#and astarion (knows his way around baldurs gate but only in the dark and only to the shitty pubs)

[dunham-doodles]

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin��.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

[astarionslittletreat]

Sunrise

Astarion x female reader/Tav

Rating: Explicit

You must be 18 years or older to interact with this post in any way

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: smut, slight end game spoilers, Astarion good ending spoilers, mentions of past abuse/abuser, sex, piv sex, oral sex, cuteness, fangs, biting, over-stimulation, bleeding, blood, blood drinking

Summary: Astarion and the reader share an intimate morning together as they contemplate their past, present, and future together.

Read on AO3

It's the early hours of dawn, just before sunrise. The sky was deep purple just an hour ago, but now it’s transforming into shades of indigo and blue. A faint glow threatens to spill over the city walls, to wash away the final vestiges of night. It's been a while since you've greeted the sun like this, not that you never see her at all anymore. After all, if something needs done during the daylight, you take care of it without issue. But that's all business. Just fleeting glances as you move through the crowded streets of Baldur's Gate. This right now, during the quiet hours of dawn, this is pleasure. This is you waking, nude, on the forest floor after your first night with Astarion. This is the sun’s rays warming your bodies before the two of you sneak back into camp. This is Astarion’s eyes glinting in the light, like that shared goblet of Arabella Dry at the Tiefling party.

Your heart yearns for the sun like you yearn for the past. You see your small smile reflected in the window as you continue to watch the sky change. A dozen-dozen heartbeats pass, and then the soft golden honey of the morning sun caresses the rooftops of the city, before spilling down onto the streets below. The heartache in your chest fades to nothing as the sun fully crests the horizon to kiss your face, a mere phantom in comparison to what you have now. The moment is over for you. You’ve had your fill and you begin to feel the fingers of sleep coaxing you to rest.

“Do you miss it, darling?" Astarion calls out to you from your bed, well out of view from the sun. "The daylight that is.”

Untying your silk robe, you let the soft fabric slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Both the sun and your lover lovingly gaze at your sun dappled curves. "It's strange," you muse, holding your hand up as if to catch the morning light. "I have so many memories of you in the sun, but no. You're the only thing I ever miss." You take a few moments, eyes squinting through the brightness to watch the people begin to fill the streets before pulling the heavy curtain firmly close. “And besides–” You turn to your love. He’s artfully draped himself, nude, across the plush pillows that adorn your bed. A deliberate attempt at making himself look all the more enticing. “How could the sun ever hope to compete with my dear Astarion’s beauty?”

He beams at your compliment, practically preening at the attention. Reaching out, he proffers his hand for you to take. It fits neatly in his as you let him pull you, gently leading you back to bed, back to him. It's a gallant gesture as your eyes readjust to the darkness of the room. A yawn begins to creep its way up and you only just manage to stifle it as Astarion draws your back to his chest. His pale, strong arms wrap around you as he presses you close, holding you tight. There weren't any cuddles the first night, or in the weeks that followed as you let him feed on you, but back then there wasn't anything real between you at all. Just lies and illusions and unending uncertainty. But somehow, by some miraculous blessing, you were able to earn his trust, just as he earned yours.

“Now you know that’s not what I meant, darling.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Though, please continue to remind me of how beautiful I am. Your words almost make up for how useless mirrors are to me.” You hear the smirk in his tone alongside the underlying truth. Uncertainty. As much as Astarion tries to hide his past pain, to pretend he’s fine and not hurting, you know the scars will never truly leave. Even after death, Cazador still manages to find a way to torture Astarion, and it drives you fucking insane with rage. It takes you a moment to collect your feelings. There’s no room for this in the bedchamber, or in your heart. Anger and sorrow will do nothing but more harm and that’s the last thing you wish to bestow upon Astarion. All he wants–all he needs is an answer to the question he left unasked. It's not difficult for you to understand. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision to stay with him–worried that he’s not enough. He’s worried if this is what you truly want. That he’s not trapped you, or worse, that you’re staying with him out of some fucked up feeling of guilt or pity. He won’t admit that he’s terrified of hearing your answer even if he knows in his heart what it’ll be. That’s why he doesn’t ask what he really wants to know. That’s why he wears his mask of smiles as he plays with your hair between his dexterous fingers. He’s content to pretend, but there’s no way you can leave him like this. Just floundering inside his heart while he holds you in his arms. For the briefest moment you’re almost tempted to fall asleep like this. Wrapped in Astarion’s embrace, snuggled peacefully in your bed together, but you know that after all this time, a part of Astarion still seeks your assurance.

“I miss it, the sun, the people, our friends–” Astarion freezes, as still as a statue, and suddenly the room feels cold. His muscles jerk in a way that alludes to him not knowing whether or not to pull away or hold you tighter. Reluctant to let you slip away from him, he’s afraid that this will be the last time he has to hold you. Silly elf. “But it’s not in the way you think, my love. It’s purely nostalgia. I was just reminiscing about our early days. When we first met, when we first had sex, traveling together, and unsure which day was going to be our last." Your mind drifts, gravitating to fonder memories. “The first time we made love. Your grave. I–,” The threat of tears begins to rise in your throat so you cut yourself off. Again, there is no sadness in you. Just the overwhelming feeling of love for Astarion. Of feeling like you’ve found the place you both belong. 

"I wouldn’t stop you, darling. I won’t keep you here, all for myself, if that is something you no longer wished for. If you ever–do decide you've had enough of me. Or even if you could no longer stand to spend your waking hours in the cold night. I would understand."

"Astarion!" The incredulity in your tone is a good mockery of Astarion’s own frequent ostentatiousness. He’s gone too far. This line of teasing isn’t any fun and, truthfully, it hurts to imagine leaving after striving so hard to live your life together. After ensuring your love is real, and strong, and brighter than any sunrise you could imagine. You move to chastise him quickly, turning in his arms as best you can to face him. Pressing your palms to his chest, you glower, face set into an angry scowl before you realize. His red eyes are overflowing with sorrow and self-loathing. And all at once, your anger melts into nothing. “My love,” you whisper as you press chaste kisses to the shadows under his eyes, and even though you’re the one being held, you wrap your arms around Astarion’s neck to bring him close. Your bodies move instinctually, the embrace being frequent and familiar as Astarion rests his lips against your neck. You card your fingers through his silky curls. There’s no intention of feeding at the moment, though. It’s just the two of you basking in your gentle love, relaxing into the moment.

“Do you remember, before making it back to Baldur’s Gate together, that godforsaken shadow cursed land we had to traverse?”

“Shit, don’t remind me.” Astarion scoffs, pulling back to look at you. His eyes roll in mirth, fangs flashing from behind his lips. “I know our dear Shadowheart was right at home with all the doom and gloom, and while I too am a fan of darkness and the macabre–I prefer to be the only creature lurking in the night, hunting for their next meal. That entire place was far too crowded for my tastes.” 

“Not to mention Raphael, or the horrors of the Cult of the Absolute,” you trivialize in jest.  

Astarion leans in close. His soft lips brush over the sensitive skin of your neck as he speaks. “Or that vile drow who sought to use me because of what I am.” The venom in his voice is dampened by the reverence in the kiss he places on your neck. “There is only one person I feed on and I have her right–here.”His hand is in your hair, his breath is hot on your neck, and your heart is suddenly choking you, pounding in your throat. His fangs barely scrape your skin and you know that you only have to say the word–.

“Yes,” you breathe. There’s never any pain. Just a light pressure as Astarion’s fangs sink softly into your flesh, and then a swooping sensation as your blood is being pulled to his lips. The familiar feeling of lightheadedness begins to return. It’s nothing light that first night. No, this is controlled, worshipful even as he savors your blood on his lips and tongue. You don’t need to tell him to stop before your fingers go numb and your heart flutters in protest. He’ll stop long before there’s any danger, no matter how much he may tease otherwise. It’s easy to relax and go limp, trusting Astarion fully as he cradles your body reverently.

Far too soon Astarion stops feeding from you. “Delicious,” his moan makes you shiver. Blood begins to slowly trail from your twin puncture wounds, painting your neck crimson. Astarion isn’t one to waste a precious gift that you offer so freely to him, however. He makes quick work of the mess. Devouring it all until it’s just his tongue on your skin, traveling the length of your neck, chasing the way your body shivers. Overwhelmed from the unique mixture of pleasure and pain that makes your head spin and your body hot. Gods, you love this man. He’s so, he’s just so, so–

“W–wait. Astarion, wait,” you weakly plead for his attention, grabbing at his shoulder. You feel him smile before scraping his teeth on your skin, refusing to stop. The devious vampire did this on purpose and he knows he’s been caught red-handed, or well, rather red-lipped as he continues to playfully bite at you. Astarion just hums into the curve of your neck, refusing to acknowledge that he’s been found out. “Hey!” You laugh defeatedly as Astarion kisses the shell of your ear. “Stop trying to distract me!”

Astarion’s lips find your jaw before traveling over your cheekbones. You close your eyes and he places kisses there as well before finding your mouth. Trying his very best to lure you into parting your lips for him. “I rather think you’re the distracting one, my dear.”

“I’m trying to tell you something and I want you to listen, please.” Glaring, you hold his red gaze in yours and his perfect, bloodstained lips fall into a pout that’s just a little too perfect. Another ploy. Your head is still slightly spinning, but through sheer force of will you begin to collect your thoughts. The need to kiss away his frown, however sly it might be, is strong, but he needs to hear what you have to tell him. “As sad and as miserable as that entire place was–if for some reason that’s where you were, where Astarion decided to be, I would also–”

“You mustn't worry about that, darling. I wouldn’t be caught dead, or rather, undead in a place like that ever again.”

“Hush,” You try to quiet him by pressing your fingers to his lips. A poor decision in hindsight as Astarion instantly kisses them. Running his tongue along your fingertips, trying his hardest to distract you once more. “Stop! Listen–just wait a second. I’m trying to be sweet to you.”

“Oh, I know exactly just how sweet you are.” Astarion’s voice drops as he slips into seducing you. “So much so that I rather think I’d like another bite.”

“Yes, yes. I know. Your “little treat”.” Reclaiming your fingers from Astarion’s greedy mouth, you cup his too handsome face. Willing him to listen to you. “The only thing I wish for in life, in death, in whatever time I’m given, is to be with you. Wherever and however I can. I love you and never once have I regretted my love or wished it away.” You’ll tell him of your love every second of every day if that’s what it takes. If that’s what makes him smile like this, dazzling and warmer than anything the sun has ever graced you with. You stretch your head up and kiss him. You kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. You kiss him until the need for air demands your attention and you break free to refill your lungs.

Astarion rests his forehead to yours, curly locks obscuring his hungry gaze underneath, as he catches his breath. Your chests heave in unison, breathing life into the fiery tension blazing between your bodies. One moment you’re both still, wrapped in each other's embrace, and the next the room spins as Astarion wraps a leg around your hip, rolling you until you lay on your back. He’s straddled your hip, pinning you underneath. His eyes are hungry as he looms over you, his disheveled curls haloing him in the dim light. Astarion drags a hand down your collarbone, delicately tracing the veins under your skin before gently cupping your breast. A flick of his wrist has you gasping as he plays with your nipple. You can’t help but thrust your hips up, seeking the attention that Astarion is teasing. He ignores your silent plea, stilling his hand until you follow suit.

“You’re not playing fair.” You halfheartedly complain, willing your body to calm. 

“I never promised that I would, my sweet.” You don’t know what god or goddess you should pray to to thank them for bringing you Astarion, but you’re a devout believer. “Now stay still, or I might bite.” He flashes his fangs at you. It’s not a real threat. He’d never actually bite you without your consent, but the tease still sends shivers down your spine. Coursing through your body until they land, pulsing deeply in your cunt. Astarion leans forward, an illusion of a predator cornering their prey. His soft cock begins to harden as he cups your face in both of his hands. Cradling you as if you’re something breakable, something precious. Astarion swipes his thumb across your cheek as he stares into your eyes–as if it’s the first time he’s seen the sunrise. “I love you.” 

Astarion pounces, taking you down with a devastatingly deep kiss. If kisses were ambrosia you’d have been drunk ages ago. And still you want more. You need more of him. His heart, his touch, gods above, you need his cock that’s pressed between your thigh and his abdomen, but Astarion refuses to stop kissing you or to move into a more accessible position. He slides his tongue into your mouth, licking you open until you writhe and squirm with a need that burns so hot it overpowers your senses. But even still, Astarion doesn’t relent. He presses on, moving from your mouth back down to your throat where he begins to suck bruises to your sensitive skin. Out of pure desperation, you grasp at his back until your fingers graze his scars before moving to grip his shoulders. You clutch him to you just as passionately as he kisses you. It takes everything inside of you not to bust and fade away into the Weave as Astarion uses his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. His lips move from your throat and for one solitary second you think he might give you what you need, but no. Instead, he works his way along your jaw, tracing you with his mouth until he finds the place under your ear that drives you wild.

“Fuck–please! Astarion—” His cock, hard and weeping now, rests on your stomach. Pressed between your bodies as Astarion rolls his hips. Clenching, you feel your arousal dripping out to stain the sheets below. You’re wet, so unbearably wet and empty and aching for him to fill you. You’re pleading and your moans do nothing to sway the elf, though you know the bastard hears you. His pointed ears twitch as you cry out for him, but he continues to hold you down. Unwilling to pull back even an inch to separate himself from you. You manage to angle your arm just enough to get a solid handful of his hair, and begin to pull. Slowly but firmly enough that his head raises just enough to make eye contact, and as you do, you feel his cock throb with need. He likes this.

“Oh fu–ck!” Astarion’s shameless cry comes out sticky sweet from his throat, Adam’s apple quivering prominently. He sounds drunk. He looks it too. The expression on his face is close to ecstasy before you accidentally lose your hold on his hair. Too turned on and thoroughly debauched to be able to concentrate on keeping your grip. Not when he shifts his hips to create a delicious friction between your slick pussy and his engorged cock. You chase the feeling, grinding against him as best you can, but to no avail. You’re still pinned beneath him. Hips and thighs locked. Both you and Astarion are reduced to base instincts as his rigid cock slides over your clit once more before contact is lost. This isn’t fucking working. You’re only briefly aware of the pillows being pushed to the floor, shoved away by Astarion to make better room for your head, before his hand reaches down. He shifts and forces your leg over his hip. He’s a man consumed by desire. His need for you.

Astarion hovers over you, his crimson eyes piercing you through your heart as you reach for him, aiming to pull him back down for another taste of his ambrosia lips. Instead he captures your hand in his and pulls it to his bloodstained mouth. He sweeps gentle kisses over your knuckles before intertwining his fingers with yours and pins it to the mattress. His other hand finds your thigh, grasping tightly before guiding your knee to your chest. Opening and exposing your pussy for him to slide his cock against your entrance. “That’s it darling,” he encourages you. Praising you as he slides against you, slowly dragging his cock along your wet slit. The head of his cock catches, and without hesitation, Astarion presses in. It’s blissful and devastating as Astarion finally fucking fills you. Sliding in on one long stroke to fully seat you on his cock. He doesn’t pull out, just gently grinds against you. His smooth skin and throbbing cock caressing you until your breath leaves. Whisked away by your lover, leaving you with blurry vision and a spinning room. “Now, now. We can’t have that.” Astarion rolls his hips, wonderfully grinding against your folds and bringing friction that your clit so desperately desires. The sensation makes you gasp, forcing you to gulp down air, reminding you that you’re here–now. Very much alive and not in heaven, no matter how much it feels like you are.

“Astarion–”

You’re not sure if he’s listening. Flaming eyes and a silent snarl are all that he gives you besides a deep guttural moan as he continues to fuck you. It’s slow and brutal and entirely different from any performance he puts on. This isn’t Astarion trying to pretend to be anything other than the vampire–the man that he is. Desperate and extraordinarily dangerous as he claims you for himself. Your orgasm taunts you. Haunting you from the edges, and you want it so fucking bad, but you also couldn’t care any less. It’s now, it’s this moment, it’s Astarion who holds your attention in his iron grasp. Ruining you with his love. You hear the wet sounds of your pussy as he fucks into you. Pushing more of your arousal out of your cunt with his cock. He lets go of your hand and leans in close, snaking his arm under the small of your back. Using his vampiric strength, Astarion pulls on you, just enough that your hips shift to a new glorious angle. One that has him hitting a spot that makes you go feral underneath him as his pelvis grinds against your clit on every stroke. He keeps his other hand firmly under your knee, pushing your leg into a position that stretches your hips. It all feels so fucking good. 

Astarion’s taut, muscular body moves over you. He’s graceful even now as he holds you, fucking you rhythmically. You clench around him, wordlessly asking him for more, and he raises his head. Fangs snapping in the air, muscles tensing in his neck as Astarion tries hopelessly to hold on to his senses. A half-baked idea forms in your dazed brain. You don’t stop to think it through, you can’t. You just act, throwing your arm around Astarion’s neck, pulling him close until you have him right where you want him. You sink your blunt teeth into the side of his neck. Your vampiric imitation pales in comparison to the true thing. Only biting hard enough to bruise his delicate moonlight skin. The moment you bite down on Astarion’s neck, you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. His breath hitches in your ear as you press your tongue against his skin and a soft moan escapes his lips. 

“Fuck–” he growls through gritted fangs. Dropping your leg, Astarion moves his hands to the curve of your hips. Holding on tight, and pinning you down as you continue your mock feeding. “Fancy yourself a vampire now, darling?” You bite down harder in agreement and Astarion melts in your arms. Moaning as you claim him as yours in return. “I think not,” he protests, and for a second you think it’s an empty threat. It feels like he’s close, like he’s struggling to keep from falling over the edge. That is until he starts to move again, fucking your pussy like a goddamn promise. “I’m the only blood sucker you’ll find in this bed, darling, and I’m going to eat you right up.” Before you know what’s happened, Astarion has hold of both your legs, knees propped over his strong shoulders. He circles your aching clit with his thumb as he savagely fucks you. Tits bouncing from the force, sliding you up the bed on every thrust. You feel the spit that streaks your lips as you gasp out for him. It’s too intense–too much all at once. You try to hold on, to stop your orgasm from slamming into. Astarion gives you a  saccharine smile. "You sound so adorable when you're trying not to come."

You beg. 

You curse. 

You come.

Gushing on his cock, your body is electrified, and you fall. Blood rushes in your ears so loudly you can’t hear anything. Your senses thrust you into a burning pit of pleasure as Astarion forces you down further. Spiraling until you find yourself caught, supported in Astarion’s arms. An uncomfortable wetness coats your legs and part or Astarion’s stomach but you can’t find the motivation to care because somehow, he’s still moving. He's held on long enough to fuck you through you orgasm. Giving your pussy long, even strokes as he chases his high. His ethereal face is close and so you take him with your lips. Kissing him, licking his fangs, until you feel his cock pulsing, overfilling you until his spend leaks out from around his cock. Adding to the mess.You feel like you’re floating. Exhausted, yes, but happy and ready to sleep. The mess will keep till nightfall when it’s time to wake, but Astarion shows no sign of slowing.

“No, my love. You're doing so well for me, but I’m not done with you yet.” Grabbing a pillow from the floor, Astarion cups your head, lifting it for you to place the cushion underneath before tenderly laying you back down. He slides down your body, lavishing you with attention. Forcing you to stay in the present with him by kissing your dips and curves. Any place he finds on your body he marks it for himself. Kneeling between your legs he softly coaxes you open. His spent cock rests half hard but bobs in excitement as he spreads the lips of your soaked pussy, licking his lips like he's being presented with a feast in his honor. The air from the room feels cold and uncomfortable on your wet entrance, covered in the sticky slick remnants of your lovemaking. It makes you clench involuntarily and more of Astarion leaks out of you. Astarion looks ruined at the sight of you. His perfect features contort into agonized lust before he leans in.

“Wait! No I’m too–” He doesn’t listen. Astarion leans down and wraps his lips around your mound. You can’t help the way your body jerks at the first swipe of his tongue on your oversensitive pussy. He’s cleaning the mess he's made of you. His sharp fangs are hot pinpricks on your skin that further blur the line of pleasure and pain you’re walking down. Another swipe of Astarion’s tongue has you twisting, kicking your legs to pull away. You move higher up on the bed, willing space for your body to recover. “Please, I need a minute. ”

Astarion reaches up, catches your ankle in his firm grasp, and pulls. His strength makes it look easy as he drags you, clutching at the traitorous bed sheets in desperation, to his parted lips. “I said I’d eat you up darling, and frankly, I’m still absolutely famished.” His voice is gravel but yours is fire as he begins to eat his fill of you. This time you’re unable to pull away. He’s wrapped his arms around your thighs, locking your cunt to his mouth so he can eat you like a piece of fruit that drips down his lips and chin. Saccharine sweet and delicious as Astarion consumes you. Fucking you with his tongue. Licking your nectar coated skin and sucking you between his teeth.

You lack any leverage to fight back, to twist away. Your entire lower half is being held up off the bed by the vampire feasting on your pussy. If you sincerely asked for him to let you go, to set you back down you know he would, but you can’t force yourself to say the words. You don’t want to. You want this. Astarion knows you want this as you gasp, muscles clenching while he sucks your clit between his lips. His breath is hot flames that lick along your scorched nerves. “That’s it, love. You can give me one more, can’t you darling.”

Yes, you think, or maybe you agree out loud because you hear Astarion chuckle before kissing his praise into cunt. For a second you’re confused as he pulls back again, wondering why he’s stopped. But then Astarion adjusts his grip on you, making sure your leg is solidly hooked over his shoulder, before he slides two fingers into your pussy. “Ah! P-please,” you’re not sure what you’re asking for, but Astarion gives it to you all the same. Scissoring his fingers, he strokes your cunt. Gently trying to coax out your pleasure, caressing your insides until you sing. his lips find your folds once more. His devastating accuracy brings you over the edge in moments. You’re left gasping, head spinning as the position Astarion holds you in makes it hard to breathe. It takes him a few moments, his lips busy kissing your pussy, his tongue lapping your mess, before he eases you back down into the ruined silk sheets. His mouth finds yours and you taste yourself on his lips, bitter in comparison to how thoroughly sweet he’s being. 

You feel dazed–and elated. Your body floats somewhere between the heavens and the earth. Entwined together with Astarion who holds you close, refusing to let you go, but you don’t mind. His skin, though warm, is still much cooler than yours. It feels wonderful as your heartbeat begins to slow, your breathing returning to normal. Turning your head just so brings Astarion’s lips back to yours and the easy kisses you share almost bring tears to your eyes. Blinking them away is easy though as Astarion deepens the kiss, parting your lips so gently you don’t realize what’s happening at first. Not until you feel Astarion shifting his hips to slide his engorged cock along your entrance once more. You part easily for him, sending shivers of over-stimulation mixed with desire through every limb. There is no rush this time. Just a few languid strokes that have you gasping into Astarion’s mouth before he stills. Even while kissing you, you can see the smirk on his face as he allows you to adjust to holding him inside. Laying there together, connected in the deepest sense. Warming each other with limbs and lips entangled. “What the hell has gotten into you?” You don’t really expect an answer from Astarion as he seems to be preoccupied with lavishing attention across your collarbone.

“I’ve decided to reclaim the day for myself. It’s what I’m owed,” he sulks, looking up at you through his pretty eyelashes, but you can hear the sincerity behind his words. Yes. Yes, Astarion is owed the day. The sun. That and so much more, but not all of it is within your power to give. But this–this you can do. His ruby eyes sparkle in the candlelight as they dance along your face. Your answering smile stuns him into silence.

*************************

The sun has long since set as you stifle a yawn. Nostalgia returns once more. It’s been ages since the night meant it was time to rest, but the elf who’s at fault for keeping you up all day looks positively happy. So you let your complaints remain silent as you gaze at your lover. A heavy tomb rests in his lap and a gold chalice clutched in his delicate hand is filled with either wine or blood. You can’t tell from your position across the room. Reluctantly, you glance back down to the delicately looping script on the thick parchment in front of you. The letter is from Gale, back in his tower in Waterdeep. You’ve been trying to read it for the last half hour, but Astarion is just, so distracting. Honestly, anything could distract you from Gale going on about his Tressym, but Astarion seems to be especially good at it. That is until your eyes catch a few words that make you excited.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, darling?” He answers, eyes slow to leave the pages of his book.

“How would you feel about visiting with Gale for a bit?”

Astarion doesn’t try to hide the disinterest on his face at all as he turns his attention back to his reading. “No.”

“It’s just that–wait. No?” His answer takes you completely off guard. “What do you mean no?”

He heaves a sigh into his book. “I suppose if he were to come here that would be fine with me, but I’m far too busy this evening to travel all the way down to the Lower City just to visit with Gale.” 

“Busy?” you laugh. “What do you have planned that makes you “too busy” to see a friend?”

“First of all,” he interjects. Head raising until he adopts a pose of self-importance. “‘Friend’ is much too strong of a descriptor for my relationship with that wizard. At most we are merely,” his graceful fingers swirl about until he finds the words he’s searching for, “–former work associates at best.”

“Oh is that so?” you say, smiling up at the hill you know Astarion is about to come down from.

“And besides, what if I get a bit peckish later tonight?” He pouts, coyly looking up at you through his eyelashes. “Neither one of us would like Gale around for that.”

“Well you’re being very greedy tonight, and I can’t say I don’t like it either,” you shoot him a look before unburying the lead. “But Gale isn’t in Baldur’s Gate, love. He’s invited us to his tower in Waterdeep.”

“Why would we travel all the way to Waterdeep just to see Gale fawn over his cat?”

You hold out the thick parchment letter with Gale’s elegant handwriting for him to look over. “Apparently, Gale and Tara have a lead on a cure for your sun sensitivity–” Astarion is out of his seat, book falling heavily to the floor, and by your side in an instant. He snatches the letter from your hand, reading Gale’s words for himself. You put on an air of indifference. “But if you really don’t want to go visit an old ‘work associate’, I understand.”

“Now now now, my love. Let’s not be hasty.” You roll your eyes. “Gale is a dear friend of ours! And I hear that Waterdeep is beautiful this time of year, not as beautiful as I am, of course, but that would be expecting far too much I suppose.” You let Astarion read on, absorbing the message for himself. “Well,” he says as he reaches the end, signed with your friend’s love. “It seems our wizard has been busy. Very busy, if he has a possible solution for you too.”

“I’m not worried about that just yet, but it’s nice to know I might be able to stick around longer than I thought possible.” Astarion caresses your cheek, allowing you space in the same way you provide for him. “I think I’m ready for another adventure though. It’s been a while since anyone’s tried to murder us. What do you think, love?”

He bends down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I’m ready to have some fun,” he smiles. Fangs and all.

[shandoratheexplorer]

"Always, always you save me."

Art made by @acutecastle (thank you so, so much for this!!! I LOVE IT!)

As the others gather at the docks, their eyes turn skyward. The nautiloids above them, once terrible in their dominion, now spiral out of control, their monstrous forms colliding with the towers of Baldur’s Gate. A deafening cacophony of destruction fills the air as they plummet, their impact sending shockwaves through the city. Some disappear into the Chionthar below, the river swallowing their ruin whole. Astarion barely notices. "I—It’s gone...", he gasps, his voice wavering with disbelief. "The tadpole... I can’t feel it anymore." The words tremble on his lips as his mind races to process what it means. A slow smile spreads across his face, something fragile, something real—until his gaze finds Octavian. Octavian, who is already moving toward him, worry etched into every sharp line of his expression. The Paladin’s mismatched eyes search his face with an urgency that tightens Astarion’s throat. The vampire knows what’s coming next. He knows, and yet— Just one more time. Just a few more seconds. His chin tilts skyward, and he lets the evening sun caress his face. The glow of it, the gentle warmth against his skin, the way it bathes the world in gold—gods, how he will miss this. How he will long for it. He drinks it in, clings to the sensation as if he can will himself to withstand it. But the sun is a cruel lover. The warmth sours into fire, licking at his skin, searing through his flesh. He stumbles, the pain blooming across his body, but he refuses to move. "Astarion!" Octavian’s voice cuts through the agony, hands gripping his shoulders. "You have to get out of the sun!" But he can’t. Not yet. Because even as the fire tears at him, as his body weakens under the onslaught, he grieves. He grieves the one thing he loved most about this entire accursed tadpole business— Apart from finding his soulmate. His legs give out beneath him. He collapses, knees hitting the dock with a thud, the sun scorching his skin like a brand. He braces for the agony, for the light to consume him— And then, shadows envelop him. A rustle of feathers, the soft snap of wind against wings, and suddenly, the fire is gone. Astarion gasps as cool darkness swallows him whole, shielding him, saving him. The agony recedes, leaving behind only trembling exhaustion. Slowly, he lifts his head. Octavian’s wings stretch above them, crimson like the deepest velvet, silver filaments catching the dying light. Astarion’s breath stutters. Crimson meets pearl grey and sapphire blue. "Octavian..." His name is not just a name. It is a lifeline. A prayer. A love story written in blood and battle and a future that should have never been his to dream of. Astarion chuckles weakly, his voice fraying at the edges. "Always, always you save me." Octavian smiles down at him, something impossibly soft in his gaze. "If shelter is what you need, then shelter is what I will give you. Always, Starlight. Always." Astarion no longer has the strength to hesitate. He throws himself into Octavian’s arms, allowing the Paladin to gather him close, to wrap him in the warmth and safety of his wings, to become his shield against a world that has never been kind to creatures like him. His face presses into the cool metal of Octavian’s armor, and he exhales shakily, a whisper slipping from his lips like a sacred confession. "I love you." Octavian’s arms tighten around him, his voice steady, unshakable. "I love you too." And just like that, Astarion is home.

[lesfir]

Astarion and Vampire Supremacy.

In general and in romance.

In DnD, vampires are huge supremacists. They consider themselves superior to any undead and certainly superior to mortals. All mortals are cattle to vampires.

In Baldur's Gate 3, this trait is also present in vampire culture.

In Astarion there seems to be almost no such things… Or they are not emphasised - as I think they are.

In my opinion we should have explored his different traits.

Vampire Supremacy is one of them.

Astarion was an Upper City noble and the chances that he wasn't arrogant towards the "lower classes" are very low. Zero for me.

So he was already familiar with supremacism very well.

Add to that the loss of his status and the hierarchy of the coven in which he became a slave.

That's something.

We barely have conversations with Astarion about vampire culture: what does it mean to be in "vampire coven"? How vampires relate to the mortal world? And what does he like about the vampire world?

It's more shadowy moments.

Here I found a few.

Part 1. Details in the story.

EA 9 patch, Act 1 - the grove, after killing Nettie.

It's one of those cut out scenes with little companion comments and reduced to a one line or remade. Shadowheart had it too :<

Now:

Act 2 - after killing the strange ox.

Act 3 - Astarion as Lord says his stuff :D

This word: "spook" cattle/sheep...

It's same edge of his character.

In Act 1, you'd think he thinks all "weak" people are sheep. That's true, too. Nettie has lost, she's dead and she's a sheep, but somewhere around here in the grove there will be a hunter for him and Tav - they have to go.

In Act 3, the path of evil, Astarion demonstrates this line deeper and more vividly.

In Act 2, it still sounds like something funny, comical. Yes, yes chickens, oxen and people.

But these are food animals - and that's not such a joke to Astarion.

To put it in perspective in Act 1 all his companions is a snack.

He discusses with Tav what they would taste like. Here's the synopsis for that scene:

Synopsis: Astarion is staring at the other companions around the campfire. He's friendly and affable, but his mind is on his hunger. He starts to wonder what the others taste like, although he's MOSTLY joking. In the end he decides to remove himself, before the conversation gets too real.

Mostly a joke that could become something serious.

Vampiric arrogance, predatory nature.

Vampires are clever hunters - their arrogance towards mortals comes in many forms, from food to merry carnage to lust. Basically, they use whatever gives them profit and pleasure.

He might not eat Laezel, but watching Lae and Shadowheart fight is entertainment for him.

Looks fun, but the nature of it is dark.

It can be taken ironically, but he really enjoys watching brutal fighting and generally killing.

It's a trait. Deserves its own post.

WYR_SmugglersCave_PAD_Suggestions

He do hope.

It's also relevant to mortals. Corrupt people with power are as parasitic creatures as vampires. Instead of blood, it's gold, work, and entertainment in an wicked way that damages people.

In this I notice the metaphorical nature of vampirism in Astarion's character.

As an example of corruption I recall Astarion's little remark when we kill the two ogre-lovers of the barn.

The insignificance (who cares about two ogres) and again the comicality of the situation, the way Astarion smiles as he opens the barn is legendary. Kind of hides it a little bit and takes it away from the thought…

Somewhere in Baldur's Gate someone is paying gold to watch fights, and it's unlikely these fights have civilized rules. And it's doubtful that such a entertainment would only apply to ogres.

The fighting pits at Baldur's Gate.

Who knows if Astarion was interested in that when he was mortal. I headcanon that he was. He was extremely corrupted and it's deep in his personality.

Here is this telling facet, Astarion's interest in such brutal things, which are as much in the shadows as gremlin remarks, yet there is exactly "evil" in this one.

This part of that aspect:

The arrogance of the Noble and the Vampire.

More points about treating people like cattle.

There is a moment in Act 2 - and I have absolutely no idea where it is.

SHA_Mausoleum_PAD_MakeshiftVessel

Players find a vessel with a half-formed humanoid shape gestating inside and reacts accordingly. The being is just inert flesh and cannot speak.

How to trigger:

Interact with S_SHA_Mausoleum_MakeshiftVessel.

Where is that thing? I can't find.

In good companions, this is a cause for concern. In general the place where they found it contributes to very unpleasant thoughts.

A mausoleum in the shadow lands of Sharr, where a necromancer and the chosen of Myrkul struts around.

Well, Astarion too, as you can see... finds a downside.

Hunting people is fun and keeps you in the spirit.

It's a good idea to check all the phrases in Astarion's Original throughout the acts. Maybe there's more.

I watched the epilogue of Lord Astarion Original and in a conversation with Minthara (hah, who else?)

And it's wild. It's literally all about the people.

:D

We have a few to choose from for rpg's.

And given the line about sports… I really don't think Astarion will be buying "food" very often.

Or that pale arse is lazy after all and his hunt is a park in the city. And when he should be setting up his power web in the city, he's too busy for hunting.

Can you imagine him wanting to hunt and get some air, but he's got some lordish business in the halls until late in the evening.

Part 2. In Romamce.

This part departs from such direct things as blood and the predator's attitude towards people.

It becomes more sensual.

I would say this trait of supremacism is slightly visible, but not over people, over mortality in a greater sense, when Astarion turns Tav:

he emphasises the strength, sharpness. Better.

The morning after the turn.

He has a point. The last time he was mortal, he was killed.

Astarion as Lord does the same with God Gale Original mentioning immortality as - strength, lack of illness and youthfulness.

love this one

His vampiric arrogance over Tav perhaps visible only in the first act. He didn't really care. Tav became his fun, his lust, and his way to survive.

Then Tav is the first person to care about him in dozens and dozens of years of slavery.

"Blood bags" and such are a bit of dark humour, so it might have been true in another life, but he and Tav are far from it, they're the first person he's cared for in decades of loneliness.

His perception of mortality as something that makes a person more vulnerable is his trigger (among others) for turning Tav into a his kind.

But since he's not in such a hurry in the end of mortal Tav, I'm guessing: it's his euphoric state after the ritual, where his spire for the castle of vampire happiness is to be with Tav forever. He chillin' about it, afterward.

Tav's immortality is a nice thing he'd like, but okay it can wait.

So.

Tav... they're special. The two of them are special. Astarion elevates Tav and himself above the others. We are Better.

Camp. Vampire ambush.

When the camp is ambushed by spawns.

If Tav proposes the idea that the world is actually a wonderful place that can accept him - he argues with them.

But approves of all three different reactions.

Also then Astarion says the word "forever" in regards to their relationship, to Tav.

This "forever" part is deep in Astarion.

According to the artbook (The artbook is EA era, which is still sold with the game though, and the story doesn't contradict anything) So according to the artbook Astarion was obsessed with eternal life, forever youth, forever being.

It extends to his feelings - it's needed forever. It's very sensual, but also very greedy and… painfully understandable - it's such a simple feeling to make something nice continue for as long as possible.

If Tav is on the same page as Astarion and tends towards the "only loved ones matter, we're special" mindset.

You'd think it was his trick-manipulation to perform a ritual, praise Tav for supporting his idea of supremacism and get what he so reasonably needs.

He's certainly glad that Tav has similar ideas to him, and he'll definitely support that.

It doesn't depend on his goals still - his "we are better" is very direct and deep in his personality.

Italicized.

Here we are. That's one of the key thoughts in his character. That's the focus.

This trait is further seen in Astarion as Lord - he says "We", "Ours".

The man even says it in Latin. Aeterna amantes.

New in patch 7, takeover of the Absolute:

This part is already moving away from vampirism.

This one is very layered.

We are because he finally found someone he can trust.

We are because we are parts fated to complete each other.

We are because he's not alone in the world anymore.

Along with vampirism, his Noble Lord status plays a role here again.

We are the mighty, above and we rule.

It's an easy and very simple fit to vampirism - we are better and we are forever.

He's also incredibly proud of himself, that he can give something to Tav, can protect them. He's been under Tav's protection the whole journey. Undead outcaster in Faerun, they regard mortals as cattle, and mortals regard them as monsters. That's why there are monster hunters. Vampire spawn he was allowed to stay in the group and he was dependent, he couldn't be a leader. In the romance he felt he had nothing to give, he was getting Tav into trouble with a powerful true vampire. He was counting the seconds until they finally decided to leave him…

In the romance, vampirism plays into the fact that Astarion is very much immersed in thoughts of eternity together.

This emotionally intense and fragile moment: "I don't want to lose anything", comes from the very moment he lost: his status, the sun, his life. Not gonna happen again.

Vampirism in the romance have fun one too:

-- wealth - these two literally wear the most expensive clothes on the Sword Coast.

-- shared powers - he is going to be in charge

-- fights and challenge is for Tav- warrior, Astarion likes to spill some blood

-- pleasure - of various kinds, from bed to blood.

The end result is an amalgamation of his:

-- his personality with, well, a pretty intense dark triad.

I would say character image instead of personality. Because the personality is itself. But the character will always submit to the idea - recall that his core is a balance of evil and fun. And evil in DnD is egoism, immorality, narcissism, harming others for fun and personal goals and all that.

These dark parts in irl personality can spoil the balance. That's why psychology is for people.

Not for characters who will eventually never go against their core. (even if all psychology reference books say otherwise).

-- vampirism - the desire for blood and a predatory attitude

-- desire for status and power as noble

-- force as magic

-- forever

-- and share it all with love

A little bonus at the end.

Animation 3 patch. Subtle process.

This scene is much improved in colours in patch 7. But I still like the original faces. He looks so much like a fox >:3

[tragedybunny]

Sated - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has gone too long without blood and you're determined to make sure he's fed.

Astarion tries, but not everyday is a good day, and some days he’s still snappish and lashes out. The rest of your group has learned not to take it personally, in fact now that Karlach can touch people, she’s developed a nice trick of just suddenly hugging him when he’s a pain. Usually either indignant silence or grumbling compliance follows. “Behave yourself Fangs, or I’ll do it again,” the Tiefling grins at him during whatever fussing he spouts after. He’s grown fond of her, you can tell, even if he can’t yet. In a way he’s fond of them all, but Karlach’s open, kind nature has given them a bit of a sibling-like bond. Watching them interact always brings a smile to you, he needs more of that in his life, people who care for him genuinely. 

Today was not the best, but you shrug it off as concern overrides all else. He’s a little paler than usual and a little slower. There wasn't much out there among the shadow curse for him to feed off. Before you never had to question how much blood he needed to survive or where it would come from. But as you leave the formerly cursed land behind, you can tell he’s struggling. And yet, he hasn’t asked you about it. The one he’s supposed to trust more than anyone else. You’ve fed him plenty of times before, you would think he’d have come to you by now. Mentally, you scold yourself as you feel creeping insecurity. There has to be a reason for it, and now isn’t the time for selfish suspicion. 

That night, as everyone settles themselves around a fire, contemplating what the road to Baldur's Gate holds, you find him seated at the edge of the flickering light, as far away as he can get without being in the shadows. Could he be worried he might find himself tempted if he’s too close to everyone? This can’t continue, you tell yourself, not only for the sake of his suffering, but you can’t be sure he wouldn’t be tempted either. 

Grabbing a blanket from your shared tent, you take a seat beside him, wrapping it around both of you. “You feeling alright Starry Sky?” Gently, you wrap an arm around him, and feel the icy chill of his skin beneath his shirt. Not that his skin is ever all that warm, but this another level. 

“Just tired,” he smiles weakly at you. 

“And freezing,” your other hand reaches up to stroke his cheek lightly. 

Eyes closed, he leans into your touch. “You know, I don’t even really feel it. I’m not sure if I need to be warm at all.” 

“Hmm, even if you can’t feel it, you know why you’re freezing.” Leaning over you whisper to him, some things aren’t meant to include the others. “You’re hungry.”

“Perhaps a little, but I’m fine. I don't need you to start fussing over me constantly. There's an owlbear cub if you feel overtly maternal." The sharp words don't change the dark circles under his eyes, or how gaunt his cheeks look. 

"You're ridiculously obstinate, you know that right," a gentle kiss on his temple follows your words, so he knows you're not actually being cross with him. You’ve come to realize he can’t stand it when he thinks you’re mad at him. In the past, anger meant reprisal, punishment, and in the context of the two of you, punishment could only mean withdrawing your affection. At least that’s where his thoughts lead.  

"It is one of my better qualities," he leans over, head resting against your chest. 

Shifting, you position yourself so he's seated between your legs, easier to let him rest his weight on you. "I don't know why you don't just ask me. My blood not good enough for your refined palate anymore?" Laughing, you try to mask the actual hurt that's creeping in. The truth is letting him feed from you has always felt like an important part of your relationship, the time when you’re closest to him.

It's been a long journey and a few of your group are already wandering to bed, although you think you hear Shadowheart muttering about saving it for the tent, whatever she said, Gale laughs it off. “Not at all,” he’s uncharacteristically serious, “I just…” he sighs, for once at a loss for words, “it seemed like a lot to ask from you, after everything else.” 

“Everything else?” Lips leave light kisses on the top of his head as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“You know, lying to you, manipulating you, wanting you to still love me after all that. If I asked to feed from you, it would seem like I was trying to use you again.” Catching one of your hands, he kisses it and doesn’t let go. 

For a moment you don’t know how to respond, you’re still not entirely used to seeing the softer, sincere side of him. “I see why you would think that, but I don’t want you to suffer. Let me take care of you, any way I can. That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and teaching you to be less of a stubborn arse it would seem.” 

“Stop, you’re being entirely too sweet to me. It’s going to ruin my reputation around camp.” You let him have his moment of deflection and wait until he makes a frustrated noise. “But I can’t say I don’t want to.” 

“Take what you need love,” you reach up to undo your collar and pull the blanket more securely around the two of you for privacy. A part of you considers moving to the tent, but you’re worried he’d use the opportunity to try to put it off more.

With a soft sigh, his lips press to your neck in a delicate kiss, teeth piercing your skin moments later. Pain and ecstasy course through you as you hold back a sigh. The two of you become one in that instant, bound through blood to the singular beating heart you now share, intimacy unparalleled. While he drinks, you fight to stay lucid enough to whisper to him of love and comfort, reassuring him that needing this from you is no sin. You feel your own warmth traveling into his skin, and you watch it take on a blush of life. 

Before your world turns hazy, he pulls away, licking you clean, and returning his head to your chest, content to be held tightly. "I didn't take too much, did I?"

"No, you were perfectly careful dearest." The words bring a small smile to his lips, praise so new an experience for him, he hardly knows how to handle it. But you know he craves it, especially from you, and it makes you want to lavish it on him. 

The others have vanished, a small part of you worries they noticed and were uncomfortable, but you hope they would understand as your friends. You two should join them soon, Baldur's Gate awaits, with a journey there still ahead. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

“A few more minutes love,” somehow he manages to snuggle tighter against you, “I did miss this.”

“Me too, don’t wait so long next time. I’m always here for you.” 

“There you go, being too nice to me again, silly girl.” Sitting up a bit he kisses you, fiercely, lips crashing together bruisingly, hands reaching to tangle in your hair, like a first and a last kiss all bound up in one and it leaves you gasping when he’s done. It’s as though he’s trying to express everything he feels in that one kiss. “I might get used to it if you’re not careful.” 

[starlessea2]

If you still want Astarion requests, I’d love to see something with a Tav who’s really nervous to let Astarion bite? 🥺

Positively Starved (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: In spite of your nerves, you invite Astarion back for a bite; admiring the trust you've put in him, he promises to be gentle (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N I wrote this in under an hour as I wanted to play around with some requests! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these off-the-cuff oneshots! (Also, slight mention of blood in this one).

Masterlist

"You can feed on me tonight... if you'd like."

The words sprung from your mouth. They lingered in the air, each syllable punctuating over and over—ringing out through your shared connection.

You felt a cringe.

Where in the seven hells did that come from? Was one near-death encounter not enough?

Before you could attempt to splutter out any sort of explanation, you were met with Astarion's laugh. "How very generous, my dear! I was starting to wonder when you'd invite me back for a bite."

Blood pooled to your cheeks; you could feel it—see it in the way his eyes turned them a similar, darker shade.

As you ruminated on his words, your heart hammered in your chest. The silence was palpable. But just as you were about to open your mouth to dismiss the idea completely, the man was roused into action.

"You know... I never expected you to be so eager," he finally said. Your embarassment swelled tenfold. "Tell you what, when the others have turned in for the night, I'll come to your bedroll."

Immediately, your breath caught in your throat. You glanced around—far less subtly than you would have hoped. To anyone in earshot, it would have sounded like Astarion was propositioning you.

Well, he was, you quickly realised. Just for blood over sex.

"Right—okay," you stammered back. You hated how weak your voice sounded, so you took a moment to make it stronger. "Come find me later then," you told him, before returning to sifting through your supplies.

You tried to calm your nerves, but as you turned to leave, you did not miss the way Astarion's fangs poked through his grin, nor how his eyes trailed your neck. Your legs almost buckled.

◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥ ◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥

As night fell, you found yourself, and your bedroll, tucked away in a small stone outhouse on the edge of camp. You'd discovered it earlier in the day, when looting storage boxes for odds and sods. It was cold, and damp—but at least it wasn't dark.

Amber glow lit up the space; you'd illuminated it with a few low-wicked candles as you waited for Astarion. In this warm light, you tried to make yourself comfortable on your bedroll.

"Setting the mood are we?"

Astarion's voice echoed through the outhouse. Although you tried not to acknowledge it, your heart immediately quickened in response—as did your mind race.

Your eyes followed him as he came inside, closing the old oak door behind him. "I must admit, I didn't expect this..." He waved a hand before him, inspecting the dripping candles, and your poor attempts at cleaning the place up.

"How come?" you asked.

His smile sent a shiver down your spine. "Well, aside from me getting a tad carried away the first time we did this... I could also feel your thoughts."

Even in the dim light, you could see his half-lidded expression, as though he was reliving the moment behind tired eyes.

He went on, "Excitement, yes, my dear. But also flighty as a bird."

Your brows furrowed. Part of you felt indignant, craved to prove him wrong by baring your neck without an ounce of apprehension. The other part wondered how he already knew you so well.

You tried to muster a reply, but it was Astarion who spoke first. "As much as I appreciate the offer, you don't have to do this, you know."

In that moment, everything seemed to still. You could only imagine the state of disbelief painted on your face. Throughout your time together, that must have been the most selflessness Astarion had ever strewn into a sentence.

But now was not the time to comment on it.

"I know," you said instead. "And I won't lie to you. I'm not sure exactly why I sought you out."

You sat up and reached for Astarion's hand. Something flashed over his face, but even so, he allowed you to guide him down to your bedroll.

"Perhaps you were right. Perhaps there is a spark of curiosity in me—excitement, even." His eyes widened, set alight by your confession. "Or maybe, and I know you won't like it..."

With a raised brow, he coaxed you, "Go on."

"When you told me about Cazador—" You paused for Astarion scowl, watching the lines materialise on his porcelain skin. "Well, I just thought how horrible it must have been to be constantly..." You sought out the word. "Hungry."

Astarion's lips parted ever so slightly.

Are you hungry? You shared the thought with him.

"Positively starved," came the reply.

Then he leaned in, casting shadows over your candle-lit skin. To any onlooker it might appear he was preparing for a kiss. But you weren't that naive.

"Not—" Your hand found his chest, the exposed skin peeking out of his shirt collar. "Not too much," you whispered.

Your eyes caught his in a silent plea. Astarion answered by taking your hand and pressing it into your bedroll. "No need to worry, my dear," he said, hot against your ear. "I promise to be gentle."

Your breath hitched. That wasn't the first time you'd heard those words spill from his pretty lips; you just hoped he'd be true to his word on this occasion.

You kept your eyes tightly shut as Astarion found your neck. As his fangs scraped your skin, you took a fistful of his hair between your fingers.

He bit down.

You tried not to cry out. The sensation was one you could hardly describe: a sharp sting followed by... euphoria?

No that wasn't right.

But all you could confidently say was that Asatrion's body lay hot over yours, and his lips were soft, but not quite as gentle as promised.

As he drank from you, you saw stars behind your eyes.

Your body thrummed as he suckled on the tender skin of your neck. The sounds he made were nothing short of sinful; they elicited a strained sort of moan from behind your own lips.

You felt Astarion's hand tighten over yours. He took more from you, worrying your skin between his teeth, coaxing more of your gasps to surface.

Pleasure mingled with pain coursed through your shared connection—a deep longing on either end. You cried out, and quickly, Astarion pulled away.

Feeling the loss of warmth, you opened your eyes. You were dazed, but even then, you noticed his cherry-red lips, tinted with your blood.

You blinked, trying to rid your vision of its blurred edges.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Astarion asked. He sat up immediately, inspecting your neck and overall complexion. "You're looking a little... flushed," he concluded.

A tired laugh escaped you. "My blood runs hot," you managed to say.

"Indeed it does," he agreed. Then he promptly stood up and dusted himself off.

A pang of hurt struck you.

It must have been strong enough to have travelled through your shared connection, since Astarion glanced back almost immediately.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, exasperated. "I'm just going to fetch some water. Try not to move until the dizziness passes."

Your mouth fell ajar. A wave of shyness overcame you. Had it been that obvious you wanted him to stay?

Apparently it had, so you tentatively rolled over, hiding your face from the man. "Thank you," you mumbled into your bedroll.

You heard the door creak open, and Astarion's footsteps damper. "No, my dear," he replied. "Thank you."

[dragonsfictavern]

Brighter Than The Sun

Astarion x gn!Reader

a/n: I have no idea if this was a prompt I saw somewhere or if this was completely out of my brain, the idea was from months ago and I finally got around to writing it.

summary: With the parasite no longer in your brains, Astarion can no longer go into the sun. You try everything you can think of to help him experience the same heat but with no luck. Until you think to use yourself as a means for Astarion to feel the suns warmth once more.

word count: 1.7k

From the shadows he watches you, his red eyes almost gleaming and noticeable through the darkness. He stands behind the door, watching you, waiting for you… He needs you and yet he knows you need to stay away, if only for a little while longer. Long enough to get what he wants.

Astarion stands behind the door of the home you two share together in Baldur's Gate. With the parasite long gone and his ascension a trickle of a memory, Astarion has long since been unable to walk in the sun. It spurns him once more as if his mask had been unveiled and even the sun could see what he truly was. While on the other hand, darkness has greeted him back like an old friend and he remains cursing it.

More than anything he yearns to once more see the color in the world, to feel its warmth on his cold skin. But even after years of searching, he feels as though you two aren’t any closer to finding a cure, from ridding him of the curse forced upon him so long ago. Even so, his mind stays focused on the task and it touches him deeply that it remains in yours as well.

Which is what has brought along today’s events. When reality had first set in, Astarion couldn’t ever explain the despair he felt toward never being able to feel the sun’s warmth again. But he didn’t have to explain. He knew you understood, he knew you saw him for all he was. You have for probably much longer than he gave you credit for. Always the one to try and fix things, Astarion wasn’t surprised when you tried thinking of clever ways he’d be able to feel the sunlight again. You had tried creating the hottest of fires and yet it didn’t feel the same. Nothing ever felt the same. Astarion had given up and urged you to do the same. He should’ve known you well enough by now to know that wasn’t something you were capable of.

So this morning when you began guiding him toward the door, Astarion briefly questioned if he was being led to his demise. If you had finally gotten tired of him and decided to end it all. Of course you hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Who’d ever get tired of him, after all… He only resisted briefly until you ended up explaining your entire plan to him. To have you stand in the sun and then shut the door and hug him. So that way, he may once again feel the heat of the sun against warm flesh.

Astarion’s heart swelled, lips parted as he struggled to react and while he still couldn’t quite express his gratitude and affections out loud, he knew he could show you them through his actions and it would always mean just as much. He may have thought the plan ridiculous, silly even, but it was your attempt that moved him. The way you never gave up on him. Now here you two are, you out in the sun as he lurks in the depths of the shadows. Astarion’s lips part as he watches you bask in the sunlight's rays, your eyes closed and a soft smile on your face.

Whilst always beautiful, Astarion remains even more assured that you are most beautiful in the sun. His feelings toward you both similar in the weight you hold in his heart. His eyes trial over your form, looking on as the sunlight highlights your complexion, the sun shimmering across your skin. The way it flickers off of you, making you appear even more brighter and full of life. Astarion watches it all, his attentions never having been more focused. He couldn’t dare look away from you and miss a moment of this.

You were so close and yet so far and as Astarion looked upon your beauty, memories from before starts flooding through his mind of him out there with you. Astarion couldn’t help but step forward, reaching out to you. He didn’t think, too caught up in how much he wanted you near. Not because of the sun but simply because you were you.

As his hand falls into a faint sliver of sun, instead of the comforting warmth he has shamefully become accustomed to, the familiar burning radiates across his skin. The sound of his skin sizzling rang in the quiet air and instead of peace the sun now brings panic, causing Astarion to release a high-pitched hiss. You jump, opening your eyes and looking over at him as Astarion quickly draws his hand back. You take a step to him but he uses that same hand to motion for you to stop.

“No! Don’t come closer. Just stay out there… for a little while longer,” Astarion pleads, brows furrowing deeply. It wasn’t until this moment, this instant where he’s reminded of the pain the sun has the power to inflict upon him, that he thinks your once silly idea may actually be important.

“Astarion-“ You try, tilting your head, eyes on his crackling hand that already starts to heal itself. But it’s one shake from his head that has you quieting. The softness in his gaze that has you stopping from stepping into his darkness. You look over him before giving a tentative nod. Your body turns back toward the sun within the space of the open door, but your eyes occasionally flicker over to him.

His fingers press into the flesh as it returns to its original smooth texture, the only trace of it being the faint throbbing that was already starting to fade too. As Astarion stares at you as you stand in the one place he could not reach you, despair flowers in his chest like a plague. You two are so different. While dealing with the parasite, while able to walk into the sun, Astarion could simply ignore it, not think about it because there were so many other important things to think about. Could push their differences aside in order to use you, then eventually love you.

But all that was gone now. You could walk in the day while he was stuck in the shadows. Even while only inches away, to Asatrion, it was like he could see an invisible barrier set between you both. A force that stops him from being with you, touching you. Something he could never cross so long as he was like this— a vampire spawn.

He was not good for you, he knew. All this time, Astarion allowed himself to be greedy, convinced himself that you need him as much as he needs you. But his love was doing exactly what the dark was doing to him. Trapping you. He was sure that if your heart wasn’t so big, you’d be out in the sun more often. Like you deserved.

Then you did the most peculiar thing. In a flash, you were closing the door, objecting yourself to the dark, and you reach for him. One hand wrapping around his waist as the other grips the nape of his neck. Both use their strength to pull him into you. Before Astarion can process what’s happening, you’re hugging him.

Warmth radiates off your skin and spreads over his. You guide Astarion’s head into your neck, letting him feel all the heat the sun left on you. Now, after this time being with him, Astarion doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. His arms wrap around you firmly as he exhales a shaky breath.

“I could feel you thinking from all the way over there,” your smooth voice washes over him, making warmth spread within him as well as across his body. He burrows closer to you, soaking up everything your skin was offering. He could imagine the fierce sun and how it must have felt upon first contact. But somehow, when it was you providing it instead of the sun, it was better. So much better.

He finally had you in his arms and the fog that moments prior were tormenting him now clear away. As you imply, he was thinking too much. He was spiraling and second guessing himself and even worse, you. He knows that you would never truly do something you didn’t want. You wouldn’t be with him unless it’s what you wanted. He didn’t have the power to trap you and he would never want it. While he can’t deny your differences, he also can’t say they’re a bad thing. He likes that you’re not the same person. Although, Astarion would dare say he’d make a lovely suitor for himself if the chance arose.

“What ever are you talking about, darling?” Releasing a light-hearted chuckle along with the question. Astarion’s hand brushes along your neck as well, the skin feeling even warmer here. Everything in him tells him to hide his feelings, to brush them aside and offer a short quip. While he knows he’ll end up telling you everything later, right now he can’t help but evade the vulnerability that was controlling him.

“Oh, I must be seeing things, then,” you tease right back, understanding Astarion and playing along with it. Astarion closes his eyes, gratefulness filling his body and pouring out in his physical contact with you.

“Hmm, must get that checked out,” he shoots back, not able to stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. You both end up laughing together and the peace that spreads through the atmosphere around you two reminds him why he never ends up keeping anything from you anymore. He learned his lesson once before.

The two of you fall into a peaceful silence as you remain hugging in the darkness. Your skin quickly grows colder again, losing what your time in the sun left you with. Even so, neither of you step away from the hug.

“You know, out of all the ways you’ve attempted to give me back sunlight, I have to say, this is by far my favorite,” Astarion admits, moving to rest his forehead against yours. The warmth he feels with you blazes hotter than any sun could ever supply him. He hears as your heart picks up and your neck once again becomes warmer than the rest of your body. Astarion does not hold back his grin, informing you of his awareness, yet remains still as he enjoys what he can get.

Astarion keeps you close as he realizes that any lack of sun is worth it when he gets moments like this in return.

[starlight-starwrites]

a dozen tiny suns

astarion x bard!elf!reader

summary: after the battle for baldur's gate, you and astarion have settled into a new routine in your old home. nocturnal life isn't easy, and you come up with a surprise for him to have a little sunlight.

wc: 1.4k

warnings: oh boy i got fluffy

note: written for the BG3 holiday challenge twinkling lights prompt! reader is not described or named, but is an elf bard for context (a little magic for our favorite vampire)

“Darling, the sun’s down,” you shuffle over to the four-poster bed, flopping on the side with the open curtains. “Astarion, love?”

Darkness has fallen outside, and the few lamps lit in your apartment barely penetrate the canopy you’ve made of your bed. The mass of blankets move slightly at your intrusion, the only sign that Astarion really is in here. You catch sight of light on white hair, and you reach to pull the heavy quilt away.

“Darling, did you hear me? The sun’s gone downnn,” you sing.

He doesn’t open his eyes. His only acknowledgment is a wrinkled nose as he nestles further into the pillow. You stretch, crawling on your stomach to get close enough to press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

The action seems to appease him, his expression a pout instead. “Mmph, it’s much too early for that. Come back to bed.” You ignore him, gently pulling away the blankets before he really wakes up. One eye cracks open, and you’re fixed by his red gaze. “What are you doing? Why are you dressed?”

“It’s time to get up, you’ll waste the night.” You still can’t help but smile at the way his nose wrinkles.

“Night is not for hours.”

“Night, evening,” you wave a hand, “It’s winter, love. The sun sets earlier, so we can get up earlier. Now come on, I want to show you something.”

Astarion usually wasn’t one to laze in bed, often taking advantage of the daylight hours as well as the night. These last few months completely free of the horrors, masters, and tadpoles that haunted you since leaving Baldur’s Gate did wonders for him. His newfound freedom was only limited by the rise of the sun, and even that he rebelled against. The new curtains blanketed your rooms in darkness to accommodate him, but you often caught him pulling them back to let in a patch of light. You half expected to find him one day lying in the sunlight like a cat, if not for the fact he was still very much a vampire.

You poke a finger into his arm. “Did I really tire you out that much this morning? And here I thought you were indomitable—yeeeep!”

He’s fast. One second he’s face down and curled around the pillow, and the next he’s snatching your hand to yank you under him.

“No, no, noooo!” You wiggle, but he’s smart and he knows you. He has you pinned.

“I will smother you, darling. Don’t doubt me again.”

You pout. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He hums, pleased, and starts to get comfortable, his nose to the column of your throat. You shift again. “No, don’t you dare, you have to get up.”

“Why?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises.”

You laugh, hand coming to weave fingers through his hair and give a little tug. “You love my surprises. It won’t last forever. Now come on.” A second tug and his eye opens again, accompanied by a raised brow. You lean forward to press a kiss to his nose, and just like that, you slip from his grasp.

He grumbles about it, but his complaining has long since become background noise to you. It takes him a minute to rise, pulling apart the curtains on his side of the bed and stumbling out. You wait, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet as he pulls on a robe.

“What is it?” he asks, and though he tries to sound indifferent, you can hear his curiosity.

“Do you really want me to tell you, or would you rather see it for yourself?” you ask as you slowly back to the balcony doors.

“It’s outside?” He acts put-out, but he fastens his robe quickly without hesitating to follow you. “What in the hells are you up to?”

He squints, amused now at your excitement, and when you hold out your arms, his hands take hold of yours like they have a hundred times before.

“Just…come see,” you say softly.

The balcony of your apartments isn’t large—a space for your old chair and table, and now a new lounge right beside them. Overlooking the street, the other new addition balances along the railing: night-blooming flowers grow tall, offering slightly more privacy than you had before.

In between, there was enough space for you to stand with your love. Dance, even, when you could convince him.

It was there you had arranged your little surprise, smooth rope running above your heads. It had taken longer than you wanted to admit, fastening each one from roof to roof, making sure that they would hold. Almost as long as it took to create the enchantment that holds Astarion’s attention now.

You smile at him even though his gaze is far from you. You step backwards slowly, pulling him along. His wide eyes dart above, taking it in, the hand you hold stretched in front of him. You like the way his fangs poke out with the gape of his mouth. You love the way you seem to have stolen all words from him.

Winter night air nips at your skin, but between watching him and the faint heat radiating from your enchantment, you barely notice.

The orbs had fit perfectly in the palm of your hand as you whispered your incantations, and now they hung like a dozen tiny suns above your heads.

The warm glow from the light was meant to mimic the sun itself, albeit in a much smaller and less powerful form. You let Astarion’s hand slip from yours as he turned to face each of them, let him wonder at the lights that shone on his bed-tousled hair.

“You did this?” There’s awe in his voice, though it’s careful. Perhaps not quite believing, not quite willing to reveal himself. The red of his eyes seems softer, almost orange in the light, and he looks over your decoration once more before his gaze falls to you.

You nod, smile hopeful. “I had help,” you admit, “I wanted to make sure that the spell would cause no damage—” you gesture to Astarion, “for obvious reasons. It’s meant to mimic Daylight, but in truth the incantation is closer to what I do for Dancing Lights. Just…obviously not dancing,” you laugh, “the light moves within, I don’t know, a little shield?”

It’s you who looks away this time, eyes up as you call to one of the orbs. It drifts down, and you cup it in your hands, holding it between you and Astarion. It warms your skin, brighter now that it’s so close. You have to look away.

You find him staring at you.

His hands brush over yours as he takes a step closer, the light held within your palms, your hands held within his.

He’s beautiful.

It reminds you of all the little moments on your adventures, ones that didn’t seem so significant at the time. You remember how he stood in the sun, that morning after in the woods. You remember how he laughed in camp, faced tilted up to the bright sky as you teased him over breakfast. You remember how he stared in wonder at the colorful streets of Baldur’s Gate, both weirdly relieved to be home.

“I know you miss the sun.”

His hands tighten around yours, and you watch his face as he takes hold of the orb. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince, doesn’t burn. His brows raise, eyes big as he looks again from the warm light he holds to you.

“I…thank you.”

The rays from the enchantment seem stronger somehow, blazing light between strands of his hair, clearing all shadows from his face. Your other tiny suns still above you act like a halo around him.

You could almost believe the two of you stood under the real sun.

You open your mouth to respond, to wave away the gift, tell him he deserves more, deserves better. To remind him that as long as you’re together, you’ll take care of him. That you can still find another solution.

Instead, Astarion drops the orb. Though neither of you look to it, it stays floating in the space between your chests. His hands, no longer cold, come to cup your face, and his fingers trail up to the tips of your ears. You find yourself mirroring his movements, his cheeks in your palms, the edge of his pink ears under your fingertips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He kisses you.

And it’s warm, and it’s bright, and it feels like sunlight.

[leighsartworks216]

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

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[namjoon-koya]

A/N: sorry I’ve been inactive on here:/ anyways I just wanted to write this out because I’m supirsed our companions don’t react to this (I wish they did) anyways please enjoy!

Spoilers from act 2 and 3

♡ shadowheart, Astarion, Gale, Gortash ♡

Warning: angst, mentions of torture, a little bit of 18+ on Gortash part.

Companions+ Gortash react to Dark urge reader getting experimented on by Kressa Bonedaughter

[ Shadowheart ]

Shadowheart could see you tense up when Kressa got excited to see you, you’ve told about your amnesia. You didn’t remember anything at all, hells you didn’t even know if you lived a baldur’s gate you told her once as you two spent the night together.

“We had such a close bond, I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and get lost in your insides. It has never been same with another… all the other victims who come over here just meekly obey. You thrashed, you fought, you were indomitable.”

Once shadowheart heard those words leave her mouth she wanted to attack her then and there, what in the hells happened to before the nautiloid?

“As special as you are you shouldn’t be swanning around here, acting as if free will is yours again. We’re going to kill you sweet one, but I promise I will stay with you afterwards. Lashers bring this one back to my table! And prepare my knifes for a night long of experiments.”

Shadowheart glares at her before quickly withdrawing her weapon, she wasn’t going to let them touch you not after everything you’ve done for her and the bond you two shared.

[Astarion]

He looked at Kressa confused as he watched her eyes light up once she saw you, it was almost the way Araj stared at him when you guys arrived at moonrise towers. It made him feel sick he wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off of her face.

“We had such a close bond, I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and got lost in your insides. It has never been same with another… all the other victims who come over here just meekly obey. You thrashed, you fought, you were indomitable.” She said in admiration, hearing those words leave her filthy mouth only fueled the burning hatred Astarion had for her even more. He knows you don’t remember anything confided in him with it, but he still can’t bear the fact you went through this.

“As special as you are you shouldn’t be swanning around here, acting as if free will is yours again. We’re going to kill you sweet one, but I promise I will stay with you afterwards. Lashers bring this one back to my table! And prepare my knifes for a night long of experiments.”

Astarion would skin them all alive before he allowed you to go through that torture again, he wouldn’t allow it no matter what.

[Gale]

He was shocked, utterly just shocked. He knew you told him that you’ve had amnesia, but the fact that this women was putting you through torture and experimenting on like a someone would dissecting a frog. He was always the one in the group telling everyone to think before they attacked an enemy, but this time he didn’t even want to think about not attacking Kressa.

“We had such a close bond, I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and got lost in your insides. It has never been same with another… all the other victims who come over here just meekly obey. You thrashed, you fought, you were indomitable.”

You could see Gale get tense from her words, you used the tadpole to tell him that it was okay that you don’t remember anything of the pain, but that didn’t matter to him.

“As special as you are you shouldn’t be swanning around here, acting as if free will is yours again. We’re going to kill you sweet one, but I promise I will stay with you afterwards. Lashers bring this one back to my table! And prepare my knifes for a night long of experiments.”

Gale didn’t even hesitate to use a fireball spell on them, even the rest of the party was shocked how quick he acted. “I’m not allowing anyone who participated in torturing you near you.”

[Gortash]

Gortash held you in his arms and watched as your chest slowly rises up and down, he still couldn’t believe you were back in his arms. When Orin told him about you forgetting your memories he hoped it wasn’t true, but the moment you arrived at his coronation he could see that you didn’t recognize him. Even when he called you his favorite assassin you looked at him confused, his eyes wander down to your stomach noticing the lighter patches.

Kressa Bonedaughter was her name, you told him everything that happened at moonrise. The fight with Ketheric and the mindflayer colony, you told him about the strange women confessing what she did to you while you were there.

She experimented on you, like if you were some animal and she would enjoy every moment of it. You told him that you and your companions took care of her, but Gortash couldn’t help but still feel angry. He felt angry at Orin for letting her jealousy of you being Bhaal’s favorite get the better of herself, for putting you down there and letting them cut you open.

His fingers gently brushed against the patches, he made sure to kiss every single one he saw when you decided to visit him in his chambers. He wouldn’t allow this to happen again, he won’t let Orin take you away from him this time.

[walk-the-fade]

Coming from DAi, Ive seen so many ppl write their inky as a kid or at youngest 18 bc it changes the dynamic between them and the party...

Has anyone done that/ considered how it would change the relationship with Tav?

Lae'zel being frustrated and terrified that her survival is dependent on a teenager. She's taking orders from someone barely old enough to know their way around life on a good day, but now finding her people and being purified fully hinges on this kid's survival and she will be damned if she doesn't die to protect them.

Wyll sees himself in them, wide eyed and terrified at 17 when he bound himself to a devil and his father cast him out. The gods are cruel for giving children their toughest battles. He's going to give them every piece of advice he has and pledge his blade to their cause.

Gale being even more hesistant to open about The Orb and Mystra and his condition because he thinks it's too much for them. They should be tucked away in a library, they should be walking through Baldur's Gate worried about trinkets and sweets and being home on time so they don't worry their mother... not tasked with saving Faerûn from a cult.

Astarion thinks its annoying at first. "Free" for the first time in 200 years. Illithid tadpole squirming in his head and he's stuck following a literal fetus in hopes of survival. Its laughable. He almost –almost– feels bad about having to feed from them, but young blood is always sweeter. And when they earn his approval he's bitter on their behalf. Forced to be a hero, some beacon of light before you've even explored life and it's simple pleasures? Appalling.

Karlach... oh boy Karlach burns hot when they tell her exactly how old they are. Its stupid- its unfair- ITS BULLSHIT quite honestly. The nickname Soldier becomes so much more. This kid doesn't give up. They can't, Mama K will do everything in her power to stop it. They need a friend in these tough times and shes more than willing to be that person. Gods....

Shadowheart is a little surprised, but she's the one that underestimates them the least, for sure. They're not that much older than when she was taken in by The Dark Lady and her followers. She knows that you become strong when you need to be. It may be unfair but that doesn't make them any less capable as long as they understand the task at hand. She will see to it that they stay on the right path. And when her faith shifts she realizes neither of them deserve to struggle.

As for Halsin, it makes his heart ACHE in his chest when someone so young comes to his rescue. His knee jerk reaction is that they need training, gudiance... protection. But he quickly realizes that's only half true. They are young sure, but they are not helpless. He will help them in anyway that he can whether it be in battle against The Absolute or by carving them little wooden animals while they sleep and leaving them in their tent. They deserve a little happiness amongst the chaos.

Minthara (assuming she has been recruited at Moonrise) is surprised more by the fact that they chose to show her mercy than by their age. Given her upbringing, survival and violence go hand in hand and if this kid has survived this long, faced power of absolute and survived? Than they are worthy of her respect, hands down. She may not always agree with their methods but she will certainly not hesistate to stand beside them.

[sinsoji]

Oaths

Astarion x f!Paldain

Word Count 7.7k

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: mentions and descriptions of blood, suggestive material, physical pain, anxiety, spoilers for an oath breaking run, spoilers for astarion's storyline, spoilers all around really. But goodness I loved writing this.

& what I have to say is... I am alive but not well, and that's okay. There has been a lot of change despite it feeling like nothing significant has happened in my life. But I wanted to take my time writing this one in between everything. I am still in the middle of my oath broken run on Baldur's Gate 3 and am having a lot of fun! I didn't know and was kinda surprised at what things broke my oath, and it obviously inspired this bad boy, but I am enjoying this go around with my necromancy and light gray morals. Also, my thing for voice's went 'brrr~' when Oathbreaker appeared. Hopefully I finish this time because I am tempted to start a new run as a bard, but I'm trying to be patient, I promise.

A small flame ate a hole within your chest. It quickly sunk into your stomach before eating everything else up in ash and nausea. Beneath a black sky that only you could see, something had fled that you knew it might never return. 

Shadowheart laughed after meeting Mayrina and Karlach reassured you of the good on what you now reflected on as a poor decision. But after an expecting widow made her way with her undead companion, you were consumed in darkness with your soul on fire. At the center of nothing a towering and armored figure emerged from the dark and said it would be waiting for you at camp. 

No one knew you had broken your oath. A couple weeks of travel proved to you that none of your companions had truly minded Withers. In fact, they sort of ignored the flesh covered skeleton of a... man? So, you could only hope that no one would mind your stealthy walk over to meet the new ominous being that joined him. But hope could only do so much with companions as nosey as a vampire. 

Left, right and then left again you subtly checked for prying eyes but just missed Astarion’s careful gaze in the background. His blade twirled through the air as he studied your idle conversation with a knight he had never seen before. Astarion thought about approaching, how he might try to naturally butt-in. Maybe he would exclaim how rude it was for you not to introduce the new addition to the rest of camp or maybe he’d try speaking with the figure alone, but truthfully, he didn’t care for as long as you didn’t seem too into the stranger. Nothing more but idle curiosity raised his brow as he watched you listen intently to the tall individual, asking and answering questions with a tilt of your head while being too stiff for familiarity. 

So, it was your first time meeting this dark knight and Astarion didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. 

The following night you looked more spent after an adventure with the girls. Not in a bloodless or injured sense, but you didn’t look as invincible as you tended to carry yourself. That held true in the morning and followed you right back to camp a second time; then a third, and a fourth. Astarion watched as a new ritual began where you thoughtlessly looked over your hands and felt your neck. You’d look at the knight, and begin the ritual over again, seemingly lost in thought at whatever the knight had said to you, or at whatever happened out in the world when you left your vampire behind at camp. 

“Astarion.” Shadowheart quietly called. “I trust you’d tell me if I’m reading too much into this. Or rather, into her.” As soon as she sat beside the pale elf, her attention was turned to you. 

“Go on.” Astarion lifted his chin curiously. 

“It’s only been a few days, but do you notice anything different about our camp leader?” 

Astarion also faced you, watching you warm your hands too closely to the fire with a careful gaze on its flames. “Did something happen to our dear companion on your watch?” He eyed her with a raised brow, “Did you say something a little too snarky? Because if you’re looking ways to apologize, I’m not your man.” 

“I’m the last person that would ever need to apologize to her.” Shadowheart said matter of fact-ly. “But no. I mean- she seems… different.” 

“Different? How so?” Astarion wanted to hear anything she had to say about anything that she might’ve picked up. “It’s only been a couple hours from your last excursion together, has it not?” 

“Yes, but she seemed to be using an entirely different set of spells. I mean, she looked a little bored, but she felt deadlier than ever.” 

Bored... “I think your romantic adoration is showing.” He teased, finally taking his eyes off you to now read over the over-thoughtful cleric on his left. 

“Oh, shut it.” Shadowheart flung her head back and groaned. “Don’t act like you haven’t been watching her for the better half of an hour or so.” 

“I won’t.” Astarion spat. “But deadlier how? What brings on that lovely little word?” 

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.” 

“Ah, boo.” Astarion pouted with his face in his hands. 

Two pairs of eyes watched as you leaned back on your hands, staring at the stars, grinning bitterly as whoever was hidden in the night sky. 

“Necromancy.” Shadowheart whispered, leaning toward the vampire. “She suddenly only uses necromancy.” 

Astarion’s eyes widened at you just as yours closed. “Really?” 

“It was clumsy spell casting, but deadly nonetheless.” Shadowheart dropped her eyes and gave a funny little grin to his lap. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so bored of killing things.” 

He hummed for a spell, then he puckered his lips to one side. “The crèche…” 

“What about it?” Shadowheart leaned upright on his stool with her elbows on her knees. “You think those Githyanki will know what to do with our parasite?” 

Astarion let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “If they don’t will you be surprised?” Rolling his eyes, he rolled his head back to watch you. “She’s already let Karlach know that I’ll be joining you and Lae’zel tomorrow.” 

Shadowheart nodded. “We should all get some rest then.” She pushed herself onto her feet and headed to her tent. “We’ll need it. I just hope the mountain pass is truly the better option to moonrise.” 

Apparently, a few days' silence was enough to make Astarion worry. Just enough waiting to make him care. Although he didn’t like recognizing those sudden thoughts, Astarion didn’t like the lack of attention more. The lack of your attention. The little glances you took or your suppressed smile anytime he crossed the line with morbid humor were quickly becoming the sweeter parts of his parasite extracting journey and were just as quickly missed. An earnest little paladin with a mischievous streak that excited him. It made you unpredictable. It kept him on edge. 

As soon as his mind caught up with his eyes, he realized he was staring directly at you, who had begun to wave him over with a relaxed grin.  

“How sweet of you to want my company.” Astarion watched your expression liven as he approached. 

“Well,” with your foot you pushed a stray rock back in line with the others around the fire. “I just wanted to ask if you were okay.” 

“Me?” Astarion placed his hand over his heart as he sat. “Darling, you’re asking me if I’m okay?” The disbelief in his voice as he laughed brought you completely into the moment. 

“What’s so funny?” You gave a nervous smile. “You’ve been blankly staring at me for a few minutes, and I was starting to wonder if I…” the words seemed to evaporate in the space between you two. “I don’t know… um. Are you okay, Astarion?” 

“Yes.” He leaned in with a nod. “I am just fine. But if we’re being completely honest, I was just about to ask you the same question.” 

“If I’m okay?” 

“Well, yes.” He mocked. “If anyone has been staring blankly at things, it’s been you, my dear.” 

Astarion’s attitude didn’t phase you, if anything it seemed to surprise or humor you even. “I’m okay.” Your brows furrowed as if to silently repeat the question to yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just adjusting.” 

“To?” 

“Change.” 

“Well, aren’t we all, darling?” Astarion tilted his head dramatically before lazily rubbing his temple. “You haven’t been eating any worms, have you? Let alone without me?” 

“No,” an airy laugh and heavy-lidded smirk made him relax. “Of course not.” 

Astarion’s focused shifted just behind you, at the heavily armored being. “Has your little friend been eating our worms then?” 

That pulled on something in your chest and tipped your focus to your tightly intertwined fingers. “No. He’s not.” 

As soon as he began to relax Astarion again grew worried. “Is he from some little paladin friend group you had while training or something? Honestly, I’m hurt you wouldn’t introduce us-.” 

“I’m not a paladin.” you breathed. 

Astarion drew back. “As in, you were lying about being a paladin or…?” 

“Not anymore.” 

The crackling fire sounded louder than it had when he first sat down as he waited for you to elaborate. There was a quick but loud inhale before you spoke again. 

“I broke my oath.” 

Astarion wasn’t sure if he could ask for details. You didn’t seem sad, hurt, or angry, but nothing indicated you were the opposite of those things. You were just there in front of him. 

That bored look Shadowheart mentioned appeared as you finally lifted your vacant gaze. “He recognized her.” 

“Who?” Astarion minded his tone. 

“Connor.” Your somber face and deflated chest were new to him. “After rotting for who knows how long he remembered her. It was like he wanted to talk to her. And I realize now that using the wand wasn’t the brightest or most correct thing I could’ve done, but his soul was there. I saw it, I know it was.”  You bit your lip as you spoke to yourself. “Is that naïve? I mean how could he recognize her without his soul?” 

The air snapped and burned beside you. It had been a long time since Astarion thought to think about his own soul and wondered what an oath broken paladin might have to say. 

“I mean... I couldn’t just keep him from her.” You quietly continued. “That felt wrong. Well... it all felt wrong, but she would’ve done it herself if I hadn’t.” You looked over your shoulder at the heavily armored knight beside Withers and took a deep breath in. “Would my oath have broken if I had simply watched her bring him back? Witness be the thing to damn me?” 

In truth, it was naive to place any belief in Connor’s soul, let alone sympathetically bring back the dead. But as you turned to face him, on bated breath he waited for you to continue. “If he came back with color in his cheeks and blood in his veins, would it have been against nature, or a sin-excused miracle to be brought back to it?” 

Astarion mirrored your furrowed brows and self-conscious demeanor. He traced over your features, noting the rich color blood granted you and all true-living beings before noting the scent of life that emitted so deliciously from your body. It smelled nauseating. Astarion didn’t know what to think of it all, of all you were, all that he used to be; and that he wanted to be. 

“I’m sorry.” You looked so small apologizing with a hand over your mouth. “I forget myself.” 

He raised his brows. “What exactly was your oath?” Astarion finally asked. 

“The Oath of Ancients: To protect the natural world.” 

“The natural world,” he repeated to himself. “Ah, another thing?” 

“Anything.” 

“Seeing as I’m of the undead persuasion, would you saving me from someone living have broken your oath?” 

“No, it shouldn’t.” You whispered, quickly turning back to the oath breaker and then to the elf. “If you were being threatened by this ‘hypothetical’ living person, I’m to protect you, but with said undead persuasion in play- well no. That wouldn’t-” 

“Wouldn’t my death restore some natural order, and please your... higher whatever?” 

“I would still protect you,” you said so sure of yourself that it took him back again. “I cannot kill just because.” 

After so long of being the first choice for everything but saving, he couldn’t help but be a little cynical. “I mean, it could be argued that it is a just cause. You could ultimately kill us both if-” 

“No, I couldn’t harm you if you were in real danger, the oath of ancients-.” 

“But let’s say saving me broke your precious little oath,” His sour tone lifted you gingerly by your chin. “Then what, darling?” 

“Your life isn’t worth my precious little oath, Astarion.” You lightly hissed and dropped your chin. “No oath I kept could make me kill you, darling." You said through your lashes. 

In Sisyphean laughter, Astarion took a deep breath as if to calm a sudden sense of guilt. “But you look so lost over it now.” 

“Of course I do.” You said obviously. “It’s change. There was this whole path I had envisioned myself following for a long time that I alone have thrown away... and out of pity for that whiney widow. But for you,” you traced your lower lip as you weighed out the pros and cons of finishing your sentence. 

“for you I could justify it.” 

Unpredictable, enough to keep him on edge; or at least guessing. Astarion wasn’t sure this was a good or bad thing for you to be as your unpredictability bled throughout his dormant chest. It was apparent to him that just as it was with you, he couldn’t predict his own emotions in your company. 

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself.” He muttered. 

“And don’t go thinking you’re special.” You smiled, eyeing Owlbear as it chased Scratch to Wyll’s side of camp. “My heart has always been on my sleeve, and it might always be.” 

“How lucky for me.” Astarion sighed. “But you still haven’t explained who that is, my sweet.” 

“That is a knight... clearly.” A small grin graced your face as you turned back to the fire. 

Astarion knew he had done it by letting a small bubble of self-hurt curiosity cut through his concern but figured it was no matter. He’d just wait until you turned in for the night to speak with the camp’s new addition himself. But it didn’t talk back. The person under the armor didn’t even seem to breath, if anything it disregarded him completely. 

“Rude,” Astarion playfully smirked before turning away.  

The dark, and heavy aura the knight carried made Astarion hold his breath. He turned to the figure. “Good hells.” Astarion set off to his tent for the rest of the night. 

Shadowheart was right, you were deadlier than ever. In the weeks, turning into months of travel you grew confident in your footing. It was like watching you speak a new language, dance with a new partner, or finally breath. To the pale elf’s disappointment, you never stopped fighting for good, but how you fought for it changed. Sometimes you seemed untouchable, where spells failed your strength didn’t but other times that familiar empty look in your eye would glaze over the bodies you swiftly lied on the ground, or avoid the watch of people who expressed thanks for your kill. 

Astarion seemed to forget that he was one of those people you protected. From the moment he landed on the beach, and nearly decorated the ground with your innards, every move you made was in everyone’s favor. Whether he agreed with it or not. More and more he was unsure if anyone was worth the trouble, despite once believing he was worth it all. 

Once. 

Something had popped back into place when you were conscious enough to hear the snap and pressure in your knee. It was like being stabbed through your femur as the tip of the blade split through the bone to graze the edge of your hip. You writhed in pain, gripping the fabric floor as you whined. Shadowheart closed her eyes and shook her head as a quick apology before murmuring spells over your knee. She winced at your arduous breathing, quick and heavy before the glowing in her palms smoothed over any physical pain. 

“Sorry, a spell can only do so much after a day like today.” Her brows knit together as you slowly lifted off the surface. “With that being said, I suggest you lie back down.” Shadowheart glared at you with angry worry. 

“What’s wrong?” The tension felt thick and cold. 

“That stunt you pulled could’ve got you killed.” 

“We have plenty of gold.” Yousmiled. 

She rolled her head down with closed eyes, “you looked horrible.” Shadowheart said the backs of her hands. 

“Looked-” 

“Stop that!” Shadowheart bit the inside of her cheek as she lifted her hands. “That’s not funny, and I don’t like stitching you up the moment you put down your weapon.” She sat beside you on the floor before she got on her knees to lift you seated upright. The warmth on her hands sent goosebumps over your whole body as she pulled you up by your shoulders. 

“Are you dizzy?” 

“A little.” 

“Gale is mixing up some healing potions. But that’s why you need to lie down.” 

You hummed with a short, slow nod. “I’m sorry.” 

“Save that for Astarion.” she whispered with a snap. 

Your eyes screwed shut, then you sheepishly rubbed them. “Gods, yeah...” 

“But thank you.” Shadowheart held you steady at your arms. “I’ll run out and let the others know you need some rest.” As she lifted the fabric entrance open, you could see Astarion waist down and about to kneel before Shadowheart got in his way. 

The tent smelled faintly of herby incense and smoke as you took in more of your surroundings. It was dark inside your team's recess of Shar’s Gauntlet, but comfortable after everything Yugir’s minions put you through. Outside Astarion and Shadowheart had slowly began to get louder and louder in conversation. It seemed like Astarion was accusing her of not trying hard enough and your heart raced as Lae’zel threw some blame his way as well. 

“If you would have just listened to my command, we wouldn’t have had to drag anyone back to camp.” The Githyanki warrior hissed. 

“Your command? Ah! Let me guess, you missing the enemy four times was strategic?” You could only imagine Lae’zel’s face as Astarion probably spoke with his hands. 

“Guys, settle down.” Karlach cut in. 

“How were we supposed to know that she had been casting command?” Shadowheart whined. “Just think. It was smart, and you know it, Astarion.” 

“It was reckless!” 

He was right. It was insanely reckless, and the worst of it was that if you hadn’t broken your oath, you were almost positive that it wouldn’t have had to come to that. Everyone would’ve been scratch free, and under the divine protection of two gods with Shadowheart at the ready. It would’ve made a deal with Raphael feel like stealing from him. 

“Are you her father or something?” You could hear Lae’zel’s stance open, or her step closer, and could assume she was folding her arms now. 

“After everything I’d certainly hope not.” Shadowheart chuckled, trying to lighten up his mood. 

Astarion let out a sarcastic laugh before he got to the point of his being there. “So, she needs rest?” 

“For now.” 

“And I can’t sit with her because…?” 

“Because just standing next to you is stressing me out, Astarion.” 

“Oh, hardly. Don’t be dramatic, dear.” His voice began to die out as he walked off. “Because I’m stressing you out... gods!” You caught between the begrudged shuffle of his steps. 

Shadowheart sighed before peeking through the entry way. “You come out when you feel ready to deal with...” she rolled her eyes, “that.” 

An intense need for reassurance washed over you, but all you could do was give her a quick nod to get another eye roll and chuckle at the floor. “I’d say make it soon but honestly, don’t rush. He’s just brooding.” 

Lying on your back, you watched the last bit of sunlight drown into the floor of the tent. The burgundy hue that was cast all over was simply dark now. At some point your eyes had closed and when you had awoken it was dark again. You were unsure of how much time you had spent lying down in Shadowheart’s tent and decided it might be a good idea to check on the other campers. 

Gathered around the fire was Karlach and Wyll, the first who waved, and the latter too busy laughing at what the first had to say. 

“You hungry, solider?” 

You nodded and a dry ache crawled up your throat from lying silently for too long. 

“Long time no see.” Wyll joked, quick to grab whatever concoction the camp’s chef and wizard put together from your foraging. Gale had managed to slow cook some beef with chopped carrots and potatoes on the side. The plate itself was warm which sent another batch of goosebumps up your arms. Nodding again, you sat across from them and avoided facing Astarion’s tent. 

Wyll smiled knowingly as he eyed the vampire's tent and chuckled when you scrunched your nose, puckered your lips and nodded again. “If you’re wondering,” Wyll’s voice sounded just as warm as the fire felt, “you were only out for a couple days, and Shadowheart advocated for your rest.” 

You hummed, which caused a small coughing fit, but you were too hungry to care right now. Wyll put his hands up like you were going to tip over, which made you giggle and cough more. But you waved him off and lifted your plate to signal that you were fine. 

At some point everyone had made their appearance around the fire but Astarion. None of the candles around his tent were lit, nothing seemed to have been moved from the night before, and it was eerily quiet on his side of town. Maybe he turned in for the night, you thought to yourself. But it’s not like he has ever gone to bed early, let alone sleep. 

That ache in your throat had let up just enough to let you speak, but not enough to laugh comfortably. You needed water, and all the little jugs of it were in a barrel beside Halsin, which meant crossing in front of the vampire’s tent to get one. Light on your feet you scampered to the barrel, nearly falling in for a larger jar that was hard to pull out. A big pair of hands pulled you out by your hips, making you to gasp and wheeze as the air tickled your throat.  

“Excuse me,” Halsin apologized. “I just thought you might not want to be in a barrel all night.” 

You waved your hand to him, dismissing any need for him to be sorry as you coughed out a thank you. Halsin was quick to open the jug and hold it to you as you found enough composure to stand up straight. 

“Oh Gods,” you sighed after the water did exactly what it needed to. “Thank you.” 

Halsin gave you a soft smile as you turned around to your bed roll and heard a shuffle coming from your left. The cloth door of Astarion’s tent had caught wind, as if someone was watching you from inside, hiding before you could spot them. After another sip of water, you set the jug on the floor and began to tread lightly toward Astarion. At the entrance you crouched, sitting on your ankles before peering inside. As soon as you lifted the corner of the door, you were pulled inside and thrown flat on your back. 

“Shit, Astarion.” You groaned as your head throbbed. 

“What within any god's grace did you think you were doing?” 

You were going to push him off by his waist, but his cold hands kept yours on either side of your head. 

“Get off of me-” 

“You could have fucking died.” It was too dark to see what kind of face he was making, but his tone was a low rumble. Scolding and quiet. 

“We have withers.” 

“We won’t always have withers!” 

“Get off!” 

“Not if you’re going to try and kill yourself again.” 

“I wasn’t going to- well... what was I supposed to do?” 

“Not that!” He let go and stood off you on his knees. “We were just fine, I felt fine. Another blow wouldn’t have done anything to anyone.” 

You lifted yourself onto your elbows. “You know damn well we all would’ve died if I didn’t command the lot to attack me. Then who would’ve let the rest of camp know that we died to some minions-?” 

“You pulled a mini-Gale for fucks sake! You even sound like him-!” 

“Who, Astarion?” The silhouette of him hovered over you stiffly. “Would it have been your charred body or mine?” 

He fell forward, gripping the fabric floor on either side of you, encasing your head. “I can’t lose you...” Astarion whispered bitterly. “I can’t lose you, not before I have the chance to...” something caught his throat. 

“To what?” 

“You weren’t even there when he, when I-.” he stalled again before he could whine further. In a pathetic attempt to push out the words, all he gave you were shaky breathes and a short sigh as his head fell onto your shoulder. He was quietly crying and trembling while tucking his hands behind your shoulder blades to tuck himself into you. 

“How,” the side of his face pressed painfully to your chest, “how could you do that? Why would you think to?” 

Bitterness became cold confusion. It almost sounded like he was praising you or begging for something; and you were unsure if it was rhetorical or if he really wanted an answer. Astarion adjusted his ear to sit on the center of your chest. He wanted to listen to your beating heart. That realization made it race. 

“I’m sorry, Astarion.” You sympathetically lied. 

His arms enwrapped you as his fingers dug into your waist. “You should be.” 

Astarion took a few heavy breathes in before you felt his cold hands run under your shirt below your ribs. Close wasn’t close enough as he lifted your shirt to put his ear over the flesh that muted your drumming heart. By the brutal grip he had on your waist, he was smoothing over your warm skin with his thumbs. Astarion wondered if your skin was pressed white under his fingertips, or if you were wincing at his hold. But it wasn’t enough to hear your suck in your breath and feel your discomfort. He wanted to cut you open to make sure everything was up and running. Then he wanted to eat you whole. 

“Don’t ever do something so stupid like that again.” Some anger bubbled over his vague and empty threat. 

Over your ribs and under your arms, his hands slid up your body before you realized he was sliding off your shirt. “Your breathes were shallow the first night.” 

Cold kisses were scattered up the center of your chest, your hands in his hair as you held him and waited. “I wanted to wake you.” 

As soon as your shirt was pulled over your head, so was his. For a moment he held you close again, pulling you upright as he sat in your lap. Astarion hunched over in a tight embrace with a small break to readjust and keep you still at your arms. Unlike Shadowheart, Astarion had no intention of letting you go, or leaving you to rest. His hand brushed over your shoulder and onto your cheek and you couldn’t help but push into his palm.  

Cradling became holding as a gentle hand held the nape of your neck, pulling you onto his lips as the slow and tender movement turned into open mouth kisses. The kind that leave you breathless. Where he can’t seem to get enough of you, your mouth, your tongue, or the air in your lungs. Where everything melts together and borders full consumption as he bites your lip, and your teeth nearly clash into each other. His hand opened to adjust as he squeezed the back of your neck. With his thumb just below your ear, the pressure guided your neck open you up to his anticipated bite. Astarion waited to watch your pulse underneath two feint dots. He dipped into kiss your jaw just below his thumb and whispered. 

“You’re okay.” 

Another kiss was planted at the center of your neck. 

“You’re here.” 

Above the start of your shoulder Astarion kissed you again before he dragged his teeth teasingly. A shallow cut was carved, and he reverently licked the small line of blood. 

 “Alive and bleeding.” There was more ease as he spoke. He was believing every word he said as if he had been manifesting this his whole life. 

Astarion was somehow both tender and brutal. Treating you the way children treat glass they’re afraid to drop; in a grip tight enough to shatter what was in their hands before it had a chance to hit the floor. 

Despite drawing blood, he was not keen on feeding tonight. He simply licked your dripping wound again with visible restraint before looking it over. Astarion then drifted down your body, watching you breathe in awe, feeling the warmth of your flesh under his hands before his breath tickled your stomach, just above your hips. A held-out kiss with a quick graze of his teeth distracted you from his further undressing you. His fingers hooked on either side of your bottoms as he kissed again, and again, until a baited open mouth kiss was placed on your entrance.  

His cold lips drew a loud gasp from the deepest part of your stomach. Astarion was gently massaging either side of your thighs, his thumb hooked underneath as his face was pressed against your inner right thigh. It was soothing to feel you in his grasp, so alive and hot under his touch. It almost made him sick. 

Slow kisses were peppered with a small grin you could feel before he dragged his teeth and felt more goosebumps under his palms. The whimper you let out eased his thoughts as his kisses trailed inward. “You’re here. Alive and in my hands.” Astarion squeezed your thighs again before you pushed your hips into the ground away from his mouth. 

You’re here. 

“Astarion, wait.” 

You weren’t even there when he, when I- 

It was a funny thing to see his mouth just barely open, with drunkenly wide eyes as he hovered over your hips. He hummed in question. 

“I’m here…” you lifted, pressing all your weight on your palms as you leaned back away from a now seated vampire. “You said I wasn’t there, but now I’m here.” 

“Oh.” Astarion sobered up as his eyes moved up to yours. “Raphael held up his end of the bargain.” 

Shit. You screwed your eyes shut in a grimace. “When was that?” 

“Last night.” 

You sighed with a sarcastic laugh as you tried to recall something Wyll said earlier. “How long was I out for again?” 

“Two nights.” Astarion’s tone was cold, and you shivered. You didn’t even want to ask what his scars meant, but thankfully, he wasn’t going to make you. With a grimace of his own, Astarion got you up to speed and with every word he watched you flatten into what looked like defeat. 

“Gods.” Was all you could whisper out as you hugged your knees, over aware of your nudity and his lack thereof. “I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m glad everything fell into place, I guess...” He watched you think a little too hard about something before you said something pulled from nowhere. “I think I need to reclaim my oath.” 

Astarion furrowed his brows and moved closer. “I’m sorry?” 

“We need a leg up on that piece of shit.” you said matter-of-factly on your knees, reaching for your shirt he had carelessly thrown beside you. “If I can reclaim my oath I- we would have at least three more legs to stand on.” 

His eyes followed some invisible thing that floated around you before he squinted at your neck. “Darling, are you sure?” 

With your knees tucked under your shirt again, you nodded. “I don’t know what reclaiming might entail, but I want to make sure the people I care about are safe.” You rested your cheek on your knee and whispered. “Hells.” The sound of your anxious heart filled his ears. 

 Astarion let his head hang for a moment. 

“I’ll speak to him later.” You said to yourself. 

“If there’s some way I could fulfill the ritual,” Astarion perked up after some time, “I could protect you no matter after. I could accompany you in the sun,” he moved in to grab your hand, “and protect you from the shadows.” The words floated onto your knuckle. 

“Do you think…” a sudden tightening on your fingers caught your focus. “Is that really a good idea?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Astarion spat. “Of course it is.” 

The gold was spent, the knight disappeared, and your oath was reclaimed. No one questioned his disappearance the same way no one questioned his arrival. Astarion caught you staring at where it once stood and quickly learned that returning power meant only that. It didn’t lighten the weight of anything on your mind, if anything it only made you quiet about those things, paranoid and maybe too careful. If there was a god that would answer, he would’ve prayed that he wasn’t peering into a quiet and paranoid future he was after. 

Astarion finally asked you for the knight’s name and genuinely laughed when you told him it was just ‘Oathbreaker’. That laughter pulled a quick smile from you, but it wasn’t enough to completely ease him. This journey was changing you and gods knew it was changing him. 

In Baldur’s Gate and on the roads before there was not much to do but talk to the people that passed by. There were too many funny characters to keep track of, and a few were special appearances from only one of the dead three. At this point surprises were not completely unexpected; but most were unwelcome. Some of those surprises led to sewers with more people to talk to, others lead to tombs with cursed figures that were unable to do anything but laugh. One of them was a door that led to the top of a bell tower with an exit in-between that led you right were Astarion needed to be. Approaching the Szarr palace doors brought an ugly, empty feeling stirring in your stomach; and an anxious vengeance in Astarion’s. But you both watched each other from the corner of your eyes and wondered if the other could feel it too. 

Playing every version of his unplanned-plan over and over in his mind for the last few months couldn’t prepare Astarion for the real thing. Not for the memories that flood your mind, not for the gross familiarity a house can hold, and not for how blinded he would feel by those things. Every room pulled an emotion or reaction whether he could keep up with the overload of nostalgia one building could pull. It felt like he didn’t have control or autonomy, and that set the mood before finding a lift to a place Astarion and his siblings had never seen before. 

Everything reaffirmed the need to kill Cazador to himself, you, and the other two who could only marvel at every sickening detail. 

It was such a heavy battle. Astarion being confined before anyone could strike Cazador amped up the pressure and forced you all to improvise. Suspended in the air, Astarion could swear his heart was racing as you were hit over and over on your way to free him. It seemed like no one even noticed Shadowheart or Gale casting one failed spell after another. It was just like Yugir all over again, only this time you had your oath; you had the power you so confidently felt you needed and yet you could hardly withstand everything his master struck you with. If he could just fulfill the rite, he’d never have to watch you make heavy promises to foreign gods to save him ever again. You’d never have to save him, period. He would protect you if you would let him, if you would hand yourself over to be protected. 

Lost in thought, Astarion could not remember just when you had freed him or when he had dragged Cazador out of his coffin. But he was where he thought he wanted to be with you at his side, ready to do more than just kill. The vampire’s spawn was ready to replace his master; eager to inherit and become a truly powerful vampire. 

You looked just as scared of Astarion as he had always felt in Cazador’s presence. For a moment you were a mirror amidst a thick fog of potential, and something you said made him see it clearer. 

After Astarion was off his knees, away from the true vampire that lie motionless on the floor and facing you he noticed your chest and stomach; or rather the space in-between as blood soaked through your tattered paladin attire. There wasn’t a break from confusion, from melancholic relief or immense grief. Not for you and certainty not for him. But right now, you both embodied however one could describe this feeling. The victory already cost so much potential but if Astarion had blocked out your love filled concern, he would’ve got his pyrrhic victory. 

People began to approach your party. Their pale feet entering your frame of view on the floor, all avoiding your still puddle of blood. Their voices were blurred as you stirred over everything that Astarion had just lost and guilt made you question if that was even your call to make. 

“The spawn.” The palm of Gale’s hand literally cut through your empty gaze and metaphorically your thoughts. 

“What do you think?” Shadowheart stepped back before you could think about just what they were talking about. 

“Oh…” the slow and heavy way you lifted your head made Astarion hold his breath. “They’re innocents.” Shadowheart’s eyes widened, Astarion sighed in relief and Gale nodded beside him with a serious look. Astarion was quick to free them and instruct his siblings about their decent to the Underdark before turning back to you. 

Whatever bit of blood didn’t cling to the fabric dripped onto that hell forsaken ground. Astarion avoided looking to the puddle at your feet, possibly growing toward his. You sounded exhausted and even more so as you tried suppressing every heaving breath. There was a grace that came with your commitment to be strong. Your chest and shoulders mimicked that of a ballerina waiting patiently for the curtain to fall before finally collapsing on the floor. So, when your lip trembled another lump formed in his throat. 

The gentle thud of your mace on the stone floor echoed off every wall but couldn’t overpower Astarion’s keen ear out on the feint racing of your heart. “I-I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” 

“I just couldn’t... I-I'm glad that...” You took a deep breath as apologies welled in your eyes. “Don’t you regret giving up all that power?” 

“I don’t know.” Astarion interrupted and scanned over you once more. “I know you were right; you are right. But everything has changed now.” 

You nodded, staring as his chest as something in your stomach, rather leaving it, made you wince and quietly whine. Shadowheart was quick to hold her hand closely to the wound, chanting in whispers as Gale sucked in his lip.  

He took the lead in speaking with Ulma who waited with her tribe at the exit and as they were speaking something burned another hole through your chest that ate up your gut. Gods it felt like the flame wouldn’t go out this time and the burn was almost unbearable. It was the same song and dance with a black back drop and towering figure to greet you. 

“We meet again.” A voice called in the darkness. 

The burn brought you to your knees, sighing in pain as if you’d breathe fire. Oathbreaker patiently waited for the feeling to subside before he spoke on. 

“May I ask you again, why?” 

“They’re innocent.” 

He hummed. “Are they now?” 

“They’re victims and you know it.” You couldn’t suppress the betrayal in your tone. 

“You know,” the earnestness in his voice made you feel childish. “Maybe devotion should’ve been your oath.” 

“I stuck with what I know.” 

“Tell that to your God, oathbreaker.” He called you after himself, “I’ll see you at camp.” 

The knight vanished and is if no time had passed the conversation picked up right where you last heard. Ulma dismissed you with some resentment while the rest of her people completely disapproved of the now freed spawn. As you all walked past shaking heads and rolling eyes Gale put a gentle hand on your shoulder and another on Astarion’s. With a quick squeeze he gave his piece. “You two made the right choice. I hope you know that.” 

Without looking, you gave him a quick nod. “I do.” 

Shadowheart silently led the way back to camp. For most of the walk she kept her eye on you and your abdomen. Astarion and Gale kept to themselves while you all quietly followed the camp cleric to your suite. As soon as you entered, Karlach gave you a two-finger salute and cheesy smile while completely ignoring yours and the vampire's mood. “Hey crew, look who's back!” She exclaimed. 

“So, you noticed.” You forced your voice to lighten up as you peeled off your armor. “Let him know I’ll be there in a second.” 

Karlach threw some finger guns Oathbreaker’s way with a couple clicks. Astarion scoffed when Oathbreaker nodded in acknowledgement. Astarion wanted to tease you and ask what you said to Oathbreaker that it only talks to Karlach. But before he could think of how to word it, you swiftly turned a corner and disappeared to Oathbreaker’s side. 

As though he wasn’t already questioning every part of the night, he felt bewildered or maybe starstruck by Oathbreaker’s return before it could hit him. You weren’t paladin anymore. He though back to what seemed like a lifetime ago when you explained your oath, and he couldn’t figure out what severed you tie to the divine this time. It couldn’t have been saving him, not from Cazador. He was and had been in danger, so with or without the worm, Cazador’s death would’ve been the most pleasing this to your God, or so he’d think. But the sight of you with Oathbreaker made him anxious. You looked too calm and annoyed with them to ease his worry. Astarion started walking around the suite before settling to sit on the floor. Trapped in his thoughts for who knows how long, his attention snapped from the wood panels to you. 

“Waiting at my bedside?” The warmth in your voice and sleepy smile pulled him out of his head. 

“Perhaps,” Astarion leaned in as you knelt, leveling with him. “Or maybe I’m just hungry.” 

You laughed and moved beside him with your knees at your chest. “Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know.” 

You hummed, unsure what to say next. 

“You know,” Astarion began, “I have a lot to thank you for. I don’t think I could’ve done this on my own as much as I could try to pretend. Getting to Cazador, resisting the ritual, all of it I couldn’t have without you.” 

“You would’ve found a way.” 

From the corner of his eye, he could see you push your hands out, marveling at the backs of them rather than your palms. “Darling.” Astarion said sternly while reaching for your wrist. “This has all been a gift. I won’t forget it.” 

Before his hand could latch to your hand, you pulled in to hold his. “As won’t I.” You brough his knuckle to your lips and placed a gentle kiss. 

Astarion took a deep breath in and held it. “My sweet, might I ask about your little... friend? Again, I might add?” 

You threw your head back onto the bed and sighed. “Well, I won’t be reclaiming my Oath again, if you were wondering.” 

“Okay, but he’s back because...” 

“Because I’m not a Paladin- oh!” You tittered. “Hells, sorry. I feel like I’ve just woken up.” 

Astarion couldn’t tell if you were trying to soften the mood or if you were just that out of it. “Well, are you going to tell me?” 

You sat up straighter and let go of his hand to comb through your hair. “Because I took up the wrong oath.” You cynically laughed. “At least that’s what Oathbreaker said after asking why I freed the spawn.”  

“It was freeing them?” Astarion couldn’t help but sound as confused as he felt. “Was it how many spawn were freed or just that they were spawn?” He turned to face you, who was already staring at Oathbreaker. 

After months of being in your gods favor, and despite the power you held, you felt some relief in the sight of Oathbreaker. “One of those two. If not the combination of them...” You turned back to him. “Why? Do you regret freeing them?”  “Do you?” 

“I asked first.” You grinned. 

“No.” Astarion said thoughtfully. “I have my chance, and now they have theirs because of your tender mercy,” he leaned in like he was about to kiss you, “and poor foresight.” he teased before leaning back. 

“Rude,” you pretended to be hurt, “but not wrong.” 

“But do you?” Astarion insisted. 

“Why should I be?” He carefully watched you with his brows knit in insecurity. “I don’t regret it, no.” 

The whole suite fell quiet as though everyone was listening, or asleep, but Astarion looked at you as though to ask why. With his eyes and still breath he wanted you to elaborate. 

“For a moment I thought about if you had been in there, in the cell, I mean. After everything I knew about that place I thought that if we had never met, and I for some reason stumbled into the ritual, I would’ve wanted to free you regardless of my God’s favor.” 

‘Your life isn’t worth my precious little oath, Astarion.’ 

“No oath I kept could make me kill you, darling." Astarion said to himself. 

“Oh gods,” you scrunched you nose and smiled. “You remember that?” 

Astarion gave you a gentle smile and began to stand. “Do you have a moment?” Astarion held out his hand to hoist you up. “I have something in the city I want to show you.” 

On your feet with a curious grin and heavy-lidded eyes, you hummed. “Lead the way.” 

© 2025 sinsoji

[khywren]

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 8.5k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: piv sex, fingering, blowjobs, semi-public sex

‣ preview: “Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.” AO3 ┊ series masterlist

It's a crisp autumn evening, and the High Hall is the place to be. Music pours from the open windows in rich, melodic tones, inviting the Gate's best and brightest. Tonight marks the celebration of the rebuilding of the city – and the heroes who helped defend it.

Presently, Ysera wanders about the ballroom, searching for Astarion. Her heels click against the decorative tiles as her eyes scan the crowd, hoping to spot his distinctive curls amidst the lords and ladies dressed in their finery. He had left her for only a brief moment to fetch her more wine, but as more people began to arrive, they had gotten completely separated.

Ysera suppresses a string of curses as she stumbles forward, her movements severely hampered by her shoes. Astarion had insisted she wear something more practical, but it felt appropriate to wear something nicer to such an important event. The elaborate star-shaped motifs decorating the velvety exterior were the perfect compliment to her gown, the very same one that he had finished for her only days earlier.

Wearing anything less than her best would have been an insult to Astarion’s efforts. Were she more graceful, she would move like a living constellation. The wine will do her no favors, but it will certainly improve her mood.

The beveled edge of a tile throws her off balance yet again, and Ysera braces to crash into the ground, throwing her arms out in front of her in a last, desperate attempt to keep herself upright. To her surprise, her palms slam into something equally as solid but far more forgiving, and an arm snakes delicately around her middle to steady her.

Ysera opens her eyes, expecting the scent of bergamot and rosemary to follow, but she instead finds herself glancing up at a stranger she's never seen before, wrapped in the aroma of wildberries and pine. The man holding her is human, but he’s dressed so exquisitely and carries himself with an air of elegance that one might just as easily mistake him for being of elvish descent. Dark hair frames his handsome face, and the corners of his verdant green eyes crinkle as he smiles pleasantly at her.

Embarrassment floods through her, color staining her cheeks as she extracts herself from the man’s grip and offers him a small smile in return.

“I'm so sorry! Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the man replies coolly. Even his voice evokes power and wealth, a deep, rumbling tone that somehow makes Ysera feel even more self-conscious about how out of place she must look.

Of all the men to inconvenience…

“I am Coran Moore.” The man, Moore, dips into a respectful bow. “Might I ask your name, my Lady? I don't believe I've seen you around before.”

Astarion had been right to try and teach her the proper way to behave amongst the members of high society, an old remnant of his time with Cazador. To hear Astarion tell it, Cazador had often paraded his spawn around during the elegant balls he'd thrown for whichever patriars were corrupt enough to lend him their influence – and what better bargaining chip than those who were already obligated to speak highly of him?

Ysera clears her throat and curtseys politely. Her form could be better, but at least she thinks she's avoided offending him further.

Small victories are still victories.

“Ysera,” she says. Then, after a pause: “Um, Whitlock. I doubt you're familiar with the name. I'm not really…”

She trails off, but Coran Moore’s eyes brighten with recognition.

“Everyone in Baldur's Gate knows your name, my Lady. The hero who saved the city. Or one of them, at least.” He flashes her a dashing smile, all teeth and calculated charm.

Ysera feels more than a little foolish. She chalks it up to whatever it is about him that's clouding her thoughts, unable to break away from his alluring stare.

“Oh,” she mumbles shyly. “Right.”

“Forgive me for my impudence,” Moore carries on, “but whoever convinced you those shoes were a good idea does not have your best interests at heart, I'm afraid.” His eyes drop to the floor to assess her heels as they peek out beneath her gown, and Ysera lets out a breath the moment they fall from her face, as if she's been released by some enchantment.

She twirls a stray lock of her hair that's escaped the fancy braids Astarion had woven into it shortly before their arrival.

“It was my idea. They matched the dress.”

She hadn't meant it as a joke, but Moore throws back his head and lets out a laugh all the same.

“Of course.” He extends a single, gloved hand to her, which Ysera takes for no other reason than it feels like the proper thing to do. 

“If I might be so bold,” Moore suggests, “I would like to invite you to my estate some time. If you have the time amidst all your well-earned celebrations, of course.” He addresses the look of confusion written on Ysera's face by quickly adding, “I would be thrilled to help you find a new pair of shoes. Or perhaps a new gown? I think you would look quite stunning in red.”

He must not need to imagine it, if the blazing heat that creeps up her neck is any indication. Ysera's too embarrassed to mull over exactly how appropriate such a remark is, even if his praise works wonders for her confidence.

“I have my own personal tailor whose work you simply must see.” Moore winks and releases her hand. “Special discount for one of the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, of course.”

The seconds pass like minutes as Ysera considers his offer. Her tail swishes anxiously beneath her skirts, thankfully hidden from view. Being designated as a local hero had come with plenty of perks; this, she convinces herself, is no different.

“I, uh…” She wrings her hands together. It would be rude to refuse him, no? This man is clearly someone important. Nevermind that she doesn't even know what she'll do with another gown that she has no use for.

“I mean – thank you. I suppose I could always take a look…”

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together. “When should I be expecting you?”

Ysera opens her mouth to make a suggestion before a familiar voice sounds out behind her over the music.

“Expecting you where, darling?” Astarion appears over her shoulder, slipping his arm possessively around her waist and deliberately pulling her against his chest. His ruby eyes narrow as he fixes an unflinching stare upon Coran Moore, lips pulled back in a strained half-smile.

“You must introduce me to this new friend of yours. I don't believe we've met, Ser…”

“Moore. Coran Moore.”

More holds out his arm to shake hands with Astarion, who makes no indication that he has any interest in returning the gesture.

“Astarion,” he says in a clipped tone. “And what is it that you want?”

“Ah, yes; I remember seeing your name amongst the reports as well,” Moore remarks in a disinterested tone. “I was simply trying to offer your… friend –” Astarion tightens his hold on Ysera “– an alternative to her unfortunate choice of footwear.”

His choice of words is intentional, calculated. Astarion knows he means to ascertain the nature of their relationship, and Astarion makes it clear in no uncertain terms. Moore's eyes flash wickedly, with a saccharine smile to match.

“Or anything she likes, really,” he adds. “A hero should look the part, don't you think?”

If he means to insult Astarion’s handiwork, the jab misses its mark entirely. His long list of clients are enough of a testament to his skill as a tailor – and at any rate, only a man without any more cards to play would stoop to such petty insults. 

Astarion shrugs off the blow with a roll of his shoulders and retaliates in turn.

“Yes, well, if we have the need for any of your cheap baubles,” he sneers, his voice high and contemptuous, “we'll know exactly where to find you.”

Moore visibly bristles beneath Astarion’s haughty glare.

“I beg your pardon?”

Astarion is all too familiar with this kind of man: pretentious, self-righteous, and utterly devoid of any real substance. He's played the part himself more times than he can count. The mask slips so effortlessly back into place that it's as if he'd never taken it off to begin with.

“I was under the impression you were a smart man, Moore. Shall I say it more clearly for you?”

Coran Moore clenches his fists and raises to his full height. The mocking grin that works its way across Astarion's face enrages him further, and before the pair of them can come to blows, Ysera intervenes by inserting herself between them.

“Okay, okay,” she says, pushing Astarion back, “that's enough. Your offer was very kind, Ser. Thank you for thinking of us.”

Moore’s demeanor changes the instant he turns his attention back to Ysera, no trace of his earlier anger in the way he looks at her. In another life, he would have made a fine chameleon.

“My Lady.” He bows again and turns to leave, but not before delivering one last barb.

“My offer – which I have extended to you and you alone – still stands. If you have any need for more … refined company, please don't hesitate to pay me a visit.”

And with that, he spins on his heel and walks away. The moment he is out of earshot, Ysera rounds on Astarion and jabs her finger directly into the middle of his chest.

“Astarion! You didn't need to be so prickly!” She huffs in exasperation when Astarion rolls his eyes.

“He was just trying to be nice,” she insists. “...by selling me something… which I'm sure is a perfectly normal thing to do at an event like this. I think.”

Astarion scoffs and clicks his tongue in admonishment.

“Was that before or after he invited you back to his estate?”

The accusation drains the color from her face, and Ysera pointedly looks away, suddenly finding the tiled floor far more interesting.

“I thought so,” Astarion says. Ysera doesn't have to ask how he knows – the answer is obvious enough, even to her.

“I saw the way he was looking at you, darling – there's only one thing a man like that wants, and I get the sense he's not above a little bribery to get it. And what a fine catch you'd make.”

Ysera buries her face in her hands.

“Give me that,” she mutters, swiping away the goblet in his hand and downing half the wine in a single swallow.

“You never should have let me convince you that coming here was a good idea.”

“Speak for yourself, darling,” Astarion quips smugly. “That was rather fun, wouldn't you agree?”

As they meander throughout the ballroom, Ysera's occasional muttering is drowned out by the menagerie of bards and other musicians who perform at the opposite end of the hall. Amplified by magic, the music carries far, much to her relief.

The last thing she wants to do is talk about Coran Moore and his strange proposition. After a while, a familiar face emerges from the crowd, and Ysera lets go of Astarion’s hand as she bounds ahead on unsteady feet. 

“Gale!” She throws her arms around the wizard, who struggles not to lose his own wine or the small plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres he's been snacking on. “You made it!”

Gale smiles warmly at her and chuckles. There's always such an infectious kindness to him that she can't help but grin back and hug him even more fiercely. When he sputters and sways on his feet, she finally releases him.

“Why, I could scarcely miss the opportunity for celebration!” Gale says, popping another square of something expensive looking into his mouth. “Good food, good wine – and even better company to boot.” He leans forward with a conspiratorial look on his face and adds: “My students have kept me busy, but I assured them my attendance tonight was quite mandatory.”

Ysera giggles and covers her mouth with her hands. The skirts of her gown rustle as her tail flicks excitedly beneath the layers of fabric. She has a sudden feeling of nostalgia for their time together back at camp, when the lot of them would sit around the campfire in the evenings exchanging stories and terrible jokes with one another. They all see each other so rarely now, but she will always cherish the memories she has of her dearest companions.

“I'm so glad to see you,” Ysera tells him. “Wyll and Karlach are here somewhere too. Probably off somewhere being pestered by the Duke before his big speech. Halsin is probably still here too… if he hasn't managed to rip off his suit yet.”

They both share a laugh, half expecting to see a bear eating its weight in appetizers somewhere amidst the crowd. He'd certainly be far happier that way, rather than stuffed into an ill-fitting ensemble that, despite its elegance, was clearly uncomfortable. If she sees him again, she’ll be sure to make the suggestion.

Ysera doesn't spot Halsin, but a shock of white hair catches her attention from only a few paces away.

“Is that…” She leans forward to confirm her suspicions, her smile growing wider when she spots two more of their companions.

“Shadowheart! Lae’zel!”

The cleric is dressed in a midnight black gown with a plunging neckline that tapers at her narrow waist before spilling into an array of satiny-soft skirts, complimenting her pale complexion and the braid that falls down her back like a moonlit waterfall. Beside her, Lae’zel looks as fierce as ever, dressed in the armor Ysera remembers so well from their travels. It's been polished to a mirror shine, along with the greatsword strung across her back.

Ysera spares a moment of pity for the poor servant who probably tried to take it away from her at the door.

“It's good to see you, my friend,” Shadowheart greets her, pulling her into a friendly hug. “Have you and Astarion been well?”

They launch into a lively conversation. Ysera tells them all about what she and Astarion have been up to since they last saw each other; Shadowheart, in turn, returns the favor by telling them about her and Lae’zel, and although the githyanki remains stoic throughout most of the conversation, it's evident by the way she glances periodically at Shadowheart that the two of them are doing quite well together themselves.

They've come a long way from trying to slit one another's throats in the dirt.

If Ysera had to use one word to describe Lae’zel, it would be intimidating. If she had two, she would call her admirable, though never to her face. But the wine has made her bolder than usual, and one more look at Lae’zel's too-serious expression makes her feel suddenly like bursting out in laughter.

“Don't look so sour, Lae’zel!” she admonishes, patting her on the arm. “It's supposed to be a celebration.”

Lae’zel scoffs lightly and peers down at Ysera, who feels very brave for not shying away.

“Do I not appear to be having fun?” she asks, in a tone that does nothing to counter Ysera's accusation. “Shadowheart assures me that it is an honor to be invited to attend such an elaborate ceremony.”

That, at last, is what makes Ysera laugh, struck by the absurdity of it all.

“Of course it is,” she agrees. In a moment of brilliant stupidity, she grabs the warrior by the hand and tugs her away from Shadowheart.

“Here, I know what'll help - come dance with me!” 

“Chk.” Lae’zel scoffs again and furrows her brow. “I have no desire to embarrass myself with such frivolities.” She looks very fierce, but Ysera is far too tipsy to care about insignificant things like her safety anymore. 

Shadowheart only smiles when Lae’zel throws an almost frantic gaze her way, uncertain how to deal with Ysera's uncharacteristic behavior. The two of them have never been exceptionally close, and even for such a hardened warrior, Lae’zel has no battle plan for this scenario.

“She’s right,” Shadowheart says unhelpfully. “It's customary. Go on and have a dance.” She'll pay for it later, but she knows a golden opportunity when she sees it.

Lae'zel allows herself to be pulled out onto the dance floor, though her posture is stiff and uncomfortable. Sensing her hesitation, Ysera chews on her lip for a moment and considers.

“Oh! How about this?” she offers. “Combat is sort of like a dance, isn't it? Maybe if you pretend you're trying to stab me, it'll be easier.”

Lae'zel’s scowl finally recedes, replaced by the easy smirk that flits across her face. She takes one of Ysera's hands and holds it aloft, mimicking the dancers around them.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

────

Astarion watches, perplexed and amused in equal measure, as he watches Ysera bully Lae’zel into dancing with her.

The sight of Ysera wobbling on her heels like a newborn fawn as Lae’zel leads her in a ferocious, chaotic waltz around the dance floor brings a grin to his lips, and he snorts when the other dancers part for them with looks of bewilderment.

Neither of them have any rhythm; Lae’zel, because she is unaccustomed to dance, and Ysera, because the wine has stolen what little grace she had to begin with.

A figure sidles up next to him, and Astarion catches a glimpse of Gale's trademark purple as the wizard gives him a thorough assessment.

“You look happy, Astarion,” Gale eventually concludes. Astarion swirls the wine in his goblet, takes a deep draught, and lifts his shoulders in a shrug.

“Of course. I suppose we have the old Duke to thank for the wine. I'm surprised his coffers weren't completely emptied out rebuilding the city.”

It's a calculated response, meant to gauge Gale's true intentions. Astarion is less guarded these days, but he still plays his cards close to his chest. Old habits and all.

Gale takes a moment to consider.

“I mean you and Ysera,” he clarifies, bringing his own goblet to his mouth and taking a quick sip. “Although I must agree, the wine is rather spectacular.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. Lae’zel and Ysera continue their rampage across the ballroom, locked in a strange display as they push and pull against one another. He hears Ysera's heart thrums above the music, thundering when Lae’zel twirls her so fast she almost topples into a nearby pair of half-elves. There's no time to apologize before Lae’zel whisks her away again – though she certainly tries her best.

Astarion hardly notices the way his expression softens as he watches her. As it so often does when she's caught up in the moment, living her life to its fullest.

And Gale has the measure of things. He is happy, isn't he?

It's difficult for him to imagine a life for himself without her in it, and even less easy to envision one where he would be happy without her by his side.

After a moment of introspection, Astarion tips his head to the side. His eyes flick to Gale for only a moment before returning to Ysera. He takes another drink from his goblet.

“She was the one to find me after I fled the docks, you know.”

There's something akin to surprise in Gale's expression for a moment, before his face becomes inscrutable. He's not used to Astarion being so candid with him, but his silence is a token of respect, paid in full for Astarion’s honesty.

“She sat with me until sundown and made sure that we – that I – had somewhere safe to go,” Astarion continues. His smile turns sardonic as he adds, “In that moment, all I could think of was how weak and ashamed I felt, and she never made me apologize for any of it. She never has. I've never understood why.”

And that, above all else, is the honest to gods’ truth. He doesn't doubt her affection for him (how can he, after everything they've been through?), even if it's still difficult to understand her motivations.

Loving her comes easy. Finding that same compassion for himself is a monumental task. He's not half the man she thinks he is, but he wants to be. 

Gale fixes Astarion with a knowing look and rests his hand on Astarion’s shoulder.

“She loves you, Astarion. What other reason does she need?”

She'd told him nearly the same thing, what feels like a lifetime ago. The irony makes him bark out a laugh, and if it weren't for the fact that the tadpoles are very much gone, he would swear Gale had been conspiring with Ysera all along.

The memory is so vivid in his mind. The way the moon had illuminated her face and made her eyes shine like the sun. How resolute she'd sounded when she'd pledged herself to his cause, despite the risks involved.

‘I don't want anyone else to feel the way I did. I don't need any reason beyond that to help you.’

Beside him, Gale raises an inquisitive brow.

“It’s nothing,” Astarion says, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. “Just an old memory.”

Gale's brows raise again, but this time his attention is fully tethered on Ysera and Lae’zel. The githyanki warrior has increased their already frenetic pace, and Ysera’s expression has quickly grown to one of very apparent terror. Her body dips and twirls as she struggles to find a place for her feet, and in a desperate plea for assistance she catches Astarion’s eye for no more than a second before Lae’zel’s got her spinning once again.

Gale leans over and brings his face close to Astarion's.

“Does she know it's a dance, and not a duel? Might I suggest –”

Astarion presses his goblet into the wizard's hands and strides forward.

“Already on it.”

He reaches his destination in no more than a few clipped strides, carefully extracting Ysera from Lae’zel's arms. Lae’zel is breathing heavily from the exertion, eyes wild as though she's just fought a very intense battle. Ysera stumbles into his embrace, her vision spinning as she clings to him and tries to get her bearings.

“Careful, darling,” he croons, placing a single kiss atop her head between her horns. “Are you alright?”

“Oh gods,” she murmurs, “where am I?”

Astarion chuckles fondly and rubs his hand over her back in soothing circles. Her chin lifts easily when he slips a single, gloved finger beneath her jaw.

“Exactly where you need to be, my love.”

They melt back into the crowd, and as the music grows soft, Astarion’s world narrows to the space between them. The sconces along the wall begin to dim, casting a pleasant glow across the ballroom. 

Ysera looks up at him in adoration, admiring how handsome he looks in this light, especially as it catches in his eyes and reflects a thousand shades of gold-flecked crimson. She tucks her head against his chest, mindful of her horns, and winds her arms around his back.

They sway back and forth, but after a few moments she can sense he has something more to say. She lifts her head to let him speak.

“May I have this dance?”

There's a vulnerability in his voice she doesn't often hear, and the soft smile he offers her has never looked so good or so genuine. She knows he can hear the way her heart skips a beat, but at least this way she doesn't have to try to find the words for how she feels about him at this moment.

“I don't know the steps,” she says in response. 

“Don't worry,” Astarion assures her. One hand slips into hers as the other brackets her waist. She would trust him with anything, as long as he keeps holding her like this. “Just follow my lead.” 

Astarion guides her gently around the dance floor, their bodies pressed together as he instructs her where to place her hands and how to move her feet. She takes to it far more quickly than she had expected, and it soon becomes as simple as breathing. Her mind is blissfully empty but for him; the comforting familiarity of his body, the way he cradles her in his arms, and the citrusy scent of him that she will always associate with what it means to be home.

“I'm sorry for making you jealous,” Ysera says, still feeling more than a little guilty.

Astarion scoffs incredulously.

“Please, darling. In order for me to be jealous, I would have had to have believed that oaf actually stood a chance with you.”

It's neither a lie nor the entire truth. He had been afraid of losing her before, of course. Once, when he confessed his feelings for her against his better judgment, and again when the brain fell and there was nothing tying them together other than the treacherous thoughts that told him she had no more use for him.

Somewhere along the line, the veil had been lifted, and he had finally accepted she wasn't going anywhere.

Almost as if she's heard his thoughts, Ysera grins up at him and flashes her teeth. 

“Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me.”

“It's a difficult burden to bear,” he teases her back, “but I think I'm fit for the task.”

Their noses brush against one another before they share a quick kiss, letting the rhythm of the music carry them in slow, wide circles around the ballroom.

“You know,” Ysera says, almost mischievously. “Coram Moore said something very interesting that you might want to hear.” Astarion inclines his head but doesn't bother to suppress the pout he makes at the mention of the other man’s name.

“He told me I would look stunning in red.”

Astarion presses his face against the slender column of Ysera's throat, which muffles his deep chuckle. He opens his mouth, and Ysera shivers as his fangs slot into the twin scars on her neck where he typically feeds from her.

“Did he now?” he purrs. “Shall we find out for ourselves?”

────

The moment Ysera and Astarion enter the suite they've been given in the upper floors of the High Hall, Ysera kicks off her heels and tugs her hair out of the braids Astarion had made for her with a sigh of relief. With a flex of her toes, the feeling returns to her feet, and she follows Astarion out into the balcony.

“Gods,” she groans, resting her face in her hands as she leans her elbows across the balustrade, “that was embarrassing.” 

Hands in his pockets, Astarion watches the sky, dark as the void and adorned with thousands of glittering specks of silver stars. His fangs catch the light as he smirks sidelong at her.

“Not a fan of the spotlight, love?”

At the end of his grand speech to those in attendance for the celebration, Duke Ravengard had turned towards Astarion, Ysera, and the rest of her companions and asked if any of them would like to say something. Her nerves had twisted into silent panic as several hundred eyes swept over her, and she had prayed to any god who would listen that someone else would volunteer so she didn't have to.

She had almost collapsed from relief when Wyll approached his father's podium to make a statement on their behalf, delivering a few concise words on the importance and enduring health of the city, and what an honor it had been to be on the front lines of its defense. Shortly after, the celebration had ended, and it was all she could do to stop herself from sprinting to their suite upstairs.

“I told you he was gonna ask one of us to get up there and talk,” Ysera laments. “And you thought he wouldn't be crazy enough to do it. I win.”

“I wasn't aware we were wagering on it, darling,” Astarion responds. “But since you're so insistent, what would you like for your reward?”

She doesn't need to think for any longer than a few seconds.

“A kiss,” she announces. “I want you to kiss me.”

Astarion sweeps her into his arms and slots his mouth along hers.

“How scandalous,” he murmurs against her lips. When he pulls away, Ysera pouts and balls her fist in his jacket to tug him back. Astarion rolls his eyes but willingly gives into her demands, this time nipping at her bottom lip before slipping his tongue inside her mouth.

“Insatiable, aren't you?” His voice is low and sensual in a way that makes her shiver.

“With you? Always.”

Ysera is light in his hands as Astarion hoists her up and onto the balustrade, holding her close while she steadies herself on the carved wooden beam. His fingers drag across her scalp as his fingers dive into her hair, and he tugs just enough to coax a soft moan from her. He has enough leverage to bend her neck to the side and bare her throat, but as he tears his mouth away from hers to turn his attention elsewhere, something catches his attention. 

Across the narrow courtyard, Coram Moore watches them through an open window. Astarion doesn't care why he's there, but as he grins wickedly over Ysera's shoulder a plan formulates in his mind.

“Darling, would you mind?” he asks, innocently enough that she won't suspect anything. He holds up his gloved hand, and Ysera immediately opens her mouth, biting down on the tip of the leather hard enough for Astarion to pull his fingers free. The moment his cool skin touches her leg beneath her gown is electric and she sucks in a breath, anticipation burning hot in her belly.

He takes his time with her, gliding his slender fingers up her calf, face tucked against her neck so she's free to make more of those pretty little noises for him. Ysera holds him by the hair, not trusting her balance the more and more he teases her. She can already feel the wetness pooling between her thighs, and her clit throbs with need as Astarion nears the place she wants him most.

Astarion is finally thankful for the vastness of her skirts, for the chiffon and lace that keeps her guarded from prying eyes. Nevertheless, his fingers trace a devastatingly slow path across her skin, drinking in the warmth of her and the sound of her increasingly desperate mewls and moans make it all but impossible for either of them to keep her pleasure a secret.

“Nnn… Astarion!” She gasps his name, but he can hear the concern in her voice.

“Yes, my love?” he inquires, fingers stilling just beneath the apex of her thighs. “Afraid someone might hear us?”

“No,” she says, “not really.” Then she smirks. “But if we don't get invited back next year, I'm blaming you.”

“Perish the thought.”

It’s settled. Let them all see, then, so there will be no doubt in anyone's mind that she is his. The next time he glances across the courtyard, Coram Moore has vanished.

Ysera is already in quite a state when his fingers brush against her through her underwear, and he groans when he feels the wetness seeping through the thin fabric. 

“Already? Why, I've hardly even touched you, darling.”

Astarion dips his head to nip at her collarbones and the tops of her breasts, and even a subtle shift of movement makes him hiss as his hardening cock brushes against her thigh. He doesn't need to see her face to imagine how smug that's made her, especially after his teasing remarks. But before she can comment on it, he slips his hand beneath the gusset of her underwear and drags two fingers along the seam of her, and she cries out at the sudden sensation.

“Q-uit stalling,” Ysera chokes out, less sternly than she would have liked. Astarion has already busied his fingers with her clit, tracing purposeful circles around her most sensitive areas with the precision of someone who knows her body almost better than she does.

“I'm doing no such thing,” he says, offended. “I'm simply affording you the pleasure you deserve. Or am I wrong? Does it not feel good?”

He asks the question with deserved arrogance, knowing very well how much she's enjoying this. Despite her impatience, the stuttering of her heart and the way she pants against him tells a clear enough story. 

“It would feel better if – ahh! ”

The moment Astarion sweeps the pad of his finger directly over her clit, Ysera bucks her hips and bites back a scream, mouth slack as her vision swims.

“Asshole,” she groans. Then, “Don't you dare stop.”

Astarion grins triumphantly. “Say please, sweet girl.”

“ Please don't stop, Astarion. Not if you know what's good for you.” The sweetness on her tongue turns to venom, and she barely gets the words out. But there's an edge to her voice that speaks directly to the lizard part of his brain that wants to forgo all this – what had she called it? Stalling? – and take her straight to bed. His composure is nothing when matched against her.

With more difficulty than he would like to admit, Astarion claws back the remaining threads of his sanity. He gathers her wetness on his fingers and presses a single one against her entrance; he slips inside with little resistance, stroking her walls with practiced efficiency. Her body easily acclimates to the second one he pushes inside, and Ysera arches her back to coax him deeper.

“Greedy,” he huffs, stealing another kiss from her. “Can you take another, darling?” 

“I’ll take anything you give me, Astarion,” she whimpers, shuddering when he makes good on his offer. It doesn't feel the same as his cock, but when he buries himself to the second knuckle and crooks his fingers, the pleasure she feels is enough to wipe whatever remaining thoughts she has from her mind.

Ysera babbles incoherently as he fucks her with his fingers, praising him as he swallows her moans with another hungry kiss.

“So good… you're so… ohhh…”

As Ysera writhes beneath his touch and bares her throat to him, Astarion finds his patience growing thin. He finds that he wants nothing more than to feel her unravel on his fingers, the cloying thought guiding every pass of his thumb as he guides her closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” she begs, “yes!” There is only desperation left for her now. Astarion gives her what she needs, and as his fingers glide across her walls one last time, she finds herself tossed about on the rising tide of her orgasm, burying her face into his jacket to muffle her sobs of pleasure.

Once her body has stopped its trembling, Astarion slides his hand from between her legs. Ysera opens her mouth without hesitation, letting Astarion press his slick fingers against the flat of her tongue. Her lashes flutter as she looks him in the eyes, tongue swirling around his fingers as she tastes what he's done to her.

And Astarion’s brain nearly short-circuits.

He can think of nothing but replacing his fingers with his cock; if he doesn't get her back inside now, it might very well be the end of him. Ysera seems to have the same idea, and she slips from the balustrade, barely pausing to grab him by the wrist as they retreat into their suite.

Astarion takes only as much time as is absolutely necessary to close the balcony doors and draw the curtains shut. Ysera's already tugged the laces of her gown open, and Astarion spots the fading glimmer of the mage hand she summoned to assist her before her gown flows like a river of ink down her body, leaving her in nothing but her smallclothes, which she wastes little time discarding just as haphazardly.

She strides towards the bed with Astarion in toe.

The mattress dips beneath her weight when Ysera sinks into the plush duvet, with wildfire in her eyes and a laugh that washes over him like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. Astarion barely has the time to begin shedding his clothes before she's reaching for him, tugging him down to join her only moments after he kicks off his shoes and undoes the buttons of his embroidered jacket. 

He crashes into her with a noise of protest, just as roughly as she surges up to capture his lips with her own. A quick flick of her tongue against the seam of his mouth is enough for Astarion to oblige her, and he groans as he parts his lips to let her taste him. She kisses him like it's their first, their last, and every time in between, hands tangled in the curls that he had worked so hard to style before tonight's affair.

“Patience, darling,” he tries, barely able to pull his lips away and admonish her eagerness before she's chasing after him. “You're going to ruin the stitching.” His trousers were already tight enough to begin with, tailored to accentuate his long, slender legs. And now, the growing need between his thighs is merciless, the swell of his cock straining against the only remaining barrier between them.

“I'm certain you can fix it,” she murmurs deviously, grinning when her teeth sink into his lower lip and his hips buck suddenly. “After all, you've just shown me how talented those hands of yours are.”

The inflection of her voice is downright sinful. Astarion struggles not to whimper when her hands fumble for the fastening of his waistband, fingertips brushing over the bulge in his pants with just enough pressure to make him ache for her more than he already does.

“Despicable woman,” he grumbles, tugging his pants and underwear down as Ysera hums contentedly and kisses him again. The aftertaste of wine and her own arousal is sweet on her tongue, and he can smell enough of it in the blood coursing through her veins that he yearns to pierce her throat with his fangs and indulge in the rich, heady taste of her. But he would need to abandon her lips to do it, a prospect neither of them seem to be too keen on at the moment.

The instant Astarion’s cock springs free is a euphoria rivaled only by the way it feels pressed against her flushed skin, leaking onto her stomach. Their bodies mold together, the space between them small enough that Astarion can't help but rock his hips forward to chase the friction he so desperately needs. His desire to be inside her overtakes his every thought, and he has half a mind to beg her for it as he tears himself away from the hungry sweep of her tongue.

“Ysera…”

She looks at him through half-lidded eyes, angling her gaze towards him with a look of adoration on her face. 

“I –”

He's only just opened his mouth before her hands slip around the small of his back, and Astarion finds himself dazed for the second time this evening before everything stops spinning and he finds himself beneath her. Ysera smiles tenderly at him, brushing away a stray lock of his hair that was so rudely obscuring his view of her lovely face.

“My turn. Let me take care of you now.”

Pleasure erupts within him like the fires of the hells themselves when Ysera splays her palm over his stomach and rolls her hips in a slow, steady rhythm across the hard length of him, teasing his neglected cock. She's absolutely soaked, and it feels so wonderful, but it's not enough, it's not enough, gods it isn't enough.

The loss of contact between them is agonizing when Ysera pulls away, but as she sinks between his legs and runs her tongue along the underside of his cock, his protests die on a shaky, broken moan. He watches, spellbound, as her lips encircle the head of his cock, her eyes trained on his. The hand she wraps around him is bliss, and his hard length twitches as she takes him eagerly into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “that's… wonderful, darling.”

“I had a good teacher,” she mumbles around him with a smirk, and the vibration of her voice entices him to thrust up into her until he hits the back of her throat. Ysera groans and takes him beautifully, following his lead and bobbing her head along the full length of his cock as she sucks and licks him. Her fingers cup his balls, teasing him in gentle sweeps that have him keening. With a hand buried in her hair that moves to wrap around one of her horns, he fights not to buck wildly into her mouth.

If she keeps this up, he's going to come.

Not that he doesn't want that, of course, but it's too soon. He needs more of her – all of her.

Astarion tugs gently on Ysera's horn and she releases his cock from her mouth with a soft pop , licking her lips as she sits up and waits for him to gather his thoughts. Elusive as they are, he finally manages a gruff, “Not yet, love… come here, will you?”

Ysera sighs softly and climbs back on top of him, grinding her hips against his sensitive cock.

Astarion’s mouth falls open and he pants softly, his throat constricting around a whimper he can no longer contain. He bites out her name through gritted teeth, brow furrowed as heat coils like a taut spring low in his belly. He grabs her by the wrist and tugs her forward, caging her close to him with the arms he wraps tightly around her back.

“Who's impatient now?” she laughs, smirking at him before he kisses her, all tongue and teeth. His hands clamp down on her hips, fingers embedding little crescent moons into her sun-kissed skin. A low groan – or is it a growl? – rumbles in his throat in warning.

“Must you torture me so, darling? By the gods, let me have you.”

He could take her right now, if he chose to. It would be a simple enough thing, to lift her just high enough so he could plunge his cock inside her eager little cunt. The bliss he imagines feeling as he thrusts wildly into her is almost enough to make him do it, but she seems so intent on taking control for now, and he'd be a fool not to admit the idea doesn't intrigue him.

And the admission of his desire for her was all she wanted, in the end.

The wetness between her legs drips down her thighs as Ysera extracts herself from his embrace, and the sight of her makes Astarion's mouth go dry as she wraps her free hand around his cock and sinks down onto him. Both of their lips part with a satisfied sigh, and Astarion throws his head back against the pillows.

She feels better than he ever could have imagined, warm and soft and unbelievably tight as her body molds to the shape of him. She bites her lip as she rolls her hips experimentally, her walls already pulsing around him.

“Astarion,” she moans, taking the hand he reaches out to her and threading their fingers together tightly.

“I know,” he says, squeezing her hand.

Something he learned early on in their relationship, even before it was a relationship, was her fondness for physical contact. Whether they were in the throes of passion, laying next to one another, or simply existing in each other's space, she always sought comfort in the closeness of him, delighted merely by the feel of his skin on hers. 

It wasn't easy, overcoming that particular distaste of his, but now, the thought of her not touching him, of not running her hand across his chest or cupping his face so gently as she smooths the pad of her thumb over his cheek is enough to make his dead heart ache with longing. 

She holds him delicately, not because he is fragile, but because he is something precious. Some one worth loving.

Her hips undulate as she rides him for all he's worth, his cock slamming home inside of her each time their bodies make contact. The heat of her engulfs him completely, unfurling through his limbs. Their movements are an extension of the dance they shared before, harmonized this time not by music but by their shared sounds of ecstasy.

A lopsided grin spreads over Astarion’s face, a single brilliant fang poking out beneath the uneven curve of his lips. He feels weightless and almost giddy, as though lost in a dream he hopes he never has to wake from.

“Have I told you lately that you are the most beautiful woman in all the realms?” he asks. His eyes rove over every inch of her body, from the place they're joined to the feminine curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the blissed-out look she fixes on him.

She smiles back and rolls her eyes, sucking in a breath when his fingers return to her hips.

“You've had too much wine,” she insists. “You're drunk.”

Astarion huffs a laugh.

“What's the saying, darling? ‘Drunk words are sober thoughts?’”

“You're ridiculous,” she says, crouching low to hide the color in her cheeks with another passionate kiss.

“So tell me I'm wrong,” Astarion says, confidently calling her bluff. He kisses her back just as fiercely, the fingers of his hand tangling in the loose waves of her hair. The soft strands wrap around his fingers and he pulls hard enough to coax another undignified noise from her. 

“Tell me you're not the most stunning–” he bites her lip, groaning as he catches the single bead of blood that blooms on his tongue; “–magnificent… radiant creature to ever grace these halls.”

He explores her mouth between praises, free hand tracing absent-minded patterns across her skin as he lets himself enjoy every inch of her body. He drags his nails along the curve of her spine, and she arches into him with a broken moan.

The heat radiating from Ysera's cheeks may as well be an inferno; he doesn't need to see her face to know his words have hit their mark.

“If I agree with you,” she mumbles quietly, “will you stop embarrassing me?”

It's an absurd request, and one he has no intention of granting.

“Oh, no, my love,” he purrs, purposely lowering his voice because he knows it will drive her wild. “Never.”

His fangs graze the soft curve of her jaw, and Astarion revels in the way she shudders as goosebumps bloom across her skin. He mouths at the shell of her ear and she cries out with a sharp snap of her hips.

“And besides, we both know you wouldn't want me to anyway.”

Ysera's magic roars to life beneath her skin like a hibernating predator roused from slumber. Mastery over her powers has leant her formidable strength, and so it is with careful deliberation that she manipulates the Weave, until the very air itself crackles and seems to writhe around them. Traces of her magic burst around them like a constellation of stars, bathing them in soft, glittering light.

Satisfied, Astarion pulls her ear closer to his lips, near enough that she can almost certainly feel the wickedness of his grin.

“Does it please you, knowing how much you make me ache for you?”

“Everything you do pleases me, Astarion.”

He doesn't expect her admission to affect him so deeply, and he holds her close with a fierce possessiveness. His hips roll into hers at a feverish pace, his fangs a sharp, desperate question against her throat.

“Do it,” she commands him. “Sink your fangs into me and take what's yours.”

Astarion whispers his thanks against her throat before his fangs pierce her neck, warm blood flooding his mouth and coating his lips. Ysera hears every ravenous swallow he makes, lost in the taste of her on his tongue and the feel of her on his cock as he drives into her again and again and again. She cries out as the pain bleeds into pleasure, the drowsy satisfaction of losing so much blood nearly making her go limp in his arms.

But Astarion doesn't seem to mind, chasing his own pleasure with reckless abandon. One hand slips between them to tease her clit again, and as her cunt flutters around him and Ysera whines into his ear, he falls apart beneath her. He growls against her throat as he empties himself inside her, hips undulating wildly with each spurt of his cock. He doesn't stop until she comes again, her throat ragged with the way she screams for him.

When she has enough clarity to remember where she is again, Ysera lets Astarion gently roll her onto her side; he moves with her, his softening cock still buried inside her as he holds her close, kissing her face, her neck, her breasts. She sighs softly beneath his affections, letting him shower her with praise.

Tucked against his chest, her eyes flutter closed, and she drifts in and out of consciousness as she fights against the overwhelming urge to sleep. Astarion nuzzles his nose against the crown of her head and presses a soft kiss into her hair.

“You must be cold, darling. Let me get up, and we'll get you beneath the blankets.” He tries to roll to the edge of the mattress but Ysera tangles her legs with his and whines in protest.

“No,” she says, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Stay with me.”

Ysera sits up just far enough to cast a quick Fire Bolt, tossing the mote of flame into the empty hearth across the chamber. It roars to life, bathing them in its gentle warmth.

“There,” Ysera yawns, falling back into her pillow and snuggling close to him again. “Problem solved.”

Astarion can't help but laugh.

“Stubborn girl. Whatever am I to do with you?”

Ysera smiles softly and places a quick kiss on his lips. She knows the answer as if it's been there waiting all along. 

“That's easy. Let me love you.” She's still so warm as she drapes an arm over his middle, determined to hold onto him as long as she can. A hundred different responses hang in the silence that stretches between them. But before Astarion can settle on one that appropriately conveys the depth of his feelings for her and her endless kindness, Ysera has already fallen asleep, snoring softly with her face pressed against his chest. He cards his fingers through her hair, and when her lips pull back in a smile, he wonders if she sees him in her dreams.

“Don't be ridiculous, darling,” he tells her, finally letting his eyes close as he settles in beside her. His heart feels light, and the warmth he feels blossoming in his chest has nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth or the comforting heat of her skin. “As if I could ever do anything else.”

[elliewritesfantasy]

Escape in the Night

A/N: I never thought I would be posting fanfiction on this account. However, Baldur’s Gate has captured my attention and my inspiration for months now. I don’t even know if anyone will see this, but I enjoyed writing it, and that’s all that matters.

Some protective dadstarion for you all. And strong boss Tav. Female Tav x Astarion.

Snow fell in great white clumps, blanketing the forest in an eerie silence. Cold crept up your fingers, reaching further with every moment that passed. You remained crouched under the boughs of an old maple tree, the bare branches leaning under the weight of the snowfall. You were burdened with your own weight; a greatsword hung between your shoulder blades, a relic of your paladin oath long forgotten among other worries, and a bundle against your chest. It was the one spot of true warmth on this winter night. Your baby. Astarion’s baby.

Armelle.

Boots shifted, crunching snow and dirt.

“Astarion?” His name was barely a puff of air from your mouth.

“I’m here.” He appeared next to you, and knelt. His silver hair shone even on this starless night, a mess of curls barely tamed. His eyes searched your face, his hands clenched around his longbow.

“Where are the vampires?” you asked.

“They’re close. I need to get you out of here.” Astarion placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to your feet. “I’ve lost a lot of my vampiric senses, but not all.”

“I wish they would see reason.”

“I know.”

You had found a wish scroll for him long ago, as part of your promise after the defeat of the netherbrain. The wish scroll brought him not only the cure for him vampirism, but the promise of a wide open future free of having to hide in the dark. It brought him hope and the freedom to finally say that he could marry you without feeling like he had trapped you in a vampire’s nest for life. And it had brought him his second-most precious gift of all - the wrapped child you clutched with the strength of a mother’s fierce love.

The vampires didn’t know Astarion was cured. They thought he had sired a dhampir, the offspring of a vampire and a powerful being with hungers rarely fully sated. A dhampir would be an asset to their coven, and they wasted no time in searching you out in the two weeks you have had her. You hadn’t meant to have your baby on the way to Waterdeep for a companions’ reunion. She was early. A surprise. But you were already so far from home, it wasn’t worth it to turn back.

Maybe that was a mistake.

“Y/N.” Astarion broke you from your thoughts. “Waterdeep isn’t far. If you run, you can make it while I hold them off.”

“I can’t leave you.” Your soul burned with your paladin’s oath, and your hands itched to strike the vampires down with all of your holy might.

“Just for a second. I’ll meet you there I promise,” Astarion said. His lips lifted in his slightly crooked smile. “If we can survive the Absolute and the attempted end of the world, we can survive this.”

You steeled your nerves, drinking in his familiar confident expression, though it wavered just a bit as the bundle on your chest let out a small, sleepy whine. “Alright”

“I can smell you. I can smell her.” The crooning voice of the vampire master Kazimir cut through the dampened night. Your heart quickened.

“Run.” Astarion notched an arrow, his breath coming in quick, clouded puffs. “Run!”

You didn’t hesitate. Your boots dug into the snow, into the frozen mud and you sprinted with all of the strength left in your body. The lights of Waterdeep twinkled on the horizon. It wasn’t much farther. You could make it.

“Ah, not so fast.”

You skidded to a stop, your throat lurching with fear. Kazimir stood before you, red eyes shining with glee.

“I can’t let you go, not with that creature you have.”

“She’s not a creature,” you growled. You drew your greatsword.

“Oh, but she is. And what a delicious creature she would be to have. She should be raised by a real vampire, not a pithy elf and a weak spawn.” He drew his own blade, a wicked sharp rapier. “Hand her to me peacefully, and I will let you return to your spawn without fuss.”

“No.” You swung your greatsword in an arc, poised to strike.

“A shame. Then I will have to take her from you.” Kazimir lunged forward, blade catching on the woolen edge of your wrap. You lurched back, narrowly escaping his rapier. You raised your sword, letting the anger in your stomach explode outward, lighting the weapon with a golden light. The vampire hissed and shrunk back instinctually at the light. With a cry, you leaped forward, bringing your sword down in a blazing arc. The vampire recovered just in time, spinning out of the way of your smite, his cloak billowing out behind him. He vanished among the trees, flitting between them like a ghost. You reeled, then recovered, and grounded yourself in the snow. You had to be ready.

Your eyes searched the darkness desperately, your eyes struggling to perceive anything beyond the falling snow.

“Behind you!” Astarion ran from the trees, an arrow whistling through the air. It found its mark in the shoulder of the master vampire. He screamed, turning from you to Astarion.

A blast of blue light blinded you all in an instant. A dimension door appeared just to your left with a familiar hand reaching through it.

“Gale!”

“Come with me,” Gale emerged wholly, his hair whipping in the wind of the portal. “Quickly!”

“But, Astarion-“ you looked back the silver elf now fighting Kazimir with his dagger, locked in an expert hand-to-hand battle.

“You have something more important to think about now, eh?” Gale gestured to you once again. You closed your eyes tight, sheathing your weapon. With one last glance at Astarion, you let Gale pull you through the gate and into the candlelit drawing room of his tower.

Shadowheart was the first to run to you. “Y/N, what happened?”

You couldn’t answer, your body wracked with violent shudders and shakes. Some of it was from the cold, some from the fear that made your very soul twist. Shadowheart wrapped you in a blanket. Through a tendril of consciousness, you managed to pull aside your wrap to check on your baby. You collapsed into a chair at the sight of her, eyes still closed, asleep. Safe.

“I’m going back for him.” Gale began furiously searching for a scroll through the precarious stacks upon his end tables.

Shadowheart laid a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t risk it. What if the vampire comes through this time?”

Gale shook his head. “I can’t leave him to that master. I remember how strong Cazador was.”

“We have to trust him,” Shadowheart argued.

You could only sit, your arms holding your baby to you, her head cradled in your hands. A prayer of safety rang through your mind again and again. You had been a thirty minute run from Waterdeep before, and with the fight, maybe it would take him an hour.

“Please, I need you,” you whispered. Gale and Shadowheart retreated, letting you hold your child and warm by the fire while your brain was wracked with thoughts.

Please. Please.

I should have stayed.

Please.

The door to the drawing room burst open. You ran to it immediately, blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m here.”

“Astarion.”

He was here, his armor streaked bright red with blood. His hair was clumped with gore, and a cut on his cheek shone. He drank your face in hungrily, then reached for the woolen wrap, pushing it aside to reveal the perfect girl curled at your chest, her fine, newborn-soft silver hair glowing in the candlelight. Astarion placed a hand on her head, giving her a soft kiss right above her brow. He pressed his forehead against yours, tucking you both into his chest.

Even years after his cure, the feeling of his body warmth was novel. You soaked it in.

“He’s dead,” Astarion said. He twined a hand through your hair, pressing you into his shoulder. “He will never bother us again.”

“I can’t believe you killed him.” You drew back, studying his face.

Astarion laughed, his brows crinkling. “What, you doubted me? Hero of the world, slayer of the netherbrain?”

“You know it was my sword that landed the final strike,” you teased.

Armelle stirred, drawing Astarion’s attention. Oh, how much he had changed. From only being able to care about his own survival, to dedicating his whole existence to the survival of two others. It scared him more than the impending end of existence did.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” He traced Armelle’s rounded, flushed cheeks, taking in the hair that matched his own, the nose that matched yours. “I have everything that I need right here.”

[simpcityy]

My Little Spawn Pt.1 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game....Uhhh...I think that is all.

Everything was dark and blurry in his eyes. All he remembers was stalking in the shadows looking for his next prey and suddenly he was kidnapped. He felt mixed emotions, fear but importantly joy, he was finally away from Cazador. It would be like he suddenly disappeared in thin air and Cazador will need him no more. Until he was stuck with another burden, You. “Would you keep quiet, dammit!?” He whispered rather loudly. You stopped shifting around the tall grass and peaked out of it. “I’m sorry” You whispered before going back to hiding. He looked over seeing two people walking by, “Perfect” He mutters and gets ready to put on his performance.  

  After almost getting incinerated, you and Astarion have found a group and camp for the remainder of the period till the little wiggly worm is out of your mind but of course, you wouldn’t comprehend, for you were so young. 

“Who’s the little adorable bugger?” Gale smiles letting you try to read the books he has found so far. “For the record this annoying little sp-human is not mine, they just seem to be attached to me.” Astarion watches you trying to pronounce the big words only to butcher them. “But it’s getting rather late and I hate to deal with a cranky annoying child tomorrow.” He picked you up keeping his arms outstretched and walked to his tent. Once everyone was out of earshot, he squats at your height. “Listen here, you must not tell anyone what we are understood?” His red eyes look down at your innocent (E/C) ones. “But why not?” You sat on top of the pillow looking up at Astarion seeing him take a deep breath in. Of course, Astarion knows he has to make it simple. “Because we are playing a game” He grins “ We are all hiding our identity. You and I are a team and the rest are a team. Whoever is the first one to discover their real identity, is the sore loser.” He gives a smile sitting down next to you. You pouted, your cheeks puffed up “We will win, okay! I won’t tell.” You lean back before yawning “ If they ask what do I say?” You cute little doe eyes look at him tiredly. “Hmm…we are just normal elves got it?” He looks away in deep thought, “it’s for the best for now” He mutters before leaning back “ You know for a being the youngest Spawn he created…you still need rest like a human, you are such an odd little creature” He gently plays with the ends of your hair “ Why did he even turn you?” He whispers as you slowly slip into sleep. “What use does he even have for you?” He kept asking himself all the questions ever since you were part of the “Family” 

You were the youngest spawn Cazador has ever gotten. You were only 5 soon turning 6. Astarion was first shocked to see Cazador holding you in his arms when he came back from bringing a pretty prey for his master. He never dared question, he kept all his unanswered questions to himself. Astarion felt anger towards you both. Why was Cazador more tender with you, not treating you like he does to his other spawns. Why did you get the special treatment? He was mostly angry towards Cazador as always, why did he turn you, you didn’t even reach your half way milestone of your life. You were going to stay that age and size forever.  He has been treated like shit for 200 years but you, you would never experience the things a child should be, the things teenerages and young adults go through. Once again Cazador has robbed you of your life just how Astarion was robbed of his.

Morning rolled by, You picked up a little flower near Gale’s tent, “Astarion! Look what I found!” You ran up to him as he was getting ready to set foot on finding a healer with the others. “What is it this time?” He mutters looking up before seeing a flower being gently shoved to his face. “A flower.” You smile waiting for him to take it. “ A flower…you called my attention for a flower…this is why I don’t work with little annoying monsters.” He sighs already feeling annoyed from the lack of blood. “I’m sorry…” You whisper looking down, putting the flower away from his face, small tears forming in your doe eyes. He stops putting things into his bag and sighs “ Why must you be such a crybaby” He sits down pulling your tiny form on his lap, taking the flower. “Wow, thank you. I feel the luckiest person to get a flower from you.” He says in a bored voice looking at you. You sniff and rub your eyes, “You mean it?” The tears no longer present in your eyes. He looks at you unamused. “Yes, now shoo, I have to pack. Go bother Gale, Shadowheart or even Tav but not me got it?” He makes you get off his lap before freezing feeling you give him a light peck on his cheek “Okay! I’ll collect more flowers for the others!” You giggle before running off.  He placed a hand over his cheek and watched the direction you left. “What an odd little spawn.” He whispers before continuing to pack. 

  You hummed a tune as you collected more flowers near Gale’s camp where Gale was sitting on the pillow, reading a book. He looks up hearing you hum. “Say (Y/n), that tune you must be from the upper city aren’t you?” He smiles placing the book down as your little feet shuffle over to him. “Mmhm! Papa would always sing me this lullaby at night!” You grin “It’s my favorite and he always wants me to sing! He says I’m his little singing bird!” Placing the flowers down, you sat on the ground in front of gale. Thinking back to what Astarion said last night, remembering to not give away too much information. “Judging by your clothes, I bet your father is a rather important man?” He smiles rubbing down those stubborn baby hairs that lift up from your hair. You only nodded “Papa is the best! I miss him and I want to go home…” You look around the wilderness that you and Astarion crashed in. “I want him to hold me close…I always dream of those monsters…and the little wormy” Whimpering you scoot into Gale’s arms. “I don’t want them to come back!” You tear up, “I want papa to hold me but he’s not here!” You wail. Gale quickly panics “Oh…crying child…what to do…wish Tara was here…” He mutters before rubbing your back “Hey now, you can always come to me, Shadowheart and even Tav if you ever have a nightmare. How about this, before you go to bed, I will tell you a story so you can dream of that story rather than the scary monsters. Trust me, I have read so many books, I know them by heart.” He grins as you finally stopped the water works. “Which is why he’s a walking library in this case.” Shadowheart smiles walking over “Now, we should get going, the closer we find a healer, the faster you can go to your papa” She smiles leaning to your height. “Really!” You smiled, your eyes widened at the thought of seeing your father soon. “Let’s go!” Grabbing the flowers, you ran to Astarion to share the news. 

“Astarion!”

“What now!?” 

Walking to find a healer seems like eternity to you, “I wanna rest!” You whined to Astarion tugging at his shirt. “Then complained to Tav, they are leading the damn group, not me.” He sighs, breathing in heavily to compose himself from lashing out. “Up! Up!” You lifted your arms. “The hell I won’t!” He walks faster only for you to follow him whining even more. The rest of the small group look over watching the two of you, seeing you bothering Astarion even more. “Is it me or do these two know each other very much?” Shadowheart watches you keep tugging on his shirt. “Yet he says he doesn’t know (Y/N), that they only tagged along with him.” Gale crossed his arms. Tav smiles “I don’t know, (Y/n) looks nothing like Astarion so I doubt they are related and (Y/N) always mentions a papa.” Shadowheart and Gale nodded. “What in the nine hells! Where did you go!?” Astarion looks around for you as you stop tugging on his shirt a while ago. “Where did they go?” Tav walks back to the pale elf. “ I don’t know, the moment they were annoying the hell out of me! Next thing I know, they are go- wait…” He smells it, blood. You must have run off to the smell. “ I…um…heard them, this way” He quickly follows the scent with the rest following. 

You carefully walked down the ladder, the smell of blood getting stronger. Turning around a corner, you are met with a woman with red skin, burning and importantly with a broken horn. Slowly walking over to the tiefling, you look up at her “Are you okay?” You meekly whisper seeing how tall she was according to your height. She looks up hearing the childish voice, “Hells, what is a child doing all alone?” She looks at you shocked before feeling the tadpoles connect. “Fuck” Karlach whispers holding her head “You were also in that ship…” She whispers before calming herself down and kneels down to make it seem less intimidating to you. “Hey there little soldier,  What are you doing all alone?” She smiles as you slowly take small steps towards her. “I…you’re hurt…are you okay?” You go to place your small hand on her but she backs away quickly. “Careful there, I’m not like any other tiefling, I can burn you.” She smiles “I'm Karlach, what’s your name, little soldier?” She chuckles admiring your little face as you try to say her name slowly. “Car…Ka…la…Karlach.” You finally get it right, before giving her your name, someone else beat you to it. 

“(Y/N)!?” Tav runs over, crossing the log and quickly pulls you back from Karlach, putting you behind. “Get away from them” Tav frowns weapons out. “Are you okay?” Shadowheart checks you over for any injuries as Gale also checked along with her. Astarion catches up and lets out a small sigh seeing you alive and safe. “What in the sweet hells were you thinking running off like that?! A goblin could’ve gotten you or a wild animal?!” He looks down at you but stops himself seeing you tear up. “I-I’m sorry….don’t get mad like papa!” You cried. “Like papa….” He glares down at you. “Don’t ever compare me to him you litt-” He stops himself seeing the fear in your eyes. Him, being like Cazador. He would rather kill himself than be exactly like his old master. He sighs before kneeling to you as the others were busy with Karlach. “Sorry…I was…I guess you can say I was very worried…I know it wasn’t your intention to run off…” He then whispers “You must be hungry…for blood like me…I know you are craving that sweet and yet bitter flavor but you need to hold it in like I am…tonight we’ll find some small vermin okay?” He slowly pats your head as you nod. Standing up, he walks over to the rest as you follow closely to him. “My, I feel so much better knowing we have a strong wall to protect us from any arrows” He smirks after learning Karlach was recruited. “I like her! She’s nice!” You popped out from behind walking over to Karlach. “And I like you little soldier” She smiles. 

After going back to camp for the day, Astarion watches as you listen to Gale’s stories. He sat from his tent looking at a book but his mind wandered back to what you said. Like papa…when has Cazador ever punished you? He thinks back but nothing comes to him. He turns the page to the book to make it look like he was reading. He looks back at you with that question still haunting his thoughts. It really ticked him off when you compared him to Cazador, he will never be like him…no he will be better. He wants to get back at him and back at him good. He smirks looking at you. Why not get him back with the thing he treasures the most, or rather the person he treasures the more. 

You

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Authors Notes: Thank you everyone for reading this, please like, reblog and share it with others. I will be working on Part 2 soon hopefully. I also started another series a month ago or more about Astarion and a Gur! Reader. There is only part 1 out as well but I will be working out on that. Please remember to stay hydrated and to get some rest. Love you all! You are welcome to ask to be tagged as well for the next part.

-Axie

[tragedybunny]

A Little More Than a Nibble - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion wakes you up at camp looking for a late night snack. You both end up with something a little more. (Fluff, Angst)

Yes I'm on the Astarion train. How can you not love him?

This short is set before Astarion's act 2 confession

Something called to you from the dark, stirring you out of sleep. Fragments of the waking world brushed against your consciousness; a dying fire, a far off owl calling, a presence hovering over you. The cold influx of terror lasts only a moment as you realize the presence is not only familiar but expected at this point. “Are you awake darling?” Astarion’s voice exudes the beguiling charm that’s become so familiar to you, familiar enough you’ve started to catch the hint of artifice that lays behind it.

Sleep-heavy eyes drift open to find him kneeling down next to you, red eyes fixed on you. The deep slumber is hard to shake off and your answer is no more than a drowsy whisper. “I am now.”

“Oh apologies my sweet but I was just wondering if…” He lets the words hang for a moment, waiting for your mind to catch up, to finish the implication. Really though it could only be about one of two things since you’re the one in camp that’s been both fucking and feeding him. And with the ungodly hour, you can easily conclude which it is.

“No luck hunting?” He deserves at least a little teasing for waking you like this.

“Actually I was thinking about you and couldn’t get the taste of you off my tongue. Would you mind terribly if I had just a little taste, just a slight nibble?” Perhaps you’ve been too indulgent with him and he’s grown used to getting his way with you, a habit you really should put to an end. If only the mere suggestion of those teeth at your neck didn’t make you quiver with excitement.

Still, it won’t do to placidly let him have his way every time. “You say slight nibble, and I wake up woozy the next morning. I fail to see what I get out of this little arrangement.”

For a moment, you think you see the slightest hint of hurt at your refusal, before he swiftly resumes his flirtatious persona. “Why, you get my gratitude and affection. Both of which are undying, I might remind you.”

It’s not the honeyed words that convince you, it’s the ghost of an emotion, the possibility of vulnerability, that there’s something beneath the mask he shows everyone, even you. Not that you would really refuse, you’re too far gone for that. Life as the daughter of a noble house of Baldur’s Gate primed you for this, to fall for a man so wrong, and dangerous, and not at all anything you should want. Rebellion after years of complicity, years of forced perfection and crafted smiles, of doing everything expected of you. The Illithid ship had given you a terrible burden, but it had also been more freedom than you’d ever known in your life. Freedom that didn’t necessarily come with inbuilt wisdom. Silently, you throw back the covers, beckoning him into the bed roll beside you. With a satisfied smile, he gracefully slides in, body pressed against yours.

The first time you’d let him do this it had been awkward, sloppy almost, a fact explained by the later revelation you were his first. Now familiarity has led to comfort, intimacy of its own sort. Different than just sex, but no less thrilling. An arm around your waist, he buries his head into the crook of your neck, lips brushing up against it in a gentle kiss first that makes you shiver before the bite.

The sharp ice of those teeth piece your skin and drive into the blood flowing in your veins. Then you feel it, the echo of your blood flowing into his veins. It had frightened you the first time but now it sends a wave of bliss through you. An involuntary sigh escapes you and you know if his mouth wasn’t full, he’d be tormenting you for how much you enjoy it. Arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him tighter against you, as though you are begging for more. You are though aren’t you? You can’t get enough of this, of him.

Drifting away, you lose yourself in him, a sweet surrender to an inexorable pull. As promised though, he’s only taken a taste when he lets up, pulling away, and licking any drops from your skin. The control he’s starting to show is impressive, even if it leaves you yearning for the strange connection of his feeding. Knowing that he never lingers after any encounter between the two of you, you unwrap your arms which feel so much heavier now, letting him go. Unexpectedly, he remains, head now resting on your chest, forehead pressed to your cheek. “Not going to eat and run?”

“In such a hurry to be rid of me?” He murmurs, his face hidden so you don’t even have a chance of reading his expression.

You’re not naive, despite what the others might believe. There’s nothing more you expect beyond what already passes between the two of you. Even if you believe you could care for him, he’s not open to you that way. Still, even if the tone is nonchalant, you feel there’s a loneliness behind it he's not quite hiding all the way. “I didn’t say that.” He doesn’t ask directly to stay and you know he won’t, so you pull the covers over the two of you and put your arms back around him and without saying another word.

With a subtle shift, you feel him get near your throat once again before stopping himself. “Perhaps I should go.”

“You don’t have to, I trust you.” Tentatively, you reach a hand up and softly stroke it through his silver hair. First he tenses, and you wait for a reproach for being too tender with him, but none comes. A moment later and you feel the tension release and he relaxes again. Your eyes are heavy, your body desperately craving sleep, but you're afraid there will never be another moment like this, with him so close, and not pushing you away. So you fight to stay conscious, and keep your fingers moving gently as long as he allows it. Sleep comes to claim you again though, and just as the world fades around you, lips brush your collarbone and the arm around your waist holds a little tighter.

The dawn comes, and the camp stirs. When you find the empty space in your bed roll, you tell yourself your heart doesn’t break a little and get ready to get on with your day.