Cream made into ice."

His thumb brushes along her jaw, his grin turning slightly mischievous. As it does when he knows he's got something she wants.

"It's a dessert," Gale explains, grinning as her ears visibly perk. She's quickly learned that's a word she very much likes. "Sweet. Cold. Absolutely delicious."

"Cold dessert made from cream," Miri repeats eagerly. She leans closer to him, hands on his shoulders - an almost childlike glittering in those green eyes. "Tell me more. Is it hard? It has flavors?"

Gale can't help but chuckle again at Miri's quick interest. She's something of an enigma - and yet very predictable, too. And he is utterly enchanted by her.

"It's cold, but it usually has a softer, smoother consistency. And yes, it has flavors." he replies with a warm smile.

Miri's expression is so cute - listening intently. No trace of the difficulties they battle day in and day out. Cheerful, excited to learn…

"It can be made with different ingredients, but the basic recipe is milk, cream, and sugar. And you can add various flavors - chocolate, fruits. Spices even."

Gale rests his hands on her waist once more, his fingers tracing small circles against her skin. His expression filled with utter adoration as he talks to her. As hopeful dreams of a future not so far away, where he can share many more wonders with her, bloom in his chest. Miri grins in kind.

"You'll love it, I promise."

[ruidusmoon]

Shards of Stained Glass

The night when Astarion returns, more than a month after he had vanished into thin air.

pairing: Gale × Astarion

tags: hurt/minimal comfort, brief descriptions of nightmares and mental health problems

~8.6k characters

this is just a chapter snippet from a longer fic I'm planning to write, just testing the waters with posting this, i guess?

kind of inspired by the song Blood by Mothica

⚠️English is not my first language, I honestly have no idea what I'm doing, there's probably grammatical errors and misspellings in it🥲

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Tonight is no different from yesterday, or the past week, nor is it different from the past month, really. It's another lukewarm spring night, warm enough to sleep with the windows open, but the gentle breeze blowing in does little to nothing to help Gale sleep at night.

He's been tossing and turning since the sun went down, fading in and out of sleep with a jolting nightmare, a haunting image each time his eyes closed for too long. Too afraid to fall asleep but too tired to stay awake, Gale just stays in bed, hoping that some type of miracle will put him out of his misery soon.

Blessings are hard to come by these days, even the smallest ones, the wizard thinks to himself as he's shaken awake by a terribly twisted image once again. Those piercing red eyes keep following him around in the night even though he hadn't seen them in person in about a month and a half now. Sunken red eyes and twisted expressions framed by pale skin haunt his every waking moment, and have been for a while since he doesn't seem to get anything else these days.

Gale is laying on his right side, back facing the open window. He's breathing shallowly, as if almost gasping for air in panic as his eyes fly open. By the nine hells. With a big sigh he rubs his face, squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes of erasing the horrifying images from his mind if he squeezed hard enough - a tactic he knows will fail with no doubt, he had tried it countless times before.

A gust of wind blows the heavy curtains open, rustling with the chilly breeze that runs down on Gale's exposed back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in it's wake. He opens his eyes just in time to catch the last of the moonlight filtering in through the window before the fabric closes up again, just in time to catch a glimpse of something else across the room. For a moment he swears there's a glint of something, a fleeting reflection of the silver light, almost...almost as if red eyes had flashed up from the corner of the room.

Gale immediately shoots up, now sitting in the bed, his heartbeat hammering on his chest with such ferocity it makes his ears thrum with a buzzing sound. He desperately tries to look around the pitch black room, frantically looking back and forth, trying to see something, anything. It can't be, he can't...

His mouth opens to speak a couple of times, but each time he only gasps on a little bit of air before swallowing nervously, his heart too erratic and mind way too frazzled to say anything. I am certainly losing my mind, I'm finally going crazy, Gale thinks to himself, a shaky hand running through his hair, combing away the stray pieces that had fallen on his face.

For a few minutes Gale remains unmoving, in the same sitting position he sprung into in his panic, just trying to regain his bearings. As his heartbeat slowly clams and his senses return to normal he's still somewhat on edge, with his hearing focused to pick up on anything as he's staying still, and that's when he hears it - an ever so faint rustling sound coming from the direction where the imagined red eyes had been.

Gale swallows hard as his pulse quickens once again, trying his best to listen close, and not long after he hears it again, and then again. The faint rustling of fabric can be heard in the room even though he's staying as still as possible under his sheets.

There's someone in the room with him, and with Tara being away that should be more alarming, but ever so stupidly Gale feels hope rise up in his chest. What if it's him.

This time when Gale open his mouth a cracked whisper escapes his lips.

"Is- is that you? Astarion?"

Heavy silence hangs in the room for moments that feel like an eternity and he feels like a fool, like his mind is truly slipping away from him - only then a sniffle breaks the silence, follwed by a gut wrenching sob.

Gale jumps up from his bed and stumbles towards the window, ripping the curtains apart in his haste, not caring for anything, he needs light in the room right now.

When he turns around there he is, there he really is, curled up in the corner between a wall and a bookcase, legs pulled up close to his chest with pale white arms caging them in. From behind those arms and under messy white curls there are those eyes, just like in his dreams, in those nightmares - bloodshot eyes and red irises gazing at him with a glassy look, filled with so much pain it hurts to return the gaze.

Without thinking Gale all but flies towards Astarion, only coming to his senses when he's kneeling right in front of the vampire, hands hovering just above his crossed arms. Suddenly he doesn't know what to do, fingers twitching, itching to do something while his eyes are roaming over him, mind running wild with thoughts as Astarion is sobbing in front of him.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need help with an-" Gale inquired with a worried tone and would have kept rambling on if Astarion didn't grab his left upper arm with a grip strong enough to bruise.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I- I. I shouldn't have- I- I'm." It's hard to see the carefully crafted and maintained porcelain facade of snarky remarks and coy smirks fall away and shatter on the hardwood floor right by his feet, Gale thinks to himself. He had seen Astarion emotional and broken before, but nothing like this, and even back then he wasn't sure how to thread the waters right, now he just feels like drowning.

For a minute or so he lets Astarion keep repeating the same broken phrases of 'I'm sorry', 'I shouldn't have' and 'I'm so sorry' and he just listens in a daze, still paralyzed by what's happening and what happened in the months leading up to this, everything crashing over his head. What finally made him lurch into action was when Astarion first said the phrase 'I shouldn't have come back'.

"Astarion I'm so fucking glad to see you, I've been so worried since you left." It might be too sincere, too wounded and just overall too close to the truth but Gale can't stop the sob that rips through him at the end, nor can he help the way every word sounds more broken than the one before.

"How many times did I tell you you're never a burden to me? Please stop apologizing." He wants to say much more, wants to ask so many questions but knowing those won't be answered right now he opted for staring into those red eyes that had been haunting him for the past weeks.

Silence sits on them save for Astarion's occasional sniffles and Gale's deep breaths as they both come down from the frantic state they've been in. Astarion's grip on the wizard is still bruising, refusing to let go as if Gale would run away from him if he ever let go. His red eyes are ever so piercing but the uncertainty in them pierces Gale's heart like no hurtful words or cold glares he's ever received from the vampire before.

"Can I stay the night, please?" Astarion asks, borderline pleads in a small voice, fingers and eyes piercing Gale as if they were his fangs.

"Of course. Of course you can stay. Come." He replies as he slowly gets ip from the hard floor and pulls Astarion up with him. His knees ache from kneeling on the wooden surface for gods know how long, but all of that fades from him when he takes in Astarion's appearance. He is thin, thinner than the last time he saw him, his clothes are tattered and dirty, as if he'd spent the at least the last few nights out on the streets. As Gale takes in his appearance his eyes lock into something he had missed until now - his shirt and the side of Astarion's mouth and chin have smears of blood in them.

His eyes snap back up to those red orbs and he tries his best to read deep into them and he sees something unexpected, behind the fear and uncertainty there's so much hunger he's taken by surprise. By the looks of it the vampire had not been feeding well recently, but judging by his appearance he was on the hunt not too long ago - but again, these are questions Gale has not the luxury to ask, so he just tugs Astarion towards the door leading out of his room.

Least to say he's surprised when he's met with resistance as Astarion stops in his tracks when he realizes Gale wants to take him to the other bedroom where the vampire has been residing in the past. He looks at Gale with another silent plea, this time in his eyes rather than on his lips and the question from before rattles in his mind, 'Can I stay the night, please?'.

Without a word they settle down in the bed, Gale rearranging the pillows to accommodate for the both of them while Astarion sits next to him rigidly on top of the covers. With some light coaxing in the form of tugging on the blanket the vampire is sitting atop he gets the sign and gets under it, although still sitting rigidly upright, back pressed against the headboard.

Gale's blanket is big for one person but a bit of a tight squeeze for two, so they end up practically pressed up side by side if they both want to be under the blankets. The wizard decides that he's way too sleep deprived to care about such things, and he'll have plenty of time to ruminate about such things when he's better rested come the next day, and slips a bit further down into the bed, while Astarion is still in a sitting position.

"Please don't fall asleep!" Astarion suddenly bursts out when Gale is about to put his head on the pillows, one hand flying out to grip Gale's shoulder in a now-familiar grip. With his back turned to Astarion he has to crane his neck in an awkward angle to look at the vampire, and once again what he sees catches him off-guard - so much fear and hunger, and he thinks he's never seen a person so terrified before.

Every single atom in Gale's body protests when he sits back upright with a little huff and a yawn. Without a word he reaches out to his nightstand to light the candles there, the moonlight still filtering in through the window won't be enough for reading.

After grabbing one of the many books sitting on the bedside table he sits back against the headboard, and begins to read, steeling his mind to stay awake and focus on the research material at hand, and at the cold body that keeps inching up to him closer and closer.

He's not sure how much time passes, it's still dark outside, probably an hour or two before dawn breaks, and he's a good thirty-five further in his book than when he started. Astarion is now fully pressed up to his side right side, his right hand tucked into Gale's right arm, cold cheeks pressed against warm and broad shoulders.

As the pages keep turning Gale can't help but wonder what the next morning will bring, wether or not the vampire is going disappear again, or this time he'll stay, maybe stay for a while or stay for good. The last thought makes him shake his head, he's clearly not thinking straight in his state. Instead he focuses on the feeling of hair tickling his neck and the cold body pressed up to his, and Gale counts his blessings, since they are rather hard to come by these days.