#astarion has taken over my brain like a tadpole | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

faerunnn · 1 year

Text

Memories

(GIF found Here! :D )

Hello, so i am back. With something a lil angsty, a lil fluffy. You guys should know the drill by now. Please let me know your thoughts :D

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2464

It has been quite some time since the battle of Baldur's Gate. You all went your separate ways, occasionally catching up with one another but as time and lives went on, slowly drifting more apart. Everyone was slowly finding the lives they wanted to live. Some moved away from the city, wanting to forget it all. Some stayed around. Including you. Baldur's gate was the only place you ever truly was able to call home. And while your wanderlust had taken you to many places, you always found your way back to the city.

You sometimes wondered how the others were doing. Wandering what could have been, wondering what was never meant to be. You miss your old companions sometimes. But their happiness was what kept you smiling when thinking back on your adventures. There was barely any room for heartache when everyone got what they wanted. Everyone but you.

After the battle against the Elder brain you and Astarion never fully established what it was that the two of you had. The connection that was shared. There was something there, for sure. But the both of you being too stubborn to talk about it, acknowledge it. That same stubbornness led to the both of you drifting apart. Slowly but surely, until you stopped hoping that he might show up at your doorstep. Stopped visiting his place, stopped meeting at the usual spots. Your pride got in the way of your happiness, once again. The one time you felt like you truly had met your equal. A ‘’soulmate’’, if those were even real. You beat yourself up about for a while, until time got in the way.

It has been over a year since you last saw each other. And it wasn't until tonight that you went back to one of the taverns you and your companions would occasionally meet to catch up. You rather not go there but some of your co-workers insisted you’d tag along for a drink after a very long work day. And it had been a long day indeed. You wanted to just go home, take a bath and curl up in your sheets and sleep for days. But one drink couldn't hurt, right?

The party all gathered outside of the office and you all walked toward the familiar pub. A whiff of alcohol and sweat already hit your nose as you got closer. It must be a busy night. Maybe a famous bard was playing tonight. The music did sound quite lovely opposed to other nights of horrible out of tune lutes being played inside the tavern walls. You all gathered a small table in the corner of the main hall, scooting closer together and just catching up on life while enjoying a somewhat decent drink. The drinks have never been great here, but that somehow made you feel even more nostalgic of the many tears, laughs and memories shared in this space. You wondered if there was a way to get everyone back here sometime soon.

‘’So,’’ one of your male co-workers turned to you. ‘’What is it truly like being the hero of Baldur's gate?” A small smirk present on his lips and a playful look swirling in his eyes. All of your co-workers knew this was a topic you’d rather not talk about. Not because you're ashamed, but there was no need to brag about all the lives it had cost to save the city, guilty or innocent. You swallowed and gave him a tight smile before taking a rather large gulp of your drink. The alcohol is now slowly starting to kick in.

‘’Well, I suppose it is.. Flattering. I wouldn't consider myself a hero. But i am glad the city is somewhat safe again.’’ you said. Not really wanting to dig deep into the topic at all, even if you were slowly starting to feel more tipsy.

‘’Oh, come on! There must be something to tell. What about the tadpole? You were supposed to be dead, respectfully.’’ he carefully said.

‘’Yes, I was. But I am glad I am not. Though I wouldn't recommend anyone carrying a worm inside their head, it did save my life in a way. The experience itself was rather unusual, I suppose. I don't think there's anything I can compare it to.’’ as you start talking you hear a bit more commotion on the other side of the room. But from your angle you can't tell what's going on. Probably another tavern fight between two drunk sailors. Wouldn't be the first time. After a quick glance that way you quickly return to your conversation.

‘’What about your companions? Do you still see them?’’ A female co-worker asked you nervously.

‘’Uhm, we uhm. We occasionally see each other yes.’’ Not a complete lie. But these people didn't need to know the whole truth. ‘’Does anyone want another drink?’’ you quickly ask before any more questions on the topic could arise. You get up from the table and walk up to the bar to order another round for the whole table. Your last, you decided. It has been a long day and sleep was going to creep up on you soon. You look back at your colleagues while you wait and reminisce about the times that table was filled with your companions instead.

After a short while you take the drinks back to the table and join in on the conversation that had been started while you were gone when all of a sudden the commotion rose again. But this time it was loud, and people started getting out of the way. It was then that you noticed it was indeed a fight. While you were about to roll your eyes and take a big gulp of your drink you recognized a certain mop of white hair and pointy ears. Oh god. Your eyes widened. Your body froze. It was him. Fighting an orc almost twice his size.. In the middle of a tavern. He was wearing an all black outfit, which looked almost too good on his body. A dagger held to the neck of the orc as he held him in place. Reminding you of the time the two of you had met. He really hasn't changed much.

You got up from where you were sitting and got a little closer to the situation, trying to blend in with the crowd whilst figuring out what the hell had happened. You saw coins scattered on the table, drinks that once had been in tankards spilled over the floor and chairs.

‘’You better watch your damn mouth around here, elf.’’ The orc said. Trying to push himself back to his feet. ‘’Others might not show you the same mercy.’’ as he pushed Astarion from his frame, he got up. Gathered some of his coins and turned around to leave. Whilst Astarion did the same. You looked back at your colleagues and they were too caught up in their own conversations to notice you left the table again. You made a split decision, not even really thinking while your legs just carried you out of the tavern the same way he left.

He was already well out in the street again while the darkness of the night was about to lure him back into the shadows. You almost panicked, you didn't even know what you were going to say to him once you confronted him with your presence. You just let your feet carry you.

The weather had changed from a somewhat chilly afternoon to a rainy evening. Making your vision even worse. You kept on walking until you reached a crossroads. He has slipped from your vision, unknown which turn he had made, you looked around once more. Hoping to catch a glimpse of his frame. Alas, he was gone. You sighed in defeat as you wanted to turn back around, making your way back to the tavern. Coming up with an excuse as to why your clothes and hair are drenched. A small tear slipped from your eye, blending in perfectly with the raindrops that had been collecting on your cheeks. You looked down at your clothes, now completely soaked. But you didn't care anymore. Something in you stirred. A feeling you had buried deep within the depths of your heart. A flame reigniting slowly. Love. a feeling you had not felt in a while. Even only seeing him, so briefly, it brought everything back up. You looked up into the sky, closed your eyes and took a deep breath before finally turning around, walking back. Maybe you needed this. A very cruel way of the universe telling you to let him go. Fully letting him go. No more small hopes, no more wishing he would magically be on your doorstep. He slipped from your grasp tonight. Maybe rekindling was never an option to begin with.

You took a few steps back toward the tavern, hands wrapped around your own body to somewhat comfort yourself in a way. No more tears were going to be shed on the topic. It had been too long. You deserved happiness, peace. You had fought your battles. And now it was time to find your place in this life.

‘’What's a lady like yourself doing alone on the streets at this hour?’’ a creepy voice behind you said all of a sudden. You quickly froze, and looked around. Trying to find the body that matched the voice. You found none. You quickly tried to make your way back to the tavern but realized it would still be quite the distance. And with the rain clouding your vision, you didn't really know if you were walking in the right direction. Panic rushed through your body as you tried to make out which way to go, not wanting to get lost. Suddenly a hand made its way around your waist. Roughly pulling your body into a much larger frame. You tried to get yourself out of the grasp of the stranger but you were unable to, he was too strong. You looked over your shoulder and recognised him. It was the orc from the tavern fight.

‘’This is a dangerous place for someone like you, you know. I should bring you somewhere safe.’’ he said, getting awfully close to your neck. He held you in a tight embrace, there was no way to get out of his grasp. ‘’I know just the place to treat a nice lady like yourself exactly the way she deserves to be treated. All the things i am going to do to yo–’’ He couldn't finish his sentence, as he started sputtering and coughing up blood. Covering your clothes and hair in drops of his bodily liquids as his body went limp behind you, you quickly got out of his grasp and stumbled forward when your foot got caught on a piece of cobblestone. You stumbled forward and cried out when your body hit the ground, hard. You took a quick peek over your shoulder whilst crawling away and saw the orcs body lay there, lifeless and cold. A tall frame looming over his body. The figure then bent down and retrieved a dagger from the orcs neck. He wiped it clean on his clothes and slit it back into the sheath on his belt. You were terrified. You see the frame walking closer toward you as you try to get up and run away again. There were times where murder didn't bother you. But that life was in your past now. This was not the reality you wanted to live out anymore. Too much blood had been shed by your hands.

As you were trying to regain your balance you noticed that your wrist had taken too much of your weight when you fell. You didn't know if it was broken or just badly sprained, but it hurt like hell either way. The frame got closer to you and that's when you noticed.

The white hair, pale skin. Red eyes that had never been more aflame than they were in this moment. It was Astarion. He saved your life. You gasped when he was close enough to fully be in your vision. The very dim street lights are not doing him justice. He had never looked more beautiful than he did in this moment. His curly hair now sticking to his face from the rain, concern in his eyes. You both stared at each other in silence for a moment before you took a step toward him and pulled him into your frame. A soft sob leaving your lips as you felt him slowly wrap his arms around you, pulling you so close, like he was never going to let you go again.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ he said softly after staying in the moment for a while. You look up at him in confusion. ‘’I am sorry that I didn't try hard enough. I am sorry that I never really told you how I felt. I am sorry that–’’ before he could even continue his unnecessary apologies you kissed him. Softly, so tenderly. Hands cupping his cheeks. He was taken aback by your action but quickly melted into the kiss. A hand going up to the back of your neck, one lingering on your lower back. You pull back from him for a second and look into his eyes, trying to see if there's any form of hesitation in his stare. But there isn't.

‘’You don't have to say sorry. If anyone has to apologize it is me. I should've told you how I felt. I should've made the effort too. I guess this is on both of us. But I want you to know there has not been a day where I haven't thought about you.’’ you say. ‘’There are many things that have stopped me in the past. Many things I feared. But I am done being scared.’’

You look into his eyes. A small smile crept on his lips while you were talking. One you have missed so much, one you had been hoping to see every day for the past year. But fear has gotten the best of you. Your ego being too fragile, too weak. A small young girl, frightened of abandonment, had been making decisions in your life to make the risk as small as possible. But you were done with being afraid. You would rather risk the fear than live the rest of your days alone.

Astarion pulled you close again and placed a small kiss on your forehead.

‘’This is where our future begins.’’

And it was then that you fully realized, he is more of yourself than you are. Whatever our souls are made of, his and yours were the same.

#astarion x mc #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 angst #bg3 oc #astarion romance #astarion baldurs gate #astarion angst #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #tav x astarion #bg3 astarion

389 notes · View notes

riddlesrose · 1 month

Text

on the chest of another

w/ astarion

cw; none but maybe mild ooc astarion

hi yeah i haven't posted in 13 months my bad enjoy

He doesn't know the last time he felt truly comfortable with another living person, he’d been turned into a blood-thirsty vampire hundreds of years ago, he slowly learnt that the people he attempts to love will wither away while he stays put, same age, same face, though he can’t see it. Astarion watches the world change and reform around him while he retains memories of those he loved before they were either taken by the cold hands of death itself or he was forced to sacrifice them to his evil lord, Cazador.

When he’d been taken, kidnapped, vampnapped off the streets of Baldur’s Gate, he’d never been so thankful, he was free, albeit trapped in a flying ship with aliens and other kidnapees, he was free from Cazador and the horrible treatment he’d endured for years upon years. He felt unrestricted until they threw him into a pod, then forcefully inserted an alien-type creature into his eye. He writhed in pain, attempting to free his arms, hands or legs to fight back, but it proved fruitless, he was stuck, and now, he had no idea what was going to happen to him.

Astarion doesn’t know how long he’d been out, unconscious but before he could collect his thoughts, he realized that the flying ship he was, unfortunately, still on, was on fire, being actively attacked.

After the ship had been knocked around a few times, set more on fire, he noticed a person, they were free, walking around like nothing was happening, or maybe looking for an exit, but they were definitely too far for anything to be heard had he banged on the front of his pod. That’s it, this is his end, he’ll probably just die when this ship inevitably crashes. Oh well, it’s a better outcome than being Cazador’s slave for the rest of his miserable life.

Astarion stirred, feeling the sun warm his body, wait, the sun? He shot up, he should be turning to ash, he lifted his hands to check he really wasn’t chipping away in the sunlight. This has to be a cruel joke, Cazador or someone of his likes toying with him, teasing him with what he misses and has missed for the past 200 years. That and maybe his own reflection. But oh dear, how he’s missed the sun. The feeling, how it makes him feel, he feels happy, momentarily, until he remembers what just happened. First, getting kidnapped, then having some kind of tadpole inserted into his brain, now, he’s in the sun. What the hell.

Then he also remembers the lone traveller that wandered free upon the ship, they’re probably around here somewhere, he better lure them out, question them.

Many weeks passed by, Astarion ended up joining forces with the traveller he almost attacked, whom he learned goes by Tav, a Githyanki, a wizard, a cleric, a Tiefling, a druid and a warlock. He’d fought in many battles, some great, some his companions dragged him to, earned himself a few new friends, shared many stories with the camp, and shared his secret. The camp was very accepting of his condition, as long as he didn’t feed on an unwilling target. Tav was a dear on the night he almost starved, he’d gotten so hungry he thought he’d be able to sneak a quick bite without Tav noticing, guess guards were still too high and they noticed as soon as he got too close at night. After exposing himself on accident, Tav had offered a small amount of their blood to aid him. Now, it’s almost nightly he’ll go find Tav in their tent or bedroll and sate his hunger. Rats and boars just don’t tide him over anymore now that he has his own food source, willing food source.

“Astarion?” Tav stirred, cracking their eyes, while searching for his.

“Yes, my dear?” He hovered over them, looking as if he was going to feed but almost backing away this time.

“I can feel you hesitating, why?” Tav had always been able to feel when he made his way into their tent for his needs, sometimes they woke but never pushed him away or forced him to take less than he needed.

“Why, I am not! I am simply… going to wait for you to go back to sleep.” He looked proud with his excuse.

“Lies. There’s another reason.”

“There is not.”

“Yes there is.”

“No-”

“I’m not going to argue this, Astarion, is there something wrong?”

He sighed, moved himself to sit by Tav’s legs and looked away, not bashfully, he was embarrassed. Tav sat up as well, but scooted closer to Astarion so he didn’t have to speak above a whisper if he did not see it fit.

“I feel greedy.” His demeanor of wit and confidence melted away as the bugs and frogs sang their night songs in the nearby pond. The night was cold, usually lonely, but he felt a sort of comfort with Tav that he hadn’t felt in years, he vowed to himself after he was turned that all mortals were never to be loved by him. They were going to die and he wasn’t. It wasn’t fair, he wanted to grow old with someone he loved deeply, he wanted more than to be someone’s pawn, a spawn of evil intent, born to do no good.

Tav did not say anything, only tilting their head to the side with empathy shining in their eyes.

“Now, I’m not asking for pity, dear, don’t give me that look.”

“I know, I was simply allowing you to continue without interrupting, but look where we are.”

“Cheeky. Fine,” He took a breath, thinking for a moment, “I haven’t been free of Cazador in two hundred years, I am unsure how to feel, how to live, frankly. I have been his slave, I’ve done his dirty work for as long as I can remember, I had no way out, I was underfed, mistreated, beaten, used, abused, everything you can think of darling, I experienced it under Cazador’s orders.” Sometime during his small rant you had moved closer, draping a blanket around his shoulders, and rested a hand on his shoulder, showing support without interrupting him. Astarion looked over to you with pain and sadness in his glossy red eyes.

“Why don’t you stay for a while, you can leave before the sun comes up, no one has to know the witty and confident Astarion we all know stayed the night in another’s tent.” Tav proposed. They moved back onto the bedding they had tucked into the most private part of their tent, allowing him to follow if he chose to. He was not pressured, not forced, but given complete free will of his actions, something he still could not fully capture the grasp of because of his past. He thought on the choices he was proposed,

“Only for a few minutes.” He decided since he doesn’t really sleep anyways, he’s an elf. He crept a few inches closer, unsure of where to go, Tav lied down and patted their chest, colour rose to Astarion’s pale cheeks, he was thankful it was dark. He took a few awkward seconds of staring at Tav before snapping out of his trance and shuffling back a few inches so his head could rest on their chest, he felt out of place, inconvenient, a burden to Tav’s sleeping. He was about to get up and thank Tav for their time before they brushed their hand through his messy curls and he stopped. His heart began beating a tad bit faster, he promised, no swore, that no mortal would make him feel this comfortable, loved, cared for, he knew what was inevitable…

After many minutes, Tav could feel his breathing slow as they continued to rake their hand through his hair, untangling pieces every so often, they watched his eyelashes flutter before his breathing fell in tempo with their own. Tav guessed it had been a while since he’d felt comfortable, given his history and all. It was true, so for the first time in many, many years, Astarion fell asleep to the sound of a heart beating in the chest of another.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #bg3 tav #tav #astarion x tav #gender neutral #soft astarion #astarion needs a hug #astarion x reader

64 notes · View notes

littlejuicebox · 10 months

Text

An Early Highharvestide Feast

(Soft Dom Astarion x Female Reader)

-----

Setting: 4 years after BG3, "good" ending, Unascended Astarion x F Reader Notes: Took a break from my WrenxAstarion fic to write this Thanksgiving-themed (kind of but not really... lol it just worked for the plot), one shot. This idea was playing in my head, and I had to get it out. Hope you all enjoy and have a happy Thanksgiving! This might end up being a Part 1 of a mini story. I'd like to do the fluff scene with all their friends around and imagine the lives they've lived. I love to see comments about what you liked in the story, it inspires me for other fics. Rating: Mature 18+ / smut Word Count: 2.5K

-----

You’re in the kitchen, flowers strewn about the marble countertop as you arrange the bouquets for tomorrow’s banquet. It’s been four years since you’ve seen everyone at the same time, and finally, finally, the old gang will be back together in one room in less than 24 hours. Your heart practically soared in anticipation... a Highharvestide banquet in your very own home, with your favorite people in the world. You wanted everything to be just perfect.

The planning had taken weeks. Astarion had left the menu to you, of course, apart from the wine and alcohol selection. He had taken that from you quite early on and it had been more than a tenday before he solidified his choices between his frequent business meetings and your political events. He’d focused heavily on guiding you both in politics and expanding your wealth the past few years, while you focused on gardening and improving Baldur's Gate... plus navigating the lack of anonymity in your life.

Admittedly, you’d stumbled clumsily through your change in status, from unknown woman to Lady Ancunin, while Astarion glided into the position like he’d simply left his post for a long vacation. You’d been happy to take the lead in the wilds while a tadpole was lodged in everyone's brains, but you were even happier to hand the reins to him once the city was safe. And you were always proud to tell your friends that he’d navigated the two of you through the changes quite well.

In fact, he'd just purchased a second property outside of Baldur’s Gate with aims to start your very own winery; his pet project that he loved quite dearly. It was beautiful to watch Astarion approach something with such passion and vigor. After becoming the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, it had pained you that he could no longer stand in the sun. Not as much as it so obviously pained him. His mask was carefully crafted, and yet you often saw right through it. You hoped that perhaps one of your friends would bring news of a cure for his condition to the feast.

He had always been adamant that he’d make the same choice over and over again, but guilt still stabbed you like a dagger to the gut when you saw him watch the sun rise from the deepest depths of your manor or caught him studying your tan lines from your many hours spent out in the garden, your own personal pet project, specializing primarily in night blooming plants.

Astarion’s voice pulls you from your reverie as he enters the kitchen with Scratch trailing behind him. His vermillion eyes are focused on a scroll in his hands as he grasps a bone from a jar and tosses it into the dog’s bed. Scratch obediently settles himself into the plush mattress, content to gnaw away at the treat.

“Darling, your dog went after the chickens again. One of the staff had to run him down and then give him a bath. We may want to seriously consider a trainer. Command beast works all well and good when you’re around, but not everyone has that skill set in their repertoire, dear.” His tone carries just the slightest tinge of annoyance; you two have had this conversation before. But you know in his heart of hearts that Astarion loves the blasted dog perhaps more than you do.

You glance at Scratch, currently focused on giving you his best look of feigned innocence. The look reminds you quite a bit of another white-haired miscreant standing in that very same kitchen and you chuckle. Distracted, you feel the miscalculated slip of your hand as you reach for a particularly thorned flower stem. The punishing sting causes you to wince and pull in a sharp intake of breath. Blood blooms in buds of red on your fingers and the scent catches Astarion’s attention immediately.

His eyes are alight as he chides you. “You really must stop bleeding everywhere, my heart. It’s distracting.” He places the scroll down and comes to your side, grasping your hand in his to examine the damage.

“Perhaps if you helped me with these arrangements like I’d asked, I wouldn’t be in this situation, my love.” You respond with a soft huff, but you extend your hand towards the vampire, already quite aware what his next move will be. He bends to lick the red droplets from your skin before he kisses the knuckle of your hand. Astarion will never waste such a precious thing, that much is certain.

“Perhaps if you more frequently used the staff -- that we pay quite well, might I add -- to do things like tend your garden, put all these flowers in vases, and perform any number of menial tasks, then you wouldn’t be in this situation.” The vampire retorts with a raised eyebrow. “All of this is below your station now. It truly pains me to see your beautiful hands doing such things, my dear.”

You smile as you close your eyes and whisper a healing incantation, sealing the superficial wounds with minimal effort. You swivel in your seat and turn to face your husband, eyebrow arched to mirror his own, voice slipping into a coy register. “And what, Lord Ancunin, would you rather see my hands doing?”

You won. You could see it in the darkening of his eyes as he placed his hands on either side of the counter and pressed forward to look at you, red eyes flitting between yours.

Astarion had ebbed and flowed in his sexual appetites, especially in the first few years of your union. He had been plagued by panic attacks and night terrors something awful; they still occurred but not with the same horrid frequency. Your many nights of herbal teas and "flower child" magic, as he so lovingly called it, eased the suffering. You’d been content to ride the waves of desire with him, and it seemed more recently, as the two of you adjusted to domestic life, his appetites had returned with force.

His face hovered just inches in front of yours, eyes alight with a combination of adoration and lust as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back and running his eyes greedily down your body, cocking his head as he fantasized about any number of dirty things. “I have several delicious ideas for those hands, darling.”

The flowers were scattered on the ground, along with a broken vase in an instant. The vampire hoisted you up with relative ease before placing you onto the cool, marbled counter. His hands grazed up the side of your silken gown and then delved under the hem to explore your bare skin. He quickly found his way to the junction between your thighs and a pleased, rakish smile crossed his face.

“No underclothes, Lady Ancunin? You truly do desire to test my patience today.” His eyes locked with yours as he knelt in front of you, draping your legs over his shoulders and pushing your dress up to reveal you to him fully.

You would have to enlist the help of the staff tomorrow afternoon. The tradeoff was well worth it, you thought, as your silver-haired husband bowed his head before you to run his tongue against your slit, a little hum escaping him as he tasted your warmth. He ran his tongue up to your clit, his lazy, languid strokes pressing into you. Always such a tease.

“Astarion…” You murmur, bucking your hips toward the vampire as your hands found silver curls of hair and took hold.

A smile snaked its way across his lips as he continued his torment. You were wriggling, desperate for more, which the elf adamantly denied you, his hands gripping into your thighs as he brushed his feather light tongue against you once more. Just enough stimulation to keep your attention, but not enough to provide any relief.

“My love..” Your tone is practically begging for him to give you more.

“Mm, darling. I do believe I need to show you what else your hands could do, don’t I?” He grabs your hand and yanks it towards your sex, where he guides you to play with yourself. Hungry red eyes watch the show as arousal begins to drip from you onto the countertop. He slips two long fingers deep inside your cunt and curls them slightly, pumping the digits in and out, which earns him a delightful moan. Still on his knees, the vampire removes his fingers from inside your walls and licks your juices off his hand before sliding your legs off his shoulders and standing. He makes quick work of ripping your gown over your head, pressing gentle kisses against the newly freed flesh of your chest. You are now completely barren and exposed to your lover, his lustful eyes stoking the fire between your legs.

His own arousal is now clearly straining against his clothes. Astarion quickly undoes the buttons of his collar and lacings of his trousers, freeing his cock before your hungry gaze. You’re still playing with yourself as you watch the man completely undress before you.

“Now darling…” He murmurs in that sensual tone reserved only for you. He guides your unoccupied hand to the twitching length of his cock and wraps it around the shaft, giving a few experimental pumps into your hand. “What else can your beautiful hands do?”

You take the queue and begin moving your hand around his length. Astarion hisses in pleasure, rolling his hips as he fucks your hand. The vision is quite lewd; you're playing with your own pussy as you pump your lover’s cock in time, your respective arousals just inches from one another but not touching. It's enough to cause the heat in your cheeks and your sex to rise and illicit several excited keens from you. He teasingly moves his length closer to your entrance, pulling away just as the head of his member brushes against you. You want to scream every time he pulls away, the bastard lives to tease you to the edge of desire.

Astarion was watching the scene with rapt interest, absolutely transfixed. His breath was quickening as he pressed himself into your hand, watching the head of his penis sheath and unsheathe itself under your ministrations as your pussy prayed to be plunged into, leaking arousal all over the cold countertop. He was always more in control in these situations, able to keep a firm hold on his desire in a way you never could.

“Look at my little treat, making such a mess on these expensive counters.” He murmured in mock disappointment and mock condescension, eyes burning with excitement. “Play with yourself and show me the mess you make when you cum for me, my sweet.”

You moan, desperate to have him fill you. “Astarion, please. Fuck me already. Please.” You’re keening, fingers rubbing against your clit with vigor. Desperate for something to fill the ache inside you, you remove your hand from your lover’s cock and shove two fingers into your wetness. The stimulation is fantastic and rips a moan from your vocal cords as your head tilts back.

Astarion chuckles darkly at the scene before him. It was no secret that he loved the way you inflated his ego when you begged for him, a writhing mess of wanton desire for his eyes only. The do-good, stoic hero of Baldur’s Gate turned into a desperate, needy little minx under his touch. He never tired of it. “Cum for me, darling. And then you will get your reward.”

You aim to do as he says, using one hand to plunge in and out of yourself while the other rubs frantically at your clit. Your legs are spread wide, displaying everything to the vampire as you push yourself towards release. Finally, the bubble bursts and an orgasm crashes around you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body and into your thobbing sex. The pulsing seems nearly endless, and you feel the ooze of your juices sliding between your legs as you ride the wave of pleasure. When you come to your senses and flutter your lids open, Astarion's eyes are boring into you with such desire that it causes a tremor of excitement to run down your spine.

In one swift move he has you in a new position. Your feet are on the floor, albeit legs a bit shaky, and your ass is turned toward your lover, body bent at the waist. Your face is pressed into the counter, into the stickiness of your own juices. Everything smells of sex.

A delicious groan escapes from the vampire as he presses the head of his cock into your entrance, ready to take you from behind. “Beautiful... now, let’s see if I am able to make you come undone once more.”

Astarion slams into you with vigor, the force of the movement knocking the wind out of you as he groans in appreciation. Your soaking wet sex offers no resistance and you gasp at the pleasure of the rapid intrusion. He repeatedly drags himself back at a tortuous, languid pace just to thrust himself balls-deep once more, snapping his hips into the flesh of your ass, moaning every time he takes you to the hilt.

“Oh gods!” You exclaim as he picks up the pace, pumping into you with increasing speed, his cock curving gratifyingly along your insides. You feel yourself clenching around him as his efforts push you toward another peak.

Astarion growls and grabs your hand, guiding it once again to your clit. You’re climbing up to a second release as he rolls his hips behind you in an unceasing onslaught.

“There you go, little love. Won’t you cum for me again?” He coaxes in a graveled whisper as his lips and tongue trail down your spine, never once ceasing his thrusts. The vampire’s teeth find a beautiful little spot at the meeting point of your shoulder and neck, and he bites down, just enough to draw blood. The sensation pushes you over the edge and you spasm around your lover, your cunt eagerly gripping at his length.

“Oh! Oh... oh, my love.” The vampire groans as your throbbing sex pushes him over the edge, his final pumps turning sloppy as he spills into you. The two of you are a mess of panting chests and tired limbs for a few moments before Astarion straightens himself up and gently pulls you from the counter, dotting kisses along your shoulder where he left the bite.

"That was wonderful." You whisper, turning to face the vampire as you plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Mmh.” Astarion agrees in a little hum as he looks down at you with soft and loving eyes, pushing strands of hair away from your face before holding your chin in his hand and planting another kiss on your lips. The slightest of smiles flits across his lips as he runs his hands down to the curve of your waist. You move to begin cleaning up the mess you two made when your lover grabs your hand and begins to tug you away from the kitchen.

"Now, now, darling. Leave that be. I haven't finished showing you what else your hands can do… and we only have a bit longer before our friends show and ruin all the fun. Seems my Highharvestide feast came a day early." He muses, before eagerly leading you to the bedroom you both share. The flowers would have to wait.

——-

Part 2: Happy Highharvestide Day (all fluff)

401 notes · View notes

honeybeebard · 10 months

Text

Helping You Remember (Enver Gortash x DarkUrge!Tav)

Summary// Ever since the crash Tav had been stripped of her memories, with nothing but her name and this violent urge inside her body wreaking havoc with every step she took. It was no small feat to control it, or at least tame it, and just when she thought she had gotten it under control a new foe, or an old ally, comes to remind her where she came from.

(I didn’t expect my first fic in the BG3 fandom to be about Gortash. In fact, I have several half-written projects of other characters but for whatever reason this man has recently taken a hold of me and I’m afraid I’ve sunk too deep. This was originally going to be a one-shot but it’s taken on a life of its own and will now be a multi-chapter!

This first chapter is heavy on angst but the next chapter will be better, I promise! I just imagine this is how your companions would react to the news as well as how Gortash gets his foot in the door of reclaiming you. I hope you like it! I normally write for ACOTAR so this was so much fun!) WARNINGS: Heavy angst, Mentions of past Dark Urge actions

It had been a long, painful journey to get to Baldur’s Gate but Tav had made it. Her companions had made it. Everyone was alive and mostly well, save for the tadpole in their brains, the end of the world, and the recent discovery of Tav’s family history. As they made their way to Wrym’s Rock Fortress it was the only thing her mind could focus on. Astarion, Karlach, and Wyll were all too happy to chat about being back but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she was.

Bhaalspawn.

Parents throughout Baldur’s Gate told stories of her kind to warn their children of the dangers of the world. She felt all the sins of her kin crawling up her back, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze in fear that they would see her for who she was. A monster. It didn’t matter how hard she fought the Urge inside her… her fate seemed to be already written in the stars. How could she save herself from this? She hadn’t even realized they had made it to the doors of the fortress until Astarion gently nudged her arm, giving her a concerned look as she was torn from her thoughts. “Are you alright, darling? You’re looking a bit clammy.” His voice was smooth but she could see the worry in his eyes. He was the first one she had told when she found out, seeking comfort in his arms just as he had done back in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. They didn’t have an official title to whatever their relationship was, sometimes friends and other times lovers, but they were each other’s closest confidants. He understood her better than herself sometimes and he had assured her that whatever she was facing, he would be there to help. So it pained her to lie through her teeth as she mumbled, “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Hopefully, we can kill two birds with one stone.” Astarion knew she was lying but didn’t press her further, his shoulders tensing slightly as he gave a curt nod and entered the building with the others. The air was buzzing with excitement as everyone awaited the coronation of Lord Gortash. His posters were everywhere, most people hailing him as a hero, but from what she had heard from Karlach he was anything but that. And especially after discovering him at Moonrise, netherstone in the gauntlet decorating his hand, she only felt that anger within her rise more at the ignorance of the city. There was something else too, like a flash of nostalgia, but it flitted from her mind before she could grasp it. Tav shook her head as they made their way up the stairs, preparing for anything as they arrived at the grand hall.

Rows of seats lined the sides as a dark red carpet decorated the ground, leading all the way up to where Duke Ravengard and Gortash stood. Wyll visibly bristled at the sight of his father, his hand steady on the edge of his blade while Karlach slowly began to grow hotter and hotter at the sight of her former friend.

“I can practically taste his blood from here.” Karlach seethed, her fists clenching. Astarion gave Tav a worrying look, wondering if now, underneath the watchful gaze of multiple Flaming Fists and the Steel Watch, was the right time to pick a fight.

Tav gave him a reassuring smile, turning to Karlach with a solemn expression. “I know you want nothing more than to rip his heart out but here might not be the best place to do it. Let’s hear him out first.” She speaks slowly, hoping to calm the tiefling.

“Hear him out? He speaks nothing but lies! There is nothing he could say that could be of use to us.” Karlach snarls, turning her heated eyes to her and frowning.

“Just trust me on this, okay?” Tav pleaded. “I promise that you will be the first one to rip him limb from limb.”

She seemed to calm slightly at Tav’s reassurance, her flames dulling as she nodded once. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier.” Karlach says, following in step as the four of them begin to walk up the aisle.

Gortash is the first to spot them, his lips turning up in a smile as he spies Karlach first. “My eyes must be deceiving me! Karlach, my dear girl, come and be welcome.” His voice was dripping with arrogance, his arms spread wide in greeting.

“I’m not your dear anything!” Karlach snaps, her hand immediately falling to her weapon. However, just as Tav tries to step in front of them, his dark eyes turn to her and widen in surprise.

“And with you, my, why it’s my favorite bhaalspawn!” He grins as he comes closer to Tav, eyeing her up and down. “I never thought I would see you again either.”

“Wait, you know each other?” Karlach frowns, turning to look at Tav with betrayal in her eyes.

“I swear I have no memory of him Karlach. I would’ve told you.” She stresses, holding up her hands in innocence while shaking her head rapidly.

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Gortash says smugly, chuckling to himself. “Your memories are quite lost aren’t they? Orin told me she’d made a fool of you. And to think you two have traveled together all this time and she hadn’t the faintest idea that you were one of my nearest and dearest.”

This time it was Astarion who spoke, his eyes hard as his jaw clenched. “What do you mean nearest and dearest?” There was a sense of urgency under his tone, something that Tav felt as well as she tried desperately to remember what Gortash already knew.

The dark-haired Lord smirked, taking a deep breath as he turned back to Tav and began to tell fill in the missing puzzle pieces of her memory. “You and I initiated this plot. No one could stand against the Dead Three so, after obtaining the crown, enslaving the brain, and creating a false God to rule the masses, there was little to stand in our way.”

Tav stumbled back a step, her head throbbing and pulse racing. No, she couldn’t have. She couldn’t have formed this plot, couldn’t have worked with Gortash. It wasn’t who she was. Was it?

“No. I would never.” She whispered, her eyes full of anger while Gortash ignored her and carried on weaving the tale.

“In Bhaal’s name, you set your bloody dagger to cause panic in the streets, killing in the Absolute’s name,” He smiled again as if recalling a fond memory. It made her want to vomit. “It was all going well until you had vanished, Orin claiming to be the new voice of Bhaal and taking over. She, unlike you, couldn’t control herself. She made a mess of things.”

Her stomach lurched, her knees buckling as bits and pieces of her past flashed through her mind. The blood, the screams, the wicked smile of her reflection as she all but bathed in the slain bodies of the innocent. Astarion noticed her trembling, reaching out to steady her as she tried to block out everything.

“Have you gone soft?” Gortash asked as he stepped closer to Tav, examining her guilt filled gaze with a disappointed look. “I find that hard to believe. One’s true nature will always rise to the top.”

“That is not my true nature.” She hissed through gritted teeth, rage heating her blood as she pushed out of Astarion’s grasp and walked towards the man before her. “Take it back. Tell me you’re lying.”

“I know you know the truth, Tav.” He coos as if talking to a startled babe. “I can see it in your eyes. That Urge deep within you, clawing at its cage to be unleashed. We had something great, are something great, until you were taken. I tolerated Orin, tolerated Ketheric, but I liked you. We can still finish this together.”

As he finishes his sentence one of his hands comes up to rest on her arm, an intimate gesture that sends feelings of disgust and warmth through her body. She hated this, hated him, hated how little control she felt. Once again she felt a battle in her body between the past and the present.

“Don’t touch me.” Tav growls, pulling away from him as if she had been burned. “I want nothing to do with you, with this plot. If anything this has only solidified my plans to kill you.”

She could feel Karlach’s approval from behind her, could feel her own body tensing for a fight only to falter when Gortash barked out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, my dear bhaalspawn, you have no choice.” His eyes were suddenly hard and his tone like ice as he gestured around him. “The quakes are a clear warning. Without all three netherstones ruling the brain, it will break free and complete the Grand Design. Your choices are to join me and rule or subject this entire city, yourself and companions included, to becoming illithids.”

All of her companions shifted uneasily, looking at Tav for guidance. She tried to run through all the scenarios, looking for an out that didn’t include digging herself further into her past self, but the choices remained the same.

“Together though,” Gortash straightens, giving her a charming smile. “Together we can control the brain. Renew our old partnership.”

“What kind of partnership?” Tav asked cautiously, hating how weak she sounded. Astarion cleared his throat beside her, pleading with her not to do this, but she ignored him. If she was going to find another way out of this she at least needed to get all angles of the problem…and that started with hearing Gortash’s bargain.

“Let’s discuss it somewhere more private, hm? Away from the prying eyes of both nobles and…your group.” He looked behind her distastefully. “Meet me in my office after the ceremony. Alone.”

And before she can say another word he struts back to the middle of the room, letting the Duke continue with the blasphemous ceremony. Tav immediately motions for her friends to follow her towards the back, ignoring the words of Wyll’s father as she finally takes a moment to breathe.

“You can’t possibly be considering partnering with him.” Astarion huffs. “Please tell me you aren’t that stupid.”

“Look at what he’s done to this city, to my father,” Wyll adds, crossing his arms. “An alliance with Gortash is like asking to be stabbed in the back. He cannot be trusted.” “You’re damn right he can’t be trusted!” Karlach fumes, gnashing her teeth together. “That man is worse than a devil, Tav! He’s just trying to get in your head!”

“Enough!” Tav snapped, rubbing her temples as the pounding returned. Everyone’s opinions, including Gortash’s, were starting to make her head spin. “I know this is…a lot. I can’t process it all myself-”

“What, that you and Gortash created this entire cult, this entire problem that is threatening the lives of millions of people?” Karlach’s voice was rising with each word, her flames growing by the second. “I knew you were a bhaalspawn but Bhaal’s chosen? You are half the bloody reason we are here in the first place!”

“Karlach-” Wyll tries to intervene but she brushes him off, stalking towards Tav and jamming a red hot finger in her chest.

“No, don’t Karlach me.” She snarls, glaring down at her. “Did you not hear what she has done? The acts she committed in Bhaal’s name? Amnesia or not, you all have to see how dangerous she is.”

“I’m not!” Tav protested, tears pricking her eyes as she felt their gazes on her. It was her worst fear realized. “I’m not a monster, I don’t remember doing any of those things. I would never…”

“And yet here you are, ready to make nice with the viper.” Karlach spits, standing to her full height while regarding her with revulsion. “I need time to think.”

Before Tav can say anything or reach out to plead for forgiveness, she storms off back to the entrance. Wyll looks between the two of them, his eyes full of sadness before he simply shakes his head and follows Karlach. The only one left is Astarion who is staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Star…” She whispers, throat tight as she tries to reach for him only to physically recoil when he moves away from her hand. It wasn’t much, just a slight sway to the side, but it was enough to make the knife in her gut twist deeper. “Please.”

“I…I need a moment.” He murmurs, bowing his head before following the same path as her companions. Tav can’t stop herself from sinking to the floor, her soul aching as she brings her knees to her chest and cries. She doesn’t care that she’s in a room full of nobles, doesn’t care that everyone is watching her finally break, she just doesn’t care anymore.

Her friends, her entire world ever since escaping that damned nautiloid, had abandoned her. They had found out who she had been and had left her here, alone. Tav wanted to hate them, wanted to curse them, and never see them again, but could she blame them?

She was part of the reason this was all happening in the first place. She had caused all this pain, all this death, in the name of her father. Even if she didn’t remember it that didn’t absolve her of the guilt. If roles were reversed, she would probably question her relationship with the person as well.

“It’s all my fault.” She whispers, pressing her palms against her eyes harshly. The tears were hot as they ran down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Tav was so caught up in her emotions she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her.

It wasn’t until she felt cold, metal claws tip her chin up that she finally came to her senses, blinking up at the man who had just revealed all her immoral acts as if they were nothing.

“My poor little bhaalspawn,” He purred, using his other hand to pull her up to stand. “All alone again.”

Tav sniffled, feeling vulnerable as he wiped a tear away with his thumb. Her entire body felt numb as he pulled her into his arms, shushing her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Come.” He ordered. “Let me save you once more.”

181 notes · View notes

succubusdaydream · 8 months

Text

The Smell of Weave and Honey

AN: I would like to make it clear that I do not know any DND lore and how certain creature’s work. I am simply going with my own interpretations. I have also not written smut in YEARS so it may be bad and you're not allowed to be mean to me. This oneshot is a long one and has characters that are more than likely ooc. Used they/them for Tav but they are described with a kitty <3

Masterlist

Word count: 3525

Warnings?: 18+ || Smut || P in V || Badly written smut and dirty talk || Be nice to me or I'll cry ||

---

A lot has happened recently. One sunny day you were simply enjoying a meal in the brothel of Baldurs Gate, Sharess’ Caress, and the next you were crashing a nautiloid mindflayer ship. During that time, you had found people with the same problem as you. A half-elf cleric named Shadowheart, a wizard from Waterdeep named Gale, who had an orb of pure magic in his chest, and a silver haired vampire named Astarion. There was also a Tiefling from the hells, Karlach, who had a mechanical heart. Wyll, a human warlock who was soon turned into a devil by his patron, Mizora, for not killing Karlach. And finally Lae’zel, a Githyanki who was rough and had many issues getting along with Shadowheart.

Since then, you all had saved Tieflings in a Druid’s Grove by eliminating a whole camp of goblins, journeyed trough the Underdark, and blown up an old church in a mountain pass. Through it all though, you hadn’t had a decent meal. A decent meal being sex. Back in the grove, you had taken a Tiefling, Rolan, to the woods and revealed your true form to feast. You had, of course, wiped his memory of it the next morning. But it still wasn’t enough. Not with the shadow cursed lands you found yourself in.

You had been given warnings about it from the Druid’s old leader, Halsin, who had taken up a tent in your camp. Its land was shrouded in a curse that consumed life around it and took anyone who strayed too far from light. The paths scattered throughout was hard to navigate and you often found yourself ambushed by cursed animals who had succumbed to the shadows. It made each return to camp like the heavens as you were finally able to rest.

Tonight though, it was different. You had found an Inn, sheltered in a globe of light, like that of the moon. In it, your group was interrogated by a women named Jaheira. A High Harper from Baldur’s Gate who led her other Harpers through the lands. When she deemed you safe, she pointed you to a cleric, Isobel. She had placed the protective barrier that kept the shadows away. She had blessed you to keep you protected from the ‘lesser effects of the shadows.’ And that when he came. A winged man named Marcus who attacked, claiming ‘The General’ wanted her alive. And the fight that ensued left you exhausted.

You had returned to camp, bloodied, and battered. You waved off Shadowheart who offered to heal, stating you simply wanted to sleep. Really, your energy was completely drained. Even resting wouldn’t bring it back up. You needed to eat, and soon. You’re sure Astarion would offer, but with him also having a tadpole in his brain, you weren’t sure if wiping his memory would work. And he wasn’t the one you wanted anyway. The one you wanted to feed off was Gale. The wizard who consumed an orb of pure Weave. You had tried to, at the Grove party, but he couldn’t. Not with the risk of the orb detonating. But now, he had control over it. You could feed.

Your group was accepting that he was a timebomb and that Astarion was a vampire, so surely, he would be accepting of your biology. You had given him artifacts to keep his hunger at bay, certainly he would help with your own hunger. And once everyone was asleep, you left your tent, stumbling towards Gale’s. His scent was heavy. Like fresh books and pure magic. It was delightful. It made your hunger worse as you slipped into his tent, reaching to brush his hair from his face.

His eyes quickly shot open, a curse falling from his lips as he realized who was above him. “Mystra’s eyelid! Tav?! You scared the hells out of me. What are you doing?” He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He quickly scanned over your body in confusion. “Are you alright? You look rather… sickly.” Your body was hot, and your face flushed. You could feel your wings and tail trying to burst through your disguise and your head pounded as your horns tried to pierce through your skin.

You crawled to him, quickly getting into his space and inhaling his scent. “Please. Please it’s so hot. I’m starving. You smell amazing. The other wizard wasn’t enough. But you… you smell delicious.” His own face flushed as your low voice reached his ears.

“Delicious? Tav, what are you on about? Starving?” His words were cut short as he felt something wrap around his leg. Looking past your body, he saw it. A light pink, heart-tipped tail. And when he turned back to you, he jumped. Your skin color had changed to the same pink and your eyes were different. They looked as if pink flames danced through them and from your back were large wings, spread widely as you crawled closer to him.

“Please. I haven’t had a good meal in ages. You smell delicious.” Your nose pressed against his neck and your hand rubbed against his chest. A succubus. They’re a gods damned succubus. Your breath was hot against his ear as your teeth nibbled his ear lobe. “Tell me to stop and I will. I won’t take what you won’t give me.” Despite being nearly starved, you were still in the right state of mind to leave if he wanted you too.

“You’re a succubus. That’s why you’ve seemed so tired. You haven’t… eaten in days.” You nodded quickly, inhaling deeper and running your hand down his chest and stomach. Your breath hitched though as you felt him. His hands moving to caress your sides, gripping your skin. “When you asked for help, back at the party. You needed a to feed that night, right?” He pulled you closer and your heart pounded in your chest, your tail wrapping around his leg tighter.

“I’ve been wanting you since I pulled you from that stone. Your scent is everywhere. You smell of books and magic, I’ve wanted nothing more than to have you since then.” You quickly find yourself sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as your nails run softly down his neck, causing goosebumps to appear on his skin. “Please, don’t I deserve a good meal after all I’ve done for everyone? Can’t I be selfish for just one night?”

His grip on your waist tightened as you moved your hips against him, a groan leaving his mouth as he bites his cheek. He went to speak but was cut off by you biting his neck, his fingers digging into your skin. “You deserve something too. Being secluded in your tower, not feeling the touch of another. I can smell in from you. Your desire. All that pent up lust you’ve been holding back. You can release it. You can let everything out on me.” You pulled back, grabbing his face with your hands and bringing it close to your own. Your lips just barely brushed against his as you ground your hips harder into him.

You had barely gotten started, but you could already taste the lust seeping from him. He truly was pent up from being sequestered in his tower. Not trusting the orb to handle him so much as pleasuring himself. He was already hard and groaning with the simple movement of your hips. And you were eager to continue. He was just as delicious as he smelt.

You went on for only a few minutes before he growled and you soon found yourself under him, your hands pinned above your head by his own. “You really are desperate. Can’t even ask politely for a good meal and instead have to sneak into my tent in the middle of the night.” His leg came up, moving your own to reach a hand down, softly moving his fingers down your chest and stomach. His fingers hooked under your shirt, moving it up to reveal your succubus marking. A marking all succubi and incubi had over their wombs or lower stomachs. They mostly resembled hearts, some with wings and some surrounded by flames.

With your consumption of the lust in the air, your true form was finally revealed. Full wings splayed out beneath you, tail still wrapped around his leg and a set of horns protruding from your skull. Your light pink skin shined with sweat and your marking began to glow a hot pink as Gale’s hand trailed lower. “I wanted this to be perfect. To bond in the way that gods do, but I don’t think you’re giving me that option. And I don’t think that would satisfy you as much as this will.” He’s wanted me too? Since the beginning? I don’t want anyone else anymore, just him.

With one hand trailing farther down, his other keeping your arms held down, and his leg keeping yours apart, you could do nothing but squirm with anticipation. Your chest heaved as you tried to free your arms, wanting nothing more than to pull him down and meet his lips. The little taste you had gotten wasn’t enough and your desire for more only grew the closer his hand got to your core.

“Please. Please I’ll be good. I promise, I just need-“ Your words were cut off by your own moan as his hand finally reached your core, his fingers teasing your folds. You nails dug into your palm as you clenched your fists, you back arching off of Gale’s bedroll. Your tail tightened around his thigh as you moved your hips, wanting any friction you could get.

Your begging continues until he finally inserted his fingers, you walls greedily accepting him as you let out another moan. His other hand finally left your wrists, quickly covering your mouth as he shushed you. “Now now, we don’t want the others hearing, do we?” His voice was low as he brought his head closer to your ears. His fingers curled inside you and your eyes rolled back. If his fingers felt this perfect inside of you, you could only imagine how other parts would feel.

With your arms free, you pushed his hand away and pulled him down, colliding your lips and easily sliding your tongue in his mouth. His fingers moved quickly in and out of you, the only noises in the tent being your moans and the sound of your mouths moving together. Your arms tightened around his neck as your hips rolled dipper into his fingers. You could feel your wetness dripping onto the bedroll below you.

As his fingers scissored inside your pussy, his thumb moves to your clit, circling the nerve and enticing a gasp from you. Your arms around his neck moved down his back, your now claw-like nails dragging down and tearing at his silk shirt. Realizing he still needs air, Gale pulled away from you, his breaths heavy and his eyes looking straight into yours. The eye contact only made you more wet, your walls clenching around his digits.

You sounded pathetic, pleads leaving your lips as your hips mindlessly grinded into his hand, chasing the high that was quickly building in the pit of your stomach. His face was in your neck, trailing kisses and bites on your hot skin, faint hisses leaving his mouth every time your claws dug into him. “Please, please I’m so close. Gods you feel amazing~” What felt like hours was in reality seconds, as you reached your peak, your body arching into his and your eyes rolling back. You mouth hung open in silence as your slick coated his fingers, dripping out of you steadily.

Gale eyes locked onto where you body met his hand, fixated at watching as pearls dripped from you. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” You whined as he removed his fingers, and you could barley catch a glimpse of him licking you off them. It made you clench around nothing and wrap your legs around his waist. You pulled him back down, meeting his lips once more and groaning at the taste of yourself mixed with his salvia.

“I need you. Please, I’ve been so patient. Please, Gale.” Your words were muffled as you snapped your fingers, the little clothes you had on disappearing along with his. You could finally see just how hard he had gotten. What he missed in length, he made up for in girth. The head was a pale pink, and a few small veins decorated the shaft. Your legs around him tightened, pulling his hips closer to yours. He wasn’t even inside, and you were already feeling the pit form in your stomach.

He brought his forehead to yours, and reached down to guide himself in. He had barley entered you and you were already clenching around him, your arms secured tightly around his shoulders and your eyes staring deeply into his. It only took moments before he was fully sheathed inside you, sucking in a deep breath as your hips met. He filled you perfectly, your walls forming beautifully to his shape.

“Gods, you’re warm. Made just for me.” He stayed still for a moment, wrapping one arm around your hips and pulling them up. The new angle let him go deeper, a loud moan emanating from your throat and your claws once again dug into his skin, tearing at it easier with no clothes in the way. Your legs twitched and you tried to move, seeking anything you could take.

“Haven’t- ahh- haven’t I begged enough? Please~ I need you so badly. You feel amazing. Made just for you~” Your voice was whiny yet low, trying to keep in mind your sleeping companions still within earshot.

“Have you?” He slowly pulled out, but before you could whine again, he quickly snapped his hips back to yours. All reminders of your sleeping party left your mind, and a loud yelp left you, quickly turning into moans as his hips pistoned against yours. The sound of his skin meeting yours echoed with them, filling the quiet night air as he pulled your body closer. His other arms wrapped around your back, holding your body against his, yours forming perfectly against his.

Your mouths met again, desperate to get another taste of him as your grip around him tightened. The air was hot and smelt of sex, the noises of everything growing louder with each thrust he gave. Almost no thoughts ran through your mind other than his scent, the way he felt and another specific one. Breed. I want him to breed me. He was the only thing you thought about as your mouths moved in sync and the pit in your stomach grew.

The grip your legs had on his waist tightened and you moans turned to mind-blanked babbles, to cock-drunk to form coherent words as his speed picked up. The lust in the air got heavier, a tale-tell sign that he was also close. With his grunts getting louder and movements sloppier, you finally voiced your loudest thought. “Inside. Please, I can feel it. So close~”

Closely after, his hips met yours once more and your vision flashed white. Your mouth hung open as you both reached your peaks, feeling thick ropes of cum nearly hit your womb. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and pulsed through your body, your breaths heavy as Gale softly laid you back down, holding the back of your head softly as he too caught his breath. Your grip around him scarcely loosened and your vision remained blurred for a moment before refocusing on his face. He looked gorgeous, face flushed, and his hair stuck to his skin with sweat.

His hands reach out to softly caress your face, brushing your hair away and cupping your cheek. And when his eyes met yours, a smile crossed his face. “There you are. You alright, Love?” His hoarse voice was soft and low as his thumb ghosted over your cheekbones. You could only nod in response. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your hand moved to his, intertwining your fingers as you nodded again. “I’m perfect. Gods, I’m perfect. Just need to catch my breath.” With your hand over his, you nuzzled your cheek deeper into his palm, inhaling his scent again and sighing. “You were perfect.”

He let out a laugh through his nose, slightly shaking his head. “You’re a succubus, I’m sure you’ve had better.” You quickly shook your head, the grip on his hand tightening as you brought your other hand up to caress his own cheek.

“I’ve had many, but you’re different. I’ve never been so attracted to a scent before. You’re intoxicating and it feels like I can never get enough of you. I’ve tried my hardest to hold back my hunger till I could have you. I took another wizard at the Grove and could only think of how it wasn’t you.” You pulled his face close and touched your forehead to his. “Besides, you’ve been to bed with a goddess. I’d say that’s better than a succubus.” Before he could protest to your statement, you pressed your lips to his again. Though, this time your kiss held very little lust. It was now replaced with passion and love. It was soft and slow rather than heated and heavy.

The rest of the night you lay in his arms and you would occasionally have another round, each one broken by soft conversations and declarations of love. He had expressed how much he had fallen for you within the past weeks of your adventure. How he hadn’t felt like this for someone in quite some time. And in return, you told him the same. How you had never wanted someone in such a passionate way. How others you had taken were only meals and how you almost never saw them again. But for him, you wanted to stay close. Perhaps even after all of this is over. You’d go anywhere as long as you were by his side. That was all you wanted now.

---

Voices had woken you up along with the smell of something cooking. Looking around the tent, yours and Gale’s clothes were neatly folded near the front flap, appearing there after you snapped them off.

Still groggy, you grabbed your underwear and the silk purple shirt Gale had worn to bed. After slipping them on, you stepped out of the tent and into the campgrounds. The stretch and yawn you made caught the attention of your fellow camp members. “Good morning.” Before you could comprehend what was happening, the shiny end of a rapier was glistening in front of your eyes.

“Who sent you, devil? What have you done to Gale?” Wyll’s deep voice reached your ears. He sounded angry and when your eyes finally focused on him, you could see that he was. Behind him, Karlach and Lae’zel also held their weapons. Their eyes were focused on you, almost waiting for you to move. Wanting you too. “Are you one of Zariel’s lapdogs? One of Mizora’s?”

You held your hands up and shook your head. “Wyll what are you talking… about?” Then you realized. Your true form was visible. You had forgotten to put your human look back on before you walked out of your tent. “Ok, why don’t we all just calm down, yea? It’s me. It’s Tav.” Your voice shook, nervous to how the others would react to your heritage. From the look on their faces, they didn’t believe you.

That was, until you forced a connection with Wyll’s tadpole, groaning in pain as you showed him your first meeting. When he lowered his weapon, his expression of defense turned to that of disbelief. “Tav? You… you’re a devil?” The others lowered their own weapons, stepping forward to better look at your true form.

You let out a nervous chuckle and spread your arms out. “Umm, I guess. I’m a succubus, so I suppose you’d say I’m a sex devil.” You cleared your throat, shivering as Karlach’s warm fingers reached for your tail. “A succubus with a sensitive tail, Karlach.” You turned your body away from her as she apologized. Everyone stood around for a few minutes before the chatter was broken by a voice behind you.

“Tav? Have you seem my-“ Gale’s shirtless body emerged from the tent and his words were cut off as he looked up, his eyes meeting everyone else’s. When he gazed over your body, horns and all, his face dropped. “Oh hells.”

Masterlist

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #tav reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios x tav #gale dekarios fanfic #bg3 fanfic #gale dekarios smut

96 notes · View notes

gaysindistress · 3 months

Text

I’m having ✨minthara brain rot✨so suffer with me

bg3 masterlist

So hear me out; Minthara doesn’t end up with Tav. In fact, Tav goes off with their first romanced, Gale and they get married. Minthara is upset for obvious reasons but she’s not going to beg Tav to stay with her or anything like that. They’re both adults and she refuses to stoop so low as to damage her dignity like that. This leads to her going to the underdark alone and doing a bunch of badass shit (we’ll get there).

The epilogue comes and goes but that’s not where we pick up.

Our story starts about 5 years after that. Tav is being asked to do some adventurer shit that requires them to go to the Underdark. Something about Spawn going missing and Astarion is worried so he asks his friend to help out. Gale isn’t happy about it but he’s not going to stop them either. He and minthara weren’t exactly friendly or even civil most of the time so he’s not thrilled about it. The problem is that Tav refuses to ignore this request and will not say no, leaving Gale in a rather unpleasant position. All he can do is go with Tav and protect them.

Minthara has successfully taken back her family house and is in the process of rebuilding society following the defeat of the Spider-Queen. During all of this, she meets her bride to be, you. Among the many of forlorn travelers and lost souls, a small band of drow find themselves stranded and desperate for a miracle. Your house had been taken during a battle with the Spider-Queen and you have yet to find another house willing to take you in. Minthara comes across your group as her army and her are surveying recent encounters.

A rather foul squelching sound, that of a blade through flesh, rings through the air as Minthara leads her people into the ruins of House Lelith. As she approaches what may have been a a once elegant home, she hears small grunts and huffs coming from just beyond the archway. She sends three soldiers forward in efforts to flank whoever may be inside before taking up the back.

“If you’ve come to finish us off, speak now and I shall grant you the mercy of a quick death,” a soft yet powerful voice murmurs from her left. A sting and a trail of warm blood seeping from it brings shock and mild surprise but nothing is able to shake Minthara to her core as the sight of you.

She spares the briefest of glances towards you and is completely ill prepared for the pandemonium that washes over her.

“Speak before I split your tongue and cleave your heart,” you demand once more and press the blade more so into her neck. She makes no show that it causes her pain aside from the slight flinch of her skin.

“I hold no loyalty to that viper of a queen if that is what you’re asking,” she casually replies while her heart beats wildly. Your armor is in disrepair; bloodied, torn, and hanging together by haphazard threads but you still wear it with pride. The rest of you is a similar state with your hair unbound and wild while spotted with viscera but your beauty is unmatched.

“If not for her, then who?”

“Do you truly not know who i am?”

She can feel your eyes narrow and scrutinize her before you remove your blade and place it in its sheath.

“Minthara of House Baenre of Menzoberranzan,” you state as you prowl around her and stop only when you’re merely inches away, “A former follower of the Absolute and Oathbreaker.”

Her nose flares at your last words, causing you to chuckle as you cross your arms and lean against the archway. “Touch a nerve did I?”

“Are you one of her little spiderlings?” she instead asks, too overcome by you to engage in any form of clever conversation.

“I should think my declaration to sever your head from your body would answer that question, my lady. Or did the tadpole eat away at your brain more than we’ve been led to believe?”

Her small smirk is what captured you and from that day on, you’ve been nearly inseparable. Your romance appeared to be a complete myth as few ever saw you interact outside of political encounters. Those close to you, however, see the small well times glances, the softest of smiles, and the secret touches between the two of you. Minthara may not be outright in her love and devotion for you but she shows it in her fierce desire to protect you. Never out of sight of you, Minthara is always aware of where you are and who is near you. It is rare that she is even out of reach of you but alas duty calls and this is not possible.

In your private quarters, it is an entirely different matter. Her head is forever resting on your shoulder or in your lap as she basks in your warmth and affection. Many nights you take on the task of doing her hair. She lounges in the bath as you gently work through whatever knots and tangles hide in her moon pale strands. By the fire, she’ll rest her head against your knee as she sits between your legs and you brush out her wet hair. Her eyes flutter closed at the care you take to not pull or tug on her scalp. Quiet moans slip out when you graze her ears and when you chuckle at them, she groans out a weak demand to be silent.

“It is you who cannot be silent, my fearsome beloved.”

She’s told you of Tav but to be truthful it is too caught up in the trauma that she suffered under Orin and the Absolute. Thinking of Tav is often too difficult to manage and with you, there is no need to dredge up old wounds as such. That’s not to say you’re unprepared for meeting Tav but let’s be honest with ourselves, anyone would be unprepared to meet the Hero of Baldurs Gate. Everything is a whirl wind upon their arrival with Astarion making his presence well known, Gale and Wyll discussing whatever it is they talk about it, Karlach and Halsin playful daring each other to lift heavy objects. All the while Shadowheart and Tav are quickly discussing something with Minthara and occasionally asking for Astarion’s input. You are standing just beside the door, waiting for your intended and leader to give a command.

Tav makes a comment about the sheer number of people in the room and not so subtly requests the room to be cleared. Minthara glances around and with a slight nod her people file out, leaving the heroic adventure party and yourself. Tav throws a confused look your way as do the others but Minthara ignores it to lead them to the map of the Underdark she has displayed.

Nearly 10 minutes pass before Tav outright asks about your presence and once more requests that you leave. Ever the observers, Shadowheart and Astarion are quick to notice something is different about you. You are not merely a soldier, a trusted advisor even. Much like the first time you met, you’re causally leaning against a pillar with your arms crossed over armor that’s identical to Minthara’s. They share a look of an epiphany before attempting to quiet Tav however their efforts are futile.

As soon as Tav asks who you are and why you’re still here, you take your opportunity to humble the leader.

“Who I am is none of your concern. we are not on the surface where you can demand things because you simply think you are owed them. You’d do well to remember that you are in the Underdark. This is not your domain and thus have no semblance of authority here. All you’re entitled to know is that Minthara, my lady and my leader, trusts me.”

Tav looks absolutely stunned to hear you speak so directly and curtly but it is Minthara who has the most shocking reaction. She calls to you drow, beckoning you closer because you’re too far from her as is and she may or may not be feeling the urge to ravish you in front of everyone. Minthara may not be one for displays of affection but her not correcting you makes it very clear that you are the single most important person to her and she values you above all else.

Tav be damned.

#minthara #minthara x reader #minthara x tav #minthara baenre #minthara bg3 #minthara baldurs gate 3 #Minthara imagine #bg3 imagine #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 oc

45 notes · View notes

xalygatorx · 8 months

Text

Unbound | Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to comfort Áine through the night and she shares a little of her past with him in good faith. The next morning, Gale sits before the party at large and offers Áine an apology. Astarion expresses his disapproval at Áine’s (in his opinion) swift forgiveness. The group returns to the goblin camp and enters the Underdark. Astarion comes to terms with his feelings.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Comfort/hurt; angst; fluff; trauma; post-traumatic flashbacks; description of feeling triggered and of a panic attack; discussion of the non-con portion of the previous chapter; more of Astarion's internal monologue flashbacks; suggestive content & dialogue; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.9k

Listening to: Butchered Tongue - Hozier, Daylight (Acoustic) - David Kushner, Jenny of Oldstones - cover by Rachel Hardy

The instant he slid her from his arms onto his bedroll, Astarion’s movements became tightly strung and ever more agitated. He could still feel her rapid heartbeat in his chest even after he no longer carried her, like a song echoed in an endless cavern. The remembered staccato of it spurred him on like a self-inflicted whipping cane as he tore through his wares for something, anything, to help her.

He swore when he knocked over one of his picking kits. Bleeding Hells, Astarion was positively rattled and wasn’t entirely sure how to calm down without going back out to the woods and actually killing Gale, which he still had half a mind to do. No, that would upset her more and possibly blast them all to smithereens. He didn’t have the faintest idea how the damned orb in Gale’s chest worked but he was sorely tempted to test it.

Roughly, he snatched up the tattered blanket at the foot of his bedroll and leaned over Áine to drape it around her shoulders, muttering a curse at himself for having such a bare interior for a tent. For having so little to call his own, so little to offer her. He should’ve just taken her to her own, she would’ve been more comfortable there, but no he’d acted selfishly again at the worst possible time because he didn’t want her out of his sight.

Unsatisfied with just the old brown blanket, he leaned out and snatched the velvety red one that still hung across one of the mirrors outside his tent, bundling her in that too. Astarion had no idea if this would even help, but he was running out of things to try.

His eyes next caught on the old bottle of brandy he’d taken from a chest on a whim weeks ago at this point. Astarion uncapped it and snatched up the empty goblet he still had from Áine’s wine at the tieflings’ party, splashing some of the amber liquid into the vessel. “Bleeding fucking Hells, my left arm for some tea leaves,” he was muttering under his breath, rifling through a nearby bag even though he knew for certain he’d yet to come across any tea in their travels.

Áine watched him, his every movement half-coiled like a predator still aching to pounce, still dangerous despite its retreat. She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself take longer, deeper breaths to slow her tired lungs and racing heart. Her head swam from stress and a shortage of air, but she kept telling herself she was safe now. She’d have to do damage control in the morning, she expected, but for now, she was safe and just needed to calm down.

She heard him remark upon their lack of tea leaves and in his manic state he missed the way her expression softened. He still remembered that? That she’d said she found a warm tea with brandy to be comforting? She let the realization warm her chilled bones, his care as healing as any drink he could have brewed her, as he pressed the goblet of straight, lukewarm brandy into her hands.

Her darkened eyes flickered down to the light golden ripples of the drink. When had she said that again? Surely not the only time she could remember with any clarity—the very first day they’d met. When he’d remarked preferring a dry red as his go-to drink and she’d not yet had the context to understand he was making a joke about his vampirism. It made her smile ever so faintly now. That had been…so long ago. And he remembered. Even back then, when she’d been firmly under the impression that he hated her, he’d been listening.

Áine jolted when she heard him snarl toward the door at the faintest sound of footsteps outside. The footfalls had passed too closely to the tent for his liking and he’d immediately gone on the offensive as his instincts to protect himself and his mate had surged to the surface. “Astarion, it’s okay,” she murmured. “It just sounds like someone going to bed or going off to relieve themselves. Nothing dangerous.”

Astarion rounded on her for saying that, incredulous as he repeated her words. “‘Nothing dangerous?’ I truly don’t understand you sometimes, Áine,” he gritted. “How are you just okay after something like that?”

As soon as his words had left his lips in such upset, Astarion had chastised himself, dropping his head forward to rake a rough hand through his hair. Frustrated as he was, he wasn’t frustrated with her. He was worried for her. She needed to know that, not feel as though he was mad at her for what had happened.

She didn’t begrudge him his stressed response it seemed. He almost wished she would. “I’m not,” she whispered with patience, her fingertips pressing more firmly against the sides of the goblet as she took a tiny sip of the beverage. “But… I don’t think I’m worried anymore. Just…shaken up.”

Astarion looked down at Áine, bundled in his blankets with her barely nursed brandy in her hands. Whether it was how she sat, so curled in on herself, or that he simply wasn’t used to standing over her like this, she looked so heartbreakingly small to him now. So unbearably fragile when there were more times than he could count that “fragile” was the last word he would’ve ever chosen to describe her.

His expression bared without so much as an attempt to hide how helpless he felt, Astarion slowly slumped to his knees in front of her, his head hung in defeat. “I apologize for getting cross with you, I… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you need. Or how to fix this.” He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, finding the amber windows to his favorite soul glassy with unshed tears. “You can have anything you want. Anything of mine. Of me. Just name it.”

Áine’s expression crumpled. “Astarion—”

It’s all I’m good for, he wanted to reassure her. I know. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you. Aloud, he said, “You can have as much or as little of me as you want. If it will help, I’ll do it.”

Áine stared into his eyes, her brows canting upward as a fluttered blink of her lashes made her tears spill over at last. He was set off by all this too and not just because he was worried for her—she could see the pain, the barely staved off dissociation in those gorgeous crimson eyes. Not nearly for the first time since she’d met him, since she’d known him, since she’d loved him—yes, she was tired of lying to herself about her own feelings—she wondered, Gods, what happened to you? How much did she still not know?

The bard set aside the goblet, reaching for Astarion’s hands. He deposited them without question into hers and let her guide him down to lie on his bedroll. Instinctively, his fingers reached for the laces of his shirt, ready to do whatever she asked of him, even if it hurt. He was utterly lost to her and that was finally spiraling into such a maelstrom of fact that he no longer felt an ounce of his former kneejerk denial. Áine could do almost anything to him now and he was convinced he’d forgive her in an instant. Was this trust?

Her warm fingers covered his, firmly stilling them against his collar. Astarion looked up at her and Áine saw that look in his eyes again—half-present, half-slowly slipping out to sea past where she thought she could reach him. She ran her thumbs against his knuckles like the smallest ritual, a tactile prayer. She pressed a kiss against the spot where his hands met before she guided them apart and found her place within the circle of his arms.

Astarion kept his arms hovered just above her while she situated herself, suddenly out of his depth again. His face heated with the palest flush of pink as she fitted herself perfectly against his body, nudging his legs apart just to entangle them with hers. He could feel her face burning against the fabric of his shirt when she finally settled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, finally allowing his arms to come down to rest around her. Timidly at first and then more securely as he grew comfortable holding her. One of her beautifully content sighs graced his ears and, even though it took Astarion a moment to relax, he managed it as his somber eyes traced the starlight crown of her head. “Of course,” he whispered back, trying to make sense of what she could possibly see in him, how she could possibly want him.

Hesitantly, he raised a hand to her brilliant pearlescent halo and followed an instinct he had to stroke her hair. The way her prone body melted further against him rewarded his cautious venture and he marveled at her vulnerability, her warmth, and her trust in him. They were fitted against each other in every curve and he only wanted her closer, impossibly so. Until he could no longer find their separate starts and ends.

Astarion adjusted to rest his chin against the top of her head. “Are you alright, my sweet?” he asked and his voice was so gentle Áine’s eyes burned anew with tears. He felt her tense and, afraid both that he’d upset her and, selfishly once more, that she’d leave, he quickly said, “We needn’t talk if—”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked and he realized that she’d tensed to stifle a sob.

Astarion’s jaw set and he pulled her tightly against him. She molded willingly against him, burying her face into his neck. Her tears dripped like summer rain past his collar. He sighed and mumbled, “I should’ve killed him.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve,” she asserted with a hiccup. Hidden from Astarion’s view, Áine’s features strained against the tears that came and she forced herself to inhale deeply, even as her breath shuddered. She could feel a headache forming as a dull pain behind her eyes.

“Please?” Astarion asked in a quiet whine and it caught her so off-guard that a small watery giggle escaped Áine’s aching throat. He cast a fond smile down at her, a smile she felt hints of when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leaning further into his natural inclinations, Astarion traced gentle patterns against Áine’s back until she was able to calm herself. He let his eyes close, meditating on her heart and her heat.

He was almost sure she’d dozed off when he heard her murmur, “It all brought back some unpleasant memories. That’s why…” She trailed off and he waited for her to collect herself and continue. “That’s why I fell apart so thoroughly, I think.”

Astarion dropped his head forward slightly, pulling her scent into his more or less useless lungs to ground himself and remind himself that she was more important than his anger. “Because I need you more than he does right now.” He skimmed his lips against her temple as he murmured back, “I can relate to that, for whatever it’s worth… Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Áine pursed her lips, bringing one of her hands up to her face to wipe away her tears. Was there anything she wanted to tell him? Anything that had been dredged up that would feel better left to the night air? Would it change anything, or make a difference? She’d never talked to someone about her past in any detail. “I’m not sure,” she admitted plainly. “I…don’t know if any of it’s worth bringing up.”

Astarion’s eyes opened into barely discernable slits to peer down at her. He couldn’t see her face, but he admired the sight of her wrapped up in him all the same. Besides that, he knew her well enough by now to not need a constant read on her expression to know at least somewhat how she felt. “It is up to you. But should you be inclined,” he mumbled, “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

A small smile tugged at Áine’s lips. She sniffled again, but it was residual, and said, “In the shortest terms I can place it, I was a soldier once. Years ago. And mixed barracks are often not a kind place, especially among other drow.”

Astarion’s arms tightened around her just the slightest bit. His mind flashed back to the “kennels” wedged deep into the bowels of Cazador’s palace. The moldy, scratchy, tattered bunks. The smell of decaying rats and their old excrement amidst an array of other horrible, sour smells. Another deep inhale of her scent helped to center him, but barely.

“Your soldiering doesn’t surprise me from how many times I’ve seen you tear through a battlefield at this point,” he murmured. “Is the…barracks instance why you left?”

He felt her shake her head against his chest before she craned her head back to meet his eyes. Áine smiled softly when he took the opportunity to kiss the tip of her nose. “No,” she replied. “Those sorts of things were normal.”

Astarion scowled at the idea, suddenly wondering if anything he’d done or any of his advances had set something off for her in their time together. Without knowing, he could only be so upset with himself, but he still found himself half-asking, “...when you say ‘those sorts of things’?”

“The, uh, handsiness, I suppose,” she said carefully. More of that red-hot anger lanced through him. “The drunk handsiness specifically. Worse than what Gale did, but never the worst it could’ve been if that makes sense.”

While she spoke, Áine watched Astarion’s features, seeing a mingling of anger on her behalf and discomfort whenever his eyes drifted out of focus, taken by an unpleasant memory. She recognized that cocktail of emotions with ease as she often felt it, herself. With hesitation, he said, “I believe I understand what you mean.”

She was glad she didn’t need to go into further detail. She’d normalized it all to cope over the years, but the longer she’d spent away from her family and former comrades-in-arms, the more she’d realized just how fucked up the first 45 years or so of her life had been. It took getting away from it to see it at all. “It was more violent than anything,” she found herself admitting. “Just constant scraps and drunk fights. And training was no different.”

“It sounds dreadful, darling,” he informed her.

Her gaze shuttered slightly, remembering. “It was.”

“Why do it then?” he wondered. “Surely that sort of life wasn’t what you signed up for when you started, er, soldiering. You could hardly be blamed for—what?”

Áine had looked up at him while he spoke and she had a peculiar twinge to her expression. It took him a moment to realize it was sorrow. The sort with roots so deep they mixed with one’s marrow. “Astarion, I—” Her voice cracked, but she steeled herself. “I like to think I had a choice, but the older I get, the less I think I did.”

“Whatever could you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged, ducking her gaze to fix upon his shirt ties as she murmured, “It’s all I was born for.”

Astarion scoffed a little. “As in you felt it was your destiny?”

“No,” she said. “I mean it’s the only reason I was born.” Her whispering voice hardened. “I was conceived to serve and I did. Until I didn’t.”

“It’s all you’re good for, after all.”

Astarion’s throat constricted, searching the top of her bowed head as if it could provide as much context as the expression she hid from him. He didn’t know what to say to that. It hit too close to home and yet he had to acknowledge that he didn’t know how she felt in some ways at all. He’d had a life before he was nearly killed, before he began his next “life.” He could scarcely remember most of it, but he’d had it. And while it had been criminally short for the expected lifespan of a high elf, he couldn’t imagine being born into, raised into war.

His eyes traced the faint points of her ears, the crease between his brows deepening. A familiar recurring dread sent a wave of nausea through him to think about her mortality. Half-elves could live past 200 years of age, but it was so variable by blood. “It feels particularly wretched to have done that to you,” he murmured, “considering the time allowed to half-elves.”

“That’s why I’m half, too,” she murmured, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. When she glanced up at him to find his features pinched in confusion, she explained simply, “Faster soldiers.”

So she’d been bred a half-elf because she’d mature faster than a full drow. A quicker workup for another body to be thrust into battle. For what? No reason could suffice, but he had to wonder what could’ve possibly been happening during his cyclical time suffering all means of torture and procuring prey for his master to have warranted such a cruel recruitment.

Bereft of anything else he could think to say, Astarion murmured, “...I’m sorry.”

Áine gave him a gentle goading look that he didn’t understand until she said in her little impression of his voice, “What could you have to be sorry for?”

He snorted and inclined his head. “Touché, my love.” Astarion traced his fingertips against the curve of her cheek, a complicated feeling curled in his chest like a sleeping cat. He realized gradually that it was compassion, only “complicated” for him. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, given what you’ve just told me,” he said slowly, “but I’m glad you are here.”

A tender smile traced her lips. “And I, you,” she murmured. “I suppose we can be selfish together.” More seriously, she added a quiet, “...Thank you. For listening.”

“Anytime,” Astarion said. He hesitated and pointed out to her and himself, “You would do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

“Happily,” she said, sighing with contentment as she adjusted to settle back in against him and was rewarded by him drawing the blankets more snugly over them both and kissing her forehead. With sleep-bleary eyes, she glanced up at him and cautiously asked, “Are you alright?”

Astarion watched her affectionately as her body started to forcibly wind her down. “Me?” he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice as he gathered the woman lying against him even closer, finding that even that still wasn’t close enough. Would it ever be? “I’m in heaven, darling.”

Áine smiled and laughed a little at his flirting, but her features remained taut with seriousness. “You know what I mean,” she murmured. “Tonight set something off for you, too.”

He gave a noncommittal grumble. “Of course it did,” Astarion snipped, “I was worried for you. I still am.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know,” she reassured him. “But that’s not what I mean either.”

One of Astarion’s reflexive responses began to bubble up, but he contained it and he sighed instead. He sighed an awful lot for someone who had no functional use for breathing apart from a comfortable habit. “Not tonight, darling,” he said instead. “Soon. But not tonight.”

“Okay,” Áine said. “You’re okay though?”

“I am,” he reassured her. “I’ll be all the better if you rest.”

Áine yawned, accidentally emphasizing his point. “Tired of talking to me?” she teased him.

“Exceptionally,” he teased her back, smirking when she pressed a kiss under his jaw and returned her head to rest against his shoulder.

“Is this comfortable or should I move?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open at this point.

“I will be personally offended if you try to move,” he warned her, bringing a sleepy smirk to her face. It was a sight he memorized, craving to preserve it for an eternity at minimum.

“If I weren’t so tired, I’d do it just to see what happened,” she mumbled and he believed her. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

Astarion felt her heart slow as she slipped into sleep and he found himself studying her relaxed features for some time after. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” he murmured after she was already gone, simply musing over the turns his night—his existence even—had taken as he let himself bring his guard down just enough to let himself slip into a light meditation.

His first in centuries that was completely free of nightmarish memories and visions.

Their late night became morning with a swiftness that bordered on criminal and the pair were awakened too early for either of their likings.

Áine stirred with a groan, her hand finding purchase against soft cottony fabric and her fingertips feeling the smooth, cold plane of muscle beneath that brought her waking brain the recognition it needed. She ran her hand up until her hand cupped against the side of her bedmate’s neck and she was able to hook her arm back around him. She lifted her head and willed her eyes to open, greeted by a sight she was starting to find more beautiful than most sunrises.

Astarion, already alert, met her eyes and watched her wake with just the faintest line of tension in his otherwise softened expression. “Good morning,” he murmured, ever amused and bewitched by how wild her hair became once tossed by sleep. When she uttered another quieter grumble and tried unsuccessfully to blink the sleep from her eyes, Astarion chuckled. “Or perhaps not?”

“I slept like the dead,” she mumbled after using the arm she’d moved around him to pull herself up to kiss his cheek. “I think it may have killed me.”

He smirked. “Well, if you’ve passed, apparently you took me with you,” he remarked. If he were being honest, he would prefer it that way at the end of things. He couldn’t think of a better way to go than with her. Astarion inwardly balked at the hopelessly romantic thought, wondering who’d injected that into his mind. Worse than a tadpole, truly.

He felt Áine hum her acknowledgment of his statement against his throat between kisses and Astarion used his arm still wrapped beneath her to roll her into lying atop him. Undeterred by being transplanted, Áine nuzzled back into his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone and only lifting when her roving hands smoothed his shirt up off his torso. She held the offending fabric out of her way as she continued her winding trail down his stomach, taking her time with every languorous press and suck from her lips.

“And what are you getting up to?” Astarion asked, wincing slightly at how his voice broke a bit at the end, betraying the effect she had on him.

“Getting up to? No,” she murmured, her voice a sleepy, sensual husk that sent an immediate jolt through his body. “Going down…maybe. If you’ll humor me?”

Humor her? Hells, he’d get on his knees and beg her for the privilege. Astarion swallowed hard and nodded when her sleep-softened, hooded amber gaze flicked forward to check in with him. Áine’s mouth formed a faint, smug smile as she dropped it back down to his abdomen, her hands releasing the bunch of his shirt as she skimmed her fingertips down to his thighs, leaving tickling trails of heat in streaks down his stomach. He shivered, his hips instinctively canting upward as she gripped his thighs and settled herself between them.

“Are you always so frisky in the morning, my dear?” Astarion tried to tease her, but the pointed question came out so breathy he just felt a little embarrassed.

As far as Áine was concerned, his attempt to tease her had worked as just the sound of his oft-overcomposed voice trembling at the bare beginnings of her ministrations sent a clench through her inner thighs. She breathed in deep, composing herself as her fingertips moved deftly to make short work of his pants.

At least until they were interrupted by a not-distant-enough voice outside.

Áine’s hands stilled and she cocked her head ever so slightly to see if she’d imagined it. Or perhaps she’d misheard the word that sounded like her name. However, she heard it again and expelled the breath she’d just taken in with a frustrated sigh. Gale was asking after her next door, at her tent.

“Ignore him,” Astarion murmured severely and Áine may have found his ferocity amusing if she weren’t just as upset. Her fingers flexed against his waistband, wanting to keep going and ignore him as Astarion suggested.

And then again from the tent adjacent, “Áine, I’m sorry and I would love to explain in detail just how ashamed I am if you’d permit me to do so.” Gale’s voice was faintly muffled as if running a hand down his face.

Fainter still, closer to the fire, she suspected, Karlach’s voice joined the mix. “Gale, where’d you get the shiner? Drop a book on your face in bed?”

“Nothing so intelligent,” Gale sighed. “Am I being foolish, has she gone out scouting or something?”

Lae’zel’s voice emerged. “Astarion took her to his bed last night.” Something bristled in her tone and Áine couldn’t decide what it was until she heard Lae’zel add, “What is it exactly that you have to apologize for, Gale?”

Oh dear, Lae’zel was putting two and two together, which meant Áine had to brace to save the little rat’s life again.

“I’m going to kill him,” Astarion growled as Áine gave up on her morning misdeed, picked herself up off the tent floor, and straightened her clothes. “I was going to kill him before and now I’m going to kill him more slowly. Perhaps use one of his nasty little scrolls to bring him back so I can kill him a second time as well.”

Of all the bloody times for her to have to play party leader, it’d had to be this morning. This morning after he’d surfaced from a deep, satisfying reverie almost entirely free of the usual torment of painful flashbacks. He still struggled at times in their intimate moments, especially in the moments he felt out of control, regardless of whether or not he slipped into a script to cope. He didn’t feel in control this morning, but it didn’t feel bad either and, gods, he wanted to try at least! Even his usual anxieties about something being too much for him and her seeing him shut down seemed quieter than usual.

“There will be no killing the idiot wizard,” she declared in a whisper as she leaned down and captured his lips in a loving kiss. “As tempting as it may be. This wasn’t a one-time offer, don’t worry.”

“That’s hardly the point, my darling,” he grumbled, attempting to pull her back down with him to little avail. She laughed at his pouting expression. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re so unbearably sexy as you wake in the morning?”

“You could’ve found out for yourself, you know,” Áine pointed out with a smile as she ruffled his curls. She decided to needle him a little as she put her boots on. “Besides, you woke with me after our first night together. Was I not so interesting then?”

Plenty interesting, frighteningly so, he answered internally. “Of course you were,” Astarion assured her, glaring at her boots as if they were singlehandedly responsible for taking her from his tent. “You’re simply even more ‘interesting’ now.”

Áine smirked. “What can I say? I like to snuggle.”

“Duly noted,” Astarion purred. And before she could insinuate it, he added, “And not just for the carnal bonuses… Last night was nice.”

Her features softened. “Apart from what inspired it, yes. It really was,” she agreed. Áine dared to lean in for one more smooch and dodged with only seconds to spare when he meant to snatch her back and tumble her beneath him. “Nice try, my love.”

Astarion dramatically threw his arm across his eyes when she stood up, soon forcing himself up—and the rest of him down—as well to follow her out of his tent and into whatever fray they were soon to step into. No way in the Hells was he going to let her walk out and face Gale alone, even if she didn’t seem concerned about doing so.

The first thing he saw, with satisfaction, was the blackened state of Gale’s left eye.

The wizard looked over when Áine emerged with Astarion directly behind her, his hackles already up. Clearing his throat, Gale looked at Áine, his studious brow creating a deep fissure at its middle. “Far be it from me to ask for a thing from you, but may I have a word?” he asked.

Áine nodded, glancing down the path from their camp and suggesting, “We can step out to chat if you’d prefer,” allowing him to save face, at least for the time being.

To her surprise and slight concern as well, he politely refused her out. “No, I think it’s best that I hang myself out to dry in mixed company,” Gale said, punctuating his words with a small shake of his index finger. “Good for the ego, you see.”

But good for the vitality? Áine wondered despite not arguing. “Very well, if you think so.” She had to give him some measure of props for this, she supposed. It was a bold choice.

Astarion was less impressed, no surprise there. Not only was he quite sure that nothing Gale could say would calm his ire, but he was quietly rooting for the others now to be upset like he was. More than that, he wanted Áine to be properly angry at him for the position he’d put her in.

They gathered near the fire and Áine sat adjacent to where Gale parked himself, feeling Astarion plunk himself down directly beside her. It was comforting, but she was also wary of her lover being only too happy to make Gale’s right eye match his left.

Lae’zel remained nearby, her eyes already severe on Gale’s back, and Shadowheart lingered while she worked on her breakfast. Áine felt the cleric’s gaze scan her for any signs of injury, the other woman’s frame only relaxing faintly when she found none. Karlach and Wyll were already at the fire when the three of them sat down and Halsin sat nearby as well, still portioning out breakfast. Karlach and Wyll’s conversation went quiet as they glanced between Áine, Astarion, and Gale, and the only sounds left in camp save for the crackling of the fire were Scratch and the owlbear cub having a game of tag nearby. Well, Gale had his audience.

“Right, what’s happened?” Shadowheart finally asked, clearly uneasy.

Gale cringed at her tone, his jaw working as he tried to parse together what to say. Áine remained silent, watching him clam up and deciding that she’d leave them in awkward silence until he drummed up the courage he’d had just a moment ago upon suggesting this route.

Astarion wasn’t as patient. Furious ruby eyes shot to meet Shadowheart’s as he said, “Our little Gale decided not to keep his hands—and his mouth, I’d wager—to himself last night, Áine’s consent on the matter be damned.”

Áine paled. Oh dear.

The ladle Halsin was using clacked loudly against the pot where he dropped it, his expression horrified as he looked between Gale and Áine. “Oak Father preserve us,” he murmured, but his expression was tinged with tension as if trying to keep his wild shape in check.

The scrape of steel preceded Lae’zel’s response, a fierce glare twisting her features. “Chk, I knew it,” she muttered, her sword glittering dangerously as she freed it. “I demand clarification.”

Wyll went ashen next to Karlach, who crushed the bowl in her hand, remnants of porridge burning black when they hit her blazing flesh. Through clenched teeth, Karlach ground out, “Please tell me there’s a good explanation for this, Gale.”

Shadowheart’s expression twisted with rage, but her attention went first to Áine instead. “Are you alright?” she asked, her fingertips white with pressure as she clutched her dining implements. When Áine nodded, her gaze burned a hole into Gale. “Your destroyer Mystra help you if she weren’t.”

“Please… I—,” he paused to sigh, leaning down to bury his face in his hands and collect himself before he sat up straight and turned fully to face Áine. “There is no ‘good’ explanation for something like this. And it is no excuse that I was out of my mind with wine, fear, and self-pity.

“However, I cannot properly express how sorry I am, Áine. That it happened at all with anyone, but especially that it was you. You’ve done so much for me—you’ve aided me in my affliction, you’ve been a trusted friend, a trusted ally, and I’ve repaid you with this and a deadly lie.”

He drew in a deep breath and she heard it shudder in his next words. “I do not deserve to carry on with you on this journey. In fact, I deserve little more than to find a barren patch of Faerûn to end my sorry existence on,” he stated, his hands balled in his lap to keep them from shaking. “But if you would allow me, I will take every available opportunity from here on to be a better friend, a better travel companion, and a better ally. And I will endeavor to never again take your kindness and care for granted as I know I have so far.”

Gale gave a weakened sigh as he pushed an anxious hand through his chestnut locks. “And…for whatever it’s worth, nothing about what happened was premeditated,” he added. “Again, it fixes nothing, but I wanted you to know that.”

The silence sat for a long few minutes. All eyes shifted to Áine, awaiting her verdict, while hers stayed fastened on Gale. He felt her measure his worth and the weight of his words as if she, too, were imbued with magic. As if she could see through all that he was.

Slowly, Áine nodded. “So stay. And prove your intentions.”

Gale hastened to nod. “Thank you. I swear, I’ll never a—”

He fell silent when Áine raised a hand. “I require action, not more words,” she said, letting her hand fall back in her lap. “I’d rather not speak of it again.” Astarion could tell in the strain of her voice that she was still upset and just hiding it as flawlessly as ever.

A large hand lowered in front of her and offered her a bowl of porridge and fruit. Áine looked up and accepted the bowl from Halsin as he laid a brief, comforting hand against her hair. She thanked him and he nodded then turned away to reclaim his seat and continue his work by the fire.

Wyll had shifted closer to them from Astarion’s unoccupied side, reaching across him to touch Áine’s arm and ask quietly again if she was okay. When she said she was, he glanced toward Astarion to get confirmation. The vampire gave him a nod of confirmation and only then did Wyll relax, glancing at Karlach as she worked to temper her rage.

Lae’zel scoffed at the outcome, resheathing her blade. “I have killed gleefully and for far less,” she intoned, glaring down at Gale. “Do not test my might with a second misstep.”

Áine felt Astarion’s arm slip around her shoulders as he agreed with the githyanki. “I, too, have killed for much less,” he said. “Legally and otherwise.” She occasionally forgot he’d been a magistrate in another life.

“You know, normally I’d offer a quick fix to alleviate something like a black eye,” Shadowheart mused, inclining her head to get a good look at Gale’s face. “However, I think you could do with a little suffering for your transgressions. If you’re good, I might change my mind further down the road.”

Gale winced at his companions’ threats, nodding in acknowledgment to each as he wrung his hands. “It’s less damage than I deserved surely,” he agreed. “This will be left to fade in its own time.”

“Karlach, did you want a fresh bowl?” Halsin offered the blazing tiefling.

“Maybe here shortly,” Karlach replied, giving her chest a couple of pounds with the side of her fist. The iron chamber echoed in response. “I love you lot to bits, but you give me heartburn.”

Áine and the others broke the tension a few degrees by smiling at her semi-intentional joke. When the group had more or less dispersed to begin packing up camp, Astarion addressed Áine, his arm still draped around her and his fingertips tracing small circles on the back of her arm. “You,” he accused, “were way too soft on him.”

She shrugged, looking tired all over again as she popped the last raspberry from her breakfast bowl into her mouth. “I know,” she said. “I’m still upset, but I do understand where it came from. And nothing…okay, almost nothing, stop looking at me like that…actually happened.” Áine pursed her lips. “I’m just trying to let bygones be bygones, I suppose.”

Astarion glared down at her but still stroked her arm despite his agitation. “Dearest, just because ‘nothing happened’ does not mean you’re not due your rage.”

Áine laughed sharply. “If I ever really unleashed all my pent-up anger at everyone who ever wronged me, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”

Astarion gave her a considering look and responded with a shrug of his own. “I would personally pay admission to see it,” he said, his lingering impulse to have a few more swings at the wizard nearby only assuaged by the sweet sound of her laughter.

“Hardly a welcome party,” Wyll remarked as he cast a glance toward the iron portcullis that separated them currently from a raging minotaur.

It roared as it beat its horns against the grated gate while the stone atop the statue of Selûne towering above them in the outpost they were setting up camp within shot the beast with bolts of light. The bolts ceased the moment the creature fell dead to the ground, thin tendrils of smoke rising from its smoldered flesh.

Áine frowned and cast a vague gesture toward the dank yet somehow still beautiful caverns surrounding the manmade lookout they camped inside which looked like a pinprick in comparison to the vast cave system that was truly its own world beneath a world. “Welcome to the Underdark,” she said dispassionately. They’d made good time in getting there, only an extra two days added to their journey to backtrack.

“I don’t mean to make any assumptions, Áine,” Gale said, “but did you grow up down here?”

Astarion stiffened and watched Áine out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted to the question about her younger years. Now that he knew what he knew, even these casual questions made him want to intervene in some way.

She took it in stride, not looking bothered at all, and he could only assume that she’d had to deal with friendly personal questions often enough that reaching back just far enough into her memories no longer came at much of a cost. “I didn’t,” she said. “This isn’t my first time down here, but I frequented Baldur’s Gate more than I ever frequented the Underdark.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest, Áine self-congratulated. It just adjusted the conversation away from the natural next question, which would have been, “Oh, then where did you grow up?”

Shadowheart grimaced up at the Selûne statue and the light that shone from its gem. “Just how long are we intending to leave that infernal thing up there?” she asked.

“As long as it’s of use to us,” Áine asserted, nodding toward the felled minotaur. “When we get ready to leave, I’ll shoot it down or something. For now, while we rest, it’s a nice bit of insurance.”

“Already nostalgic for the sun, Astarion?” Lae’zel guessed when she spotted the vampire. Áine followed her gaze and found him frowning up at the pitch-black cavern ceilings.

Astarion sighed without looking at her. “Of course, I am,” he replied, sounding more inconvenienced than nostalgic. “Imagine being deprived of something for 200 years, getting it back, and then ending up in a place you can’t enjoy it for however long your reprieve lasts.”

To his surprise, he heard the gith grumble in agreement. “Understood,” she acquiesced. “It is only a matter of time before we surface again.” Was she trying to reassure him?

“Even then,” Halsin said with a forlorn expression, “it will be some time before the sun can touch us again. The shadow curse is…” He paused, considering his words. “Vicious.”

“What exactly is the shadow curse?” Wyll asked, his voice appropriately wary.

Suffocating, Áine answered silently. Dismal. Horrifying. She’d never grown accustomed to it in her lifetime there. After quick missives to the city or even to the Underdark, the lands surrounding Moonrise had always felt even more macabre. Darker. Hungrier. Because for all its darkness and strangeness, the Underdark wasn’t a cursed region. It was simply different as it was underground. In some ways, it was beautiful. The curse cloaking the lands they were heading toward was unnatural.

Halsin essentially answered with the same feelings she had, if not different words. Her eyes cast down toward the campfire Gale was working over to prepare them some dinner and, across from her a few paces away, Astarion watched the flames lick her amber irises.

He was a bit of a fool, but he wasn’t fool enough to not realize when two puzzle pieces fit together. Her reaction to Halsin’s first mention of this place and then everything she’d told him last night was piecing together. Astarion could be wrong, but he had a feeling that they were walking back into someplace she’d much sooner forget than return to. He knew next to nothing of her past ten years, only that she’d gotten away in that time to find her own path.

The entire idea was a conjecture. It could’ve been something entirely different that had driven her to panic at the idea of going to Moonrise. However, he couldn’t think of an alternative theory, so he let that one sit for now. Instead, despite knowing from the sun’s position just before their descent into this place that it would be nighttime aboveground, he glared toward the caves surrounding them as if he could drill skylights into them through the power of spite.

Astarion glanced over when he sensed someone coming to stand beside him, knowing instinctually that it wasn’t Áine based on the footfalls and presence alone. The last person he’d expected to see was Gale.

Their eyes met and Astarion’s narrowed with wary speculation. The black eye he’d given the wizard was starting to yellow at the edges as it healed. Shadowheart had finally offered to relieve him of it the previous evening, but he’d politely refused. Astarion also knew that Gale was capable of a simple healing spell that would absolve his bruising within seconds. Was he trying to prove something by keeping it?

Gale noticed Astarion scrutinizing his handiwork and gave a self-deprecating smirk. “It was a good punch,” the wizard commented, his pale companion stiffening when spoken to. “And well-deserved.”

“Indeed,” Astarion agreed, his suspicion at the interaction coating his words.

Gale sighed. “Thank you,” he said finally, “for putting me in my place. For helping her.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Astarion snapped.

“I know,” Gale murmured, his tone careful and placating. It did the opposite to Astarion’s mood. The wizard seemed to be thinking better of approaching in the first place, but he squared his shoulders a little instead of changing his mind. “I also want to offer my apologies—”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person,” Astarion interrupted him, his tone dismissive.

“I’m not,” Gale said with the patience of a saint. “I’ve apologized to Áine almost every time I’ve dared to speak with her. She’s since told me I’m not allowed to say that I’m sorry more than once daily ‘if I absolutely must say it at all’.” A faint smirk crossed Astarion’s lips at the wizard’s recollection of Áine’s direct orders. That’s my girl. “All that to say… I broke your trust, too.”

Astarion scoffed. “Bold of you to assume you had it at all.”

“Indeed,” Gale said, nervously resting his hand against his neck. “Too bold. But if, on the off chance I did in the slightest and it is now broken, I am deeply sorry, Astarion. I wronged her most, but I wronged you as well. I don’t remember much from that night, but your relationship with her has never been a secret, and even blind-drunk it would be an obvious thing.”

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. “You speak as if you moved in on my territory.”

Bewildered, Gale said, “Well, of course. I did.”

“She is not mine,” Astarion murmured. “She is not beholden to me and can bed whomever she wants. That’s hardly the point of my upset.”

“I think I’ve misspoken, so let me try again,” Gale said, weighing his words over again. “I endangered her. Full stop. This is my greatest sin. Separate from that, I caused a shockwave of worry and hurt for everyone who cares about her.”

“Then why apologize specifically to me?” Astarion demanded defensively.

Gale’s pleading demeanor began to dissipate and he raised a brow at Astarion as if to ask if he was seriously asking that question of him. “Because, exclusive or not, you care about each other deeply,” he said.

“That’s too bold,” Astarion declared in a grumble.

To Astarion’s surprise and irritation, Gale just smiled. “It’s a good thing,” he stated in a gentler tone. “It’s not my place to press, so I won’t. Just know that I value you as part of the group and I hope to earn back—to earn your trust someday, despite probably not deserving it.” He glanced toward the portcullis as another minotaur slunk closely enough for the statue of Selûne to rear back to life. “I at least hope to not do anything that will warrant getting punched by you again.”

“Let’s start with that,” Astarion muttered, thrown off by the idea of someone wanting to prove themself to him.

“It’s a deal,” Gale agreed, palpable relief in his voice that simply served to confuse Astarion even more. “Right, well, I’ll cease bothering you. Thank you.”

Astarion gave a noncommittal grunt that sent Gale on his way. He still had an inkling to maim him, but his ire had slowly wound down over the last couple of days. He’d gone from a state of hypervigilance and practically hovering over Áine back to his normal level of watchfulness once it became clear that Gale meant what he’d promised her and seemed to be actively trying at every turn to redeem himself. Unlike the others though, Astarion was at best slow to forgive if he did at all and never to forget.

The sweetly low drone of a flute note drew his attention back to the center of camp, his scarlet stare fastening with a quiet reverence on the bard perched upon the statue’s massive base, a purloined wooden flute held enviably to her puckered lips. The flute was a bit clunkier but more ornate and unique than the one she’d been carrying when he’d met her, an indistinct instrument only special when she’d turned it into an accidental weapon.

A smirk traced his mouth at the memory, unexpectedly tender toward such a gory memory. If he were honest with himself, truly, that was what had started it for him. He absently wondered when it had begun for her as he watched her tease a melody from the unextraordinary hollow tube with little more than her breath and fingers. The purposeful chaining of notes swirled upward, drifting against the obsidian stone surrounding them and returning in gentle form.

Sometime in the “night”—what was night really when it was always so dark?—Astarion ended up near the fire, using its warmth in place of the sun which surely had to be coming up by now on the surface. He was also using a bit of the flickering light to once again mend a fray in his doublet embroidery despite hardly wearing it on their travels anymore, some of the lighter armor they’d found proving a better option as they went further and further into the thick of things. He was among the last awake, which wasn’t unusual, and it was just himself, Halsin, and Áine.

Halsin had been ever more restless the closer they got to another shot at entering the shadow-cursed lands he spoke of, but even he retired after another hour with a quiet “goodnight” bid to each of those remaining awake. Astarion nodded in response, focused on his stitching. He’d completed his fix on his past work and now worked on a new line on the left wrist of the doublet, trying his hand at embroidering a lilac design while he idly listened to Áine toying with her lute behind him.

She’d remained on her perch—he wasn’t completely sure she could get down from that height on her own without it being amusingly clumsy, which he was looking forward to—and forsaken the flute for the night when their party had begun to go off to bed in favor of a quieter instrument. Astarion only lifted his head from his work when he heard her speak.

No… Heard her sing.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering if he even should. Had she forgotten he was still there with her? He had the answer to his question when their eyes met.

Hers were, not unexpectedly, already pooling with tears. A faint smirk played on her mouth as instead of whatever lyric to the song she meant to sing next, she sang in tune to the melody, “Will my performance infringe on your work?” to see if she was bothering him, he supposed. As if she were capable of that.

Astarion chuckled and shook his head in reply, just marveling at her for everything she was. Finding a way to check on him, even make him laugh a little, while she sat there also amused but in such sweet melancholy, he could feel a twinge of it himself by extension.

Her gaze dropped back down to her lute as she adjusted her fingertips and he meant to return to his embroidery, but he just couldn’t look away from her. She was an enchanting sight—long legs half-tucked under her and pressed against the stonework beneath her, starlight-colored tresses that put real constellations to shame, shuttered dark amber eyes that lightened like honey when the firelight caught them just right.

He rose to his feet as she slowly brought her song to a close, her voice ghosting against the walls surrounding them. As she sang through the repetitious last lines—”Never wanted to leave,”—Astarion took measured steps toward her. She watched his progress without faltering as he came close enough to place his hands neatly atop her knee, his chin resting against them as he held her gaze and his silence. He noticed that her skin, even in the faintest reaches of the Underdark’s bioluminescent glow, looked more radiant than ever.

Áine let her final note carry and fade and they simply gazed at each other for a long moment in mutual fascination. She didn’t even think to wipe her eyes until he shifted in their stillness, arranged his doublet over one arm, and then held his arms open for her. The bard smiled, her somber air feathering into obscurity for now, and carefully maneuvered her arms around his shoulders and her lute behind his back.

She let him pluck her off her stage, wrapping her legs around his waist as he supported her with one strong arm firmly slanted across her back, his hand spread to hold the underside of one of her thighs. Astarion kissed her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and he walked them and their instruments of choice back to her tent tonight.

What they had couldn’t continue to spiral from its noxiously selfish origin point. He’d go mad if it did. He had no idea if he was capable of offering her something real—if he had anything of the sort left to give, if he’d ever had it in him in the first place—but he’d wanted to since that first night they’d spent together. Probably even longer than that if he allowed himself to be sincere.

And he supposed if he wanted an honest chance with her, he had to finally tell her the truth.

Next chapter: Chapter 16, "Full of Surprises"

37 notes · View notes

taki-yaki · 7 months

Note

If you’re still taking prompts: Tav was abducted from wildspace, maybe she was a crew member of a spelljammer, maybe she was a passenger or a merchant, either way she’s not from Faerun. She falls for Astarion, but after the brain is defeated she has to return to wildspace. Perhaps staying in Faerun drastically shortens her very long lifespan, and her realm isn’t safe for Astarion, but she vows to return every so often, like once a year (e.g. origin story of the Tanabata festival in Japan). They essentially become immortal star-crossed lovers.

Hi Anon, my inbox is always open, unless stated otherwise on my pinned post as the first thing you see.

I haven’t really read much on dnd spelljammer stuff so this finally got me around to reading it. For this Tav though, I’ll make them an astral elf as I found their culture to be interesting.

Astarion x Astral Elf Tav/Spell Jammer Headcanons

You are an Astral elf, known for exploring the wild space cosmos for over 150 years of your life, as a part of a crew of spell-jammers. Being one of the younger members of the crew, as a gifted aristocrat, able to channel the power of sunlight through your magic that courses through you.

Despite your bounty of skills at your disposal, the only weakness you face is leaving that plane seemed to shorten your lifespan making you bound to the astral plane for your entire lifetime. But after the mind flayers snatched you from your ship, the tadpole inside seemed to have gifted you a normal lifespan, allowing you to survive in the land of Toril.

But exploring the land of Faerûn seemed to be a short-lived dream, as your new goal was to rid yourself of the guest who has now taken up residence inside your head, wishing to transform you into a mindflayer.

The Githyanki in your group, who’ve you known to be hostile in most of your encounters in the astral high seas, seemed to have both united over a common hatred for the mind flayers who put you in this position in the first place.

However, you weren’t the only one who realisation that having these tadpoles isn’t for the best in the long term. Astarion, who you thought at a glance was a variant of astral elf himself, was a vampire. Now able to giddily enjoy the glow of the sun without having to feel as he describes “the wrath of biting ants all over your skin.”

Most of Faerûn’s customs are unfamiliar to you, from the ritual the priest makes you go through in the goblin camp to the gifting of wild floral plants to ones you care deeply for.

Another struggle that you face is your lack of elvish language knowledge. Growing up, you only ever saw the need to learn common and celestial.

Astarion would notice your lack of elven knowledge and try to teach you some basic phrases, although most of his classes would involve him trying to teach you flirty phrases to say under the pretence that it’s a common greeting.

Despite his teasing, you would attempt to return the favour by showing him simple celestial phrases, with the surprise that it doesn’t set his throat on fire after speaking in a holy tongue.

During the nights in the shadow-cursed lands, when the warmth of the sun can’t reach, you use some of your solar magic to replicate the feeling of warmth on his skin.

One of these nights on the road towards Baldur's Gate, the two of you are star gazing in silence, until you point up at the sky at two lone stars in the inky darkness above you. “In my culture, we believe our people get carried into the astral sea and turned into stars, I think those two are like us.”“Really, just some little lights in the sky?”, you turn to meet his gaze, “Well you have ‘star’ in your name right?”.

Astarion even suggests going through with the ritual, before having to stop him stating that even if you were made immortal, your soul is still bound to the astral realm and immortality would make you nothing but a husk of a person over time. But you make the promise to visit him one day every year, by opening a portal to the realm of Toril.

During the weeks leading up to fighting the brain, you gift him a small wrapped parcel. “Hmm? Darling, what’s this?” ”Something special, just open it” Looking back at him with a grin, upon peeling off the wrapping, revealed a smooth carved stone with an odd pattern on it.

He looks back at you, slightly confused as if you’ve got mad “Darling, this is just a rock”, “Not just any rock silly”. You pull out an identical stone to the one he’s holding and quietly mutter some words into it, for the one in Astarions hand to parrot back what was just spoken.“It’s for when I have to go, we can still speak to each other through it, but for now I prefer to hear your voice from you.”

He lets out a soft sigh “You’re always thinking a few steps ahead my sweet, but obviously my voice sounds better coming from my throat than some rock” letting out a smile.

After the defeat of the netherbrain, the tadpole now destroyed, you feel the effects of your lifespan being shortened after being outside your realm for so long, knowing that it is your time to leave, Astarion runs to you carrying you into the safety of the shadows to avoid himself from burning up. “I’m sorry, I want to stay with you, but I have to go now ”

Astarion holds you as tight as he can, uttering the phrase “Ai armiel telere maenen hir.” "You hold my heart forever.” as many times as he can count before you climb onto the dragon, to return to the astral plane, home.

Every night after he would visit the surface from the Underdark at night, looking up into the stars, muttering into the sending stone, message after message, all in Elven tongue, “I love you so much” “I’ve been doing well with the other spawn” “I’m thinking of you every day my love”. He’d wait with bated breath to hear your response back in return.

However, when the day arrives when the two of you are reunited only for a day every year, you stay in each other's embrace, practically bound together, before having to return home to the astral plane.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion headcanons

26 notes · View notes

maithefluffychicken · 1 year

Text

Astarion/Gale bloodweave.

Gale has a gift for Astarion. SFW. Part 1 of ??.

Astarion had told Gale that he misses to admire his own face in a mirror. Petty vanity, Astarion has said back then, it feels like years ago.

It's been just a few weeks, maybe a whole month? Gale has lost track of time since the... ilithid abduction. And back then Gale had thought Astarion was just being dramatic, fishing for compliments, asking Gale directly what did he see whenever he looks at the vampire. Gale was taken aback then, both because Astarion is breathtaking in his ethereal beauty, his fangs a constant reminder of his dangerous nature... and because Gale had to face then the awkward truth that he was, indeed, developing intense feelings for the pale elf.

Gale praised Astarion that night, called him beautiful, and winced when Astarion seemed unimpressed by his words, no matter how much Gale tried to wax poetics about Astarion.

Now, Gale can read through Astarion cold, nonchalant facade. Now, Gale takes in every microexpression the vampire does, how his eyes flick quickly, taking in his surroundings, ready to flee or fight whenever he feels some kind of threat upon him.

Now, reaching Baldur's Gate, the tadpole still firmly and cozy nestled in their brains, with Gale's fate over his head like Damocles' sword... now, the wizard decides that he can spend his last nights on Faerun spoiling his favorite brat, the man that has raptured his heart.

"Gale, darling," Astarion calls, dragging every syllabe lazily, sighing dramatically. "What are you doing all by yourself in this ruined cabin?"

Gale shakes his head, amused. Astarion's voice send shiver down his spine, reminiscence of the dream-like nights they spent together, when Astarion still believed he had to use his body to keep Gale entertained.

"Ugh, this is so disgusting, oh look, a dead rat... What a waste... Gale? Are you playing hide and seek? Where are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm on the second floor, Astarion," Gale answers, unable to contain his smile.

"Gods, why? Come here, darling, I miss your face."

Gale does not giggle, he's an ass grown up man and he does not giggle, but he can't stop his cheeks from burning red. Of course, Gale obliges.

"What are you doing up there, dear?"

"I was just... meditating," Gale says, because he's scared to admit that he needed some alone time to psych himself to do what he's going to do now.

"Sure, alright," Astarion says, eyeing Gale with his head tilted up defiantly. "You missed dinner, I saved you some cheese and dry saussages, and bread, and that wine you fancy."

Astarion says, shrugging, as if does this for everyone everyday. As if this doesn't matter. Gale's heart does a mortal jump at this freely given love demonstration, and he's sure the vampire can hear how fast his blood rush thorugh his veins right now.

"Dinner, sure, thank you, beloved," Gale says, unaware of how the endearment falls from his lips until Astarion's face does that small wince, how his pupils blown, swallowing the red of his irises.

"Gale..."

"I have something for you," Gale blurts out. "I... could we find somewhere more intimate?"

Astarion seizes him up with his red wine eyes. Nods minutely. Astarion trusts Gale, knows Gale won't betray him, nor force him to do something Astarion is not ready yet. Gale would rather die to betray Astarion, and leaving the tray of food behind, Gale takes Astarion's cold hand and together they walk until Gale deems the landscape good enough for his gift to Astarion.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next parts or in my Astarion/Wyll ficlet (coming soon) 💛

#astarion #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale #bg3 Astarion #bg3 Gale #ficlet #fluffy chicken writes #fluffy chicken plays bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bloodweave #astarion/gale

62 notes · View notes

morgana-ren · 9 months

Note

something i wonder about for not ascended astarion. he spent those 200 years just eating rats and whatever cazador let him, he had to survive. and its not that he doesnt like being a vampire right? but he was surviving and suddenly with the tadpoles he has a lot less restrictions and abusive oversight.

once cazador is dead, i wonder how his bad days go remembering all that. how he handles dealing with what he is for the rest of eternity, since i doubt he had enough time to address trauma while it was happening. if he has any issues with drinking from people kind of like how he has issues with sleeping with others.

but maybe not since cazador wouldnt let him before and tav/companions are the first he drinks from, and not against his will. i dunno, just something i think about and wanna hug him over lol. sorry for the ramble

My guess? The same way we all live with trauma. In the way that, during the day, you are alive and you are breathing and you focus on the sun shining. You focus on the light in front of you, and not the memories flashing behind your eyes. You keep your claws away from your skin, and your mind from straying into the dark that waits, inky and twisting and sick, around every corner. Every scent. Every sight. You focus. You keep busy. You live, because it is all you can do. Your grief is a living thing that breathes and follows you, but it is polite and will sometimes stay quiet when there are other people speaking.

You do not think about the crisis that will come when night falls and all is quiet. You do not think about the taste of blood being so foreign even as you've needed it for years. About the things only your pillow knows. About the nightmares that will plague you, and the memories that etch themselves onto your soul like stone, and the way you still flinch at footsteps and voices. About the body that, even as it is yours, you cannot fully control because when your heart races or your eyes strain or the panic flows through your veins like a poison, you still cannot control it and even as the pain has stopped, your body remembers. It will always remember.

You do not think about the demon that peeks its head in from the closet door of the past uninvited every night, no matter how many times you lock it. The demon with their face and their memory and their touch and their claws and scent and it feels real even as you once spit on their corpse.

But Astarion doesn't really get that, does he? There is no sun shining. There is not even living. There is a man who is dead because his life was taken from him. A man who does not even know his own face because it was also taken from him. A man who cannot look to the light and the sun because his autonomy was taken from him. There is a man who cannot feel warmth because he will die again, for real this time, and it is the second death that hurts the most. The death you choose. The death you deny yourself. Where you must weigh your options and decide what it is all worth and take inventory of your own hoarding brain-- hoarding memories and sensations and feelings that no longer have a place and a home and a shelf. Repugnant trash you do not want in your house. You want them gone. But where do you put them?

His body is laden with scars he cannot see, cannot come to peace with, cannot face, even if he wants to. Phantom pain that will ache forever because scars that deep cause tissue damage and you feel them when you move and you breathe and it rains. His body was not his own. He will struggle to remember it is his body now. His skin. His scars. His body. His life. His choice. Said over and over like a mantra. To remember. To keep remembering.

He will slink around his own house like a ghost sometimes. Quiet and subtle. Deliberate. Even as it is his home, old habits die hard. He will awaken to noises you can't hear. He will expect him. He won't meditate. He will have questions that no one can answer because he is of a monstrous and forsaken kind that took him and abandoned him and left him with the questions of a child in a skin suit. He will flinch at touch-- even gentle, consensual touch meant to soothe him-- before he will relax. And one time that relax will become a deep, horrible, wrenching sob. And it will keep happening because that dam gets harder to build every time.

He won't want to talk. Sometimes he will. There's no rhyme or reason. It's like the tides of a sea that he rides and even he cannot control. All he knows is he is looking for some kind of land. Any kind of shelter. Something in the storm. All he can do is follow the currents and hope you follow.

He will have mood swings. He will crave touch and yet be repulsed by it. You must be careful. He will have to learn autonomy and consent all over again, and have to learn his own consent because that voice in his head is still there that tells him it is not his own. He will have to wrestle with the switch in his head because there is a cage over it with a key that he keeps forgetting he has. He will come to believe once again that he is a burden. That this is not your fault, and it's not fair you be expected to deal with it. He will suck it up. He will lash out. He will break down. He will cycle. He will do as mortal men do, even as he is not mortal.

He will be irrational and angry. He will feel sorrow at it. He will not understand his own feelings because he is not used to them being his feelings. What he wanted never mattered. They were not his feelings to have. And now he has too fucking many of them and they are falling around him like fucking leaves and severing and cracking into a billion more complex feelings and it doesn't matter how you heap them, it just turns into a giant mushy pile of what do you want from me? while they pile and pile and pile and rot and decay around you.

And it builds and it builds and it builds and it fills your lungs like fetid fucking water until you cannot breathe and it seeps out of your eyes and your very pores and infects everything around you.

And he has eternity to hoard. To cope. To feel. To find a way to stuff skeletons in the closet and organize his own head and learn to live in it again. To find a comfortable place in his own skin. He has an eternity. Whether he wants it or not. Yet another aspect taken from him. The choice to be natural. To die side by side with your partner of old age and contentment. He will outlive them, or he will curse them. There is no middle. Every time he looks at you, he will see the outline of your skull, and the fragility of your form. He will watch as you grow old and surpass him. He becomes your boyfriend to your husband to your son to your grandson. He is as beautiful as the day you met him. He tells you that you are too.

The world moves around him. He watches it through red eyes, a crimson veil between him and life, seeing everything, but unmoving with it. It passes him by. He cannot touch it, not truly. He is a man in a monster in a coffin. His comfort items will decay. His clothes will fray. His ring will break. His life will go on. His coffin will fill with bones. Just never his.

It will haunt him and hurt him and stalk him until he faces it. Because he is dead, he will need to learn to live again. He will need to learn to feel warmth. To see the sun where there is none. To cherish the fleeting and lament the dying-- two luxuries he does not have.

He will need to learn to fit his body back on every night like a glove and relearn how to puppet it. Learn that it is his. That it is wholly under his control. That no one gets to touch it if he does not say so. That he does not have to touch anyone. That no one is entitled to him. That he is entitled to no one. That this is good and okay and his body is not a weapon or a gift to be threatened or given. It is his home where he lives, and no one is allowed inside if he does not want it. He does not need to give a reason. It is not a fleabag hotel; it is a home-- his. The world has sucked him dry. He is the vampire, but in his home, you do not get to come if you are not invited.

He will need to learn he is not a burden. That it is okay to be angry. That it is okay to be furious. That it is okay to feel sorrow so heart-wrenching it feels as if your unbeating heart is being carved out with a knife even as there is no one wielding it. It is okay to scream and cry and shout. It is okay to need support. It is okay to collapse even as you have it. It is okay to lean on those who love you. It is okay to turn to Tav and just need something. Love, support, a hug-- silence.

Most of all, he needs to mourn. He needs to mourn his own death. Mourn his tragedy. Mourn his parents and the life he lived. Mourn the man he was. Mourn all that life has dealt him. Mourn every ounce of time he lost. Even as the hourglass stopped moving, the sand is still in the bottom. He can still feel the weight of it. Still sift his hands through it and feel it slip through his fingers. Mourn the man so that he can truly be born again.

He is shown that he is willing. Symbolically, he accepts this challenge. He feels certain. He feels ready.

And he can do it.

It will take time. It will take love and support from others and from himself. He needs to allow himself to be. Just to be Astarion. To delegate time to finding out who that really is. Who he really is. What he wants. What he is okay with. What he is ready for and what he doesn't like. He did not have a body and a soul for so long. He was a vessel. Now he is putting back pieces of himself together from where they were cast, stitching them together carefully, trying to figure out what they mean and trying to find pieces of himself to fill them with.

He has to accept himself. Become himself. He is Astarion the vampire spawn. He needs blood to live. This is an immutable truth. No amount of railing against it will stop this. You must live with your demons side by side, but you do not have to hold the devil's hand. You can accept them. And in time, they become more and more quiet. Less and less prominent. The shadow shrinks and allows room for light. You just have to be open to finding your own sun to bask in and find happiness in the smell of the leaves that pile around you endlessly. To swallow the water bits at a time rather than drowning. To learn to not love the scars, but accept them, and let other people see them and help you. Because he cannot see himself, but the friends that love him can, and like he once said: He could do worse.

I believe he will be okay. He has the strength. He just has to yank it out of himself.

#morgana and friends #astarion #tw trauma #I just rambled here again #The journey after the journey warrants speculation #Helping him find himself and learn to fight the shadows #Helping him become a better man #one who can look back and go 'I made it.'#Sort of like we all do

25 notes · View notes