#astarion x original f! character

[ancuninfiles]

Comfort pt. 5

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

6.7k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Named Tav (Nym) - 18+

Summary: Nym's forced time away from her homeland - The High Forest - teaches her many truths within mere days; truths that she likely would have otherwise never come to know.

Tags: smut, fluff, angst, p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming (if you squint), vampire bites, needy/desperate astarion, past refrence to trauma (or something), hurt/comfort, OC is autism-coded

MASTERLIST (The other chapters and other works)

Read on AO3 (Recommended)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

Nym woke up in Astarion’s tent, feeling anxious and groggy from the blood loss. She stretched her arms into the air, releasing a deep, eye-watering yawn.

Beside her, Astarion lay with his eyes closed. Nym sensed she might have disturbed his trance, but assumed he needed to get more rest and was still attempting to do just that.

She scratched the nape of her neck, trying to brush her tangled hair with her fingers, a result of days without proper care.

With a slight grimace, she crawled gingerly towards her overstuffed pack, determined to locate the simple wooden comb procured just the day prior.

In the depths of her bag laid a jumbled assortment of yesterday's acquisitions, among them a fresh ensemble of lightweight leather armour for Nym. Comprised of a supple suede top, a flowing poncho, and loose-fitting trousers, the new attire promised both comfort and improved mobility for battle.

Nym’s stomach fluttered with anticipation as she envisioned herself adorned in the new garments, feeling the enhanced freedom of movement they would afford her in combat.

After rummaging through the contents of her bag and extracting her daily attire, Nym resumed her search for the elusive comb. Once retrieved, she swiftly donned her clothing, mindful this time to dress before exiting the tent, determined not to repeat the awkward encounter of revealing herself to her companions without their express consent.

She was striving to fit in and adjust to the new environment, and despite the discomfort of being away from her usual surroundings, Nym found herself cherishing this time outside the High Forest.

While she was living in the High Forest, she had been utterly ignored by most for her entire life; in contrast, here she was chosen to be a leader. The prospect still confused her, but she was becoming more accustomed to it with each day.

Maybe I'll stumble upon a book on leadership during our downtime, she mused.

Nym gagged as a wave of nausea hit her; she knew that she had to use the amulet, lest she would feel sickly all day.

With a whispered incantation, a blue light enveloped Nym, accompanied by the faint sound of wind chimes. As the magic took hold the light and sounds faded, leaving her feeling as refreshed as after a restful night's sleep.

Rising ungracefully, Nym emerged from Astarion’s tent to discover Gale already tending to the fire, diligently engaged with the cookpot.

A surge of apprehension swept over her; the prospect of establishing boundaries with Gale filled her with unease. Her gut instinct told her to simply brush aside the issue and feign normalcy - though that desire warred with a more practical one: facing the uncomfortable topic directly in the spirit of open communication. 

Contemplating her options, Nym weighed the possibility of confronting him head-on the next time he made advances, opting to let him be the one to broach the topic first; but, the thought of his potential reaction to her rejection twisted her stomach into knots. What if he dislikes me afterward? Or worse, what if he gets angry? 

Nym shuddered, attempting to banish the unsettling notion. As murky memories from her time in the High Forest resurfaced, her breath caught in her throat and her muscles tensed. Recognizing the need to divert her attention, she resolved to find a distraction.

In regards to Gale, Nym acknowledged her limited understanding of him thus far. There remained a chance that he might view her rejection as an opportunity for personal growth, or some such realization. I'll deal with that when the time comes, she concluded, hoping fervently to avoid that conversation altogether. But she had a feeling that crossing that bridge would likely be inevitable.

"Good morning!" Gale called cheerfully, snapping Nym out of her spiralling thoughts. "Fancy some eggs?"

Nym realized she had been standing tensed up, staring at Gale's back for far too long. She was grateful to be pulled into the moment by his seemingly kind voice and demeanour.

Her voice cracked as she squeaked, “Yes, please!” 

Barefooted, she waltzed to the logs by the fire with her comb, socks, and boots in hand, sitting adjacent to Gale, shimmying her socks and footwear on. 

Gale cracked two eggs in the pan and started scrambling, causing Nym to grimace; she loved eggs, but couldn’t tolerate the texture of scrambled eggs - even the thought of the sponginess touching her hard palate made her feel nauseous once more.

Gale, ever observant, couldn't help but notice Nym's fidgeting as her gaze lingered on his scrambled eggs. "Not a fan of scrambled eggs, I gather?" he inquired, casting a thoughtful glance towards her, squinting against the sun's glare as he tended to his culinary creation. "No worries, my friend. These are for me, then. My apologies for not checking with you first."

Nym breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a wave of comfort wash over her. "I hope I'm not causing too much trouble," she murmured apologetically, averting her gaze.

"Not at all," Gale reassured her, his tone lightening. "I feel rather at home while tinkering with food over a flame. It's a bit of a relaxation ritual, one might say." With a flourish, he transferred the scrambled eggs onto a metal plate, seasoning them with herbs foraged from the surrounding woodlands and a pinch of salt. "And how do you take your eggs?"

At that moment, Nym found herself pleasantly surprised by Gale's genuine kindness. Despite their minimal interaction since the crash, save for a brief encounter on the beach and her lingering appreciation for the book-like scent that seemed to emanate from him, his considerate gesture touched her, and eased her previous worries.

Gale is safe, Nym thought, like a mantra in her mind. I am safe.

Nym smiled and exhaled before pursing her lips to the side in thought. “Would it be too much to ask for boiled eggs?”

“Not at all! Actually, I have a kettle of water that I had boiled for tea earlier, it will make the job quicker, you see.” Gale began organizing an iron pot over the fire, and pouring the hot water into it, followed by two eggs.

Nym had always thought Gale was handsome, but this act of service made her blush shamefully. It made her want to cover her face and scream, the way he went out of his way to make sure that she would eat. Gods - was Gale going to put a wrench in her plan? 

She felt some strange obligation, as if she was meant to be already devoted to Astarion - for Nym was nothing if not a woman of her word. She responded to the odd pang of guilt by methodically dispelling the physical sensation -  the unwanted thoughts dissipating as she shook them away, starting from her arms, through her hands, and finally to the very tips of her fingers.

If Gale noticed her shiver, he didn’t say anything.

Nym took a deep breath and finally began to comb her hair, careful not to rip or tug at her sensitive scalp. Her hair was coarse and black, with undertones of copper that only revealed themselves in the sunlight.

As Nym worked through her knots, her attention snapped to Astarion as he leisurely emerged from his tent, adorned in his freshly acquired leather armour. His physique still struck her, his broad chest, narrow hips, and sharp jawline a picture of perfection in her eyes.

Nym shot her head away from the pale elf and closed her eyes tightly, continuing to work away at her locs. Fuck, she thought. It wasn’t fair that her mind kept going there. She wanted both of them, and she felt like she was going mad at the thought of it. 

Yet, the memory of Astarion's distress, his tears, weighed heavily on her conscience. Caught between conflicting emotions, she felt trapped, uncertain of how to handle her overwhelming desires - or whether she should even address them at all.

Suddenly, a soft thud on the log beside her interrupted her thoughts.

“Hello, my sweet.”

Again with the pet names, Nym noted inwardly, feeling the familiar tug at her heartstrings. This man seemed to possess an uncanny ability to stir something within her, yet she remained resolute in not letting it show. With practiced ease, she slipped on her figurative mask as she finished combing her hair, causing it to poof out around her.

"Oh, hello Starry," she greeted, though her smile failed to reach her eyes.

Astarion cocked his head, regarding her with a quizzical expression.

Shit - he knows.

However, Astarion didn’t press further, and instead, he handed her a book - one of the books that she had nicked from the Dank Crypt: Wood Elves of the High Forest. 

“I thought we could do a bit of reading, keep our minds occupied.” Astarion smiled roguishly while Nym took the book from him.

 “How does a braid sound, Nym?” Shouted Shadowheart from across the camp, making her way towards their cohort.

Nym turned her head to Shadowheart. “Oh, hi! Good morning Shadowheart,” Nym beamed.

Nym entertained the idea of having a braid, imagining the pleasant feeling of keeping her hair from touching her dewy back amidst the sweltering heat. “Please - if you don’t mind,” she responded, nodding graciously with a smile.

Nym felt it odd to be pampered so, and she made a mental note to find a way to return the favour.

As Shadowheart positioned herself behind Nym, Nym passed her the comb, and Shadowheart retrieved a few hair ties from her pocket.

Nym opened her book, casually leafing through the pages and landing on a page about a quarter-ways through. While the Cleric uncomfortably tugged at her hair, she brought the open pages closer to Astarion.

She traced her fingers beneath the text, silently inviting Astarion to follow along.

“The wood elves, also known as Or-tel-quessir, descend from moon elves, wild elves, and sun elves who preferred woodland sanctuaries after the turmoil caused by the Crown War.”

“Wood elves are level-headed creatures, and arousing strong emotions from them would prove difficult.”

“Yeah, all except for me apparently,” Nym chuckled awkwardly. 

“Wood elves often exuded an air of aloofness in contrast to their Tel-quessir brethren, their rugged demeanour detracting from their charisma.”

“Wood elves, being culturally polyamorous, would find much friction in romantic relationships with High elves who have a reputation of being strictly monogamous. Many hypothesize that said relationships are destined for dissolution, leading to a scarcity of offspring between the two races.”

Nym pondered, her lips pursed in contemplation, the final paragraph stirring discomfort within her. A quick glance at Astarion revealed his furrowed brows, a subtle unease washing over her as she noticed his clear perturbation.

Halfway done with her braid, Shadowheart tilted Nym’s head to the side. “What’s this?” Asked the cleric, concern coating her tone.

Nym’s eyes widened wildly and she slapped a hand to her neck, remembering the scabby bite marks that she unfortunately forgot to treat with a healing potion before leaving Astarion’s tent this morning.

“Nothing,” said Nym. Her body tensed rigidly, breath catching in a sudden stillness.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would guess that you’d been bitten by a vampire with those two suspiciously placed puncture wounds right atop your jugular vein,” Shadowheart pressed.

Nym’s face began to turn red from the lack of oxygen, her eyes fixated on a pebble near the fire and her lips tightened into a thin line. 

There was no chance she'd break Astarion's trust by spilling the beans on his condition - even if that meant taking a vow of silence.

“He's a bloody vampire!” shouted Gale from across the fire, causing Nym’s eyes to snap up and scan the wizard who now stood staring daggers at Astarion.

“Vampire spawn, to be more accurate,” Astarion clarified, standing to match Gale’s fierce demeanour. Astarion quickly collected himself, sighing and opening his posture. “Look - I’m not going to hurt any of you, I swear.”

Nym’s vision was quickly becoming spotty with black and purple, and the last thing she heard before collapsing backwards and falling unconscious was a murmuring from Gale that was distorted by the ringing in her ears.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

“It’s probably the blood loss,” Gale protested.

“Gale, would you relax? You’re only going to distress her more; besides, her blood levels are completely normal.” Shadowheart held Nym’s head that had fallen back into her lap, her eyes slowly blinking back into lucidity.

“I second that notion - I too would appreciate the wizard’s silence,” Astarion said, kneeling next to Nym and placing a cool and soothing hand on her forehead.

As Nym stirred awake, her head lolled back, a warm smile gracing her lips as she locked eyes with Astarion, who leaned in with concern. She found herself nestled in Shadowheart's lap, the worry in their eyes melting into reassurance at her awakening.

Astarion brought his hand to her cheek, caressing it affectionately and stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Your dynamism definitely keeps things interesting, darling."

Nym felt slightly embarrassed in her current predicament, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she was permitted to speak on Astarion’s affliction yet. 

“Astarion - I,” Nym started. “May I?” 

She hoped that Astarion could infer what she was trying to communicate with the few words she spoke and the pleading look in her eyes. 

Astarion nodded at Nym. “I’ve already told them, so share what you wish - though I do thoroughly appreciate your burgeoning loyalty. It does wonders for my ego,” he said, smirking waggishly, still holding Nym’s cheek.

Nym gave a brisk nod and straightened up on the log, heels pressing into the earth as she rested her forearms on her knees. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to address their group, her half-complete updo falling slightly as she lowered her head.

She adjusted her posture, bringing her knees together in the hope that a more proper posture might inspire her teammates to take her more seriously.

“Astarion is a vampire spawn, but he won’t hurt us,” Nym assured them. “He and I - well - we have an agreement.”

“How long have you known, Nym?” Asked Shadowheart.

“Since the first night. . .” 

“And you didn’t think this was pertinent information to share with the rest of us?” Shadowheart prodded, her face screwed up.

Nym turned to see Shadowheart better, who sat on her knees behind her. 

“Well - no,” she scoffed. “He’s very well-mannered - and well-fed.” 

She pointed her nose to the sky snobbishly.

“Clearly,” Shadowheart remarked, shooting a piercing glare at Astarion.

Nym clenched her jaw tightly, remembering how guilty Astarion had initially felt about their little arrangement. 

He coughed a nervous laugh, saying, “Look - I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty.” 

But Nym knew - despite the invisible wall he'd suddenly put up - that Astarion felt he was a burden; and she wouldn't stand for anyone guilting him for something he couldn't control.

Nym grunted, balling her white-knuckled fists. “Erg - you’d all better stop fighting about this. I told you, he won’t hurt us. I’m sure if he wanted to, he would’ve by now.” 

A smirk danced upon Astarion's lips at Nym's defence.

“Shadowheart,” Nym began, rising to confront the cleric, “you said it yourself; my blood levels are normal. What’s the issue with a couple of minuscule - and consensually inflicted wounds? Forgive me, but I’m failing to see the issue here.”

A moment of silence enveloped the group until Gale interjected. "She speaks the truth."

"What?" Shadowheart exclaimed, her confusion evident.

“We all have our burdens, one way or another,” Gale explained calmly.

A sardonic chuckle escaped Astarion. "And here I thought the wizard lacked insight. Well then - I stand corrected." He reclined, resting on his hands.

Nym looked over to Gale appreciatively, quietly huffing. She really thought Gale might’ve had it out for Astarion after the whole incident at the beach, but she was delightfully taken aback once again by his courtesy today and it caught her off guard.

In a way, Astarion’s snarky remark described precisely what she was thinking, too.

“Fine. As long as he keeps his fangs away from my neck, I suppose I can accept him,” Shadowheart stated, her scowl turning into a cheeky grin. “Besides, we need each other, and having a vampire spawn on our side doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Relief flooded Nym. Now that Astarion's secret was out in the open, he could use all of his weapons in battle, filling his belly even more. 

Many things about Astarion pointed toward a tortured past; from figuring out that he had never been full before, to the way his walls came up seemingly automatically at times, and even the distant look that periodically painted his face during their most recent coupling.

Nym yearned to understand him more intimately. Though she had few friends in the High Forest, she was well-acquainted with its cats; Astarion reminded her of a feral one. With feral cats, you begin by tossing them fish from a distance, gradually earning their trust until, one day, they begrudgingly accept the fish from your hand, convinced that it poses no threat.

Furthermore, if you were lucky enough, the cat might even come into your home and never want to leave once having a taste of true safety - away from the threat of potential predators.

Nevertheless, Nym was excited to watch Astarion fight whilst making use of his fangs and sanguine appetite.

She pondered what to say next, deciding on how a good leader might respond to all this. Perhaps something to boost morale. “You are all - very - er - good boys . . . and girl,” Nym stated clumsily.

The group fell into awkward silence, all eyes on Nym, who grinned nervously.

“Aha,” Astarion was the first to break the silence with high-pitched laughter. 

“Nymsy, my dear - I can’t tell if you broke the tension or made it worse - either way, we’d ought to set out for the day now that that’s sorted,” he said, standing to wipe the dirt from his hands with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. 

What? Was that an insult or simply a jest? 

Nym didn’t respond as Astarion stood up and adjusted his weapons and Gale handed her a plate with two peeled and salted boiled eggs.

“You are also quite the good girl,” Gale uttered happily, his features relaxed, eyes searching for Nym’s.

Nym’s face flushed as she grabbed the plate, releasing a small “Thanks,” as her eyes trailed up to meet his.

Shadowheart scoffed. “Would you two get a room,” she complained, continuing her work on Nym’s braid.

A quiet thud could be heard coming from the treeline behind her, causing her to flinch and spin her head around.

It was Astarion, who had thrown one of his daggers at a tree and was about to throw another.

Is he mad? Was it something I did?

Nym realized that she had to eat her breakfast before she started feeling sick, assuming that she may have been the cause for Astarion’s negative shift in mood.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

The cloudy day dragged on, and Nym would’ve been lying if she hadn’t admitted to herself that she’d been periodically choked up throughout it. At times, she’d found it difficult to focus on the tasks at hand, including during a battle with two tieflings who had captured their gith friend. 

One of the tieflings had smashed the pommel of their blade into the side of Nym’s forehead, causing her to bleed and lose her balance. Her blood dripped rapidly into her eye, filling her sclera with a red fog and muddying her vision.

Astarion swiftly stabbed through the tiefling’s throat before proceeding to raise his voice at Nym. “Get up, damn you!” He yelled while Gale took care of the other tiefling.

She hadn’t even realized that she had fallen to her hands and knees until Shadowheart was above her healing her. 

She felt utterly useless - yet, as she stood at the helm of her motley crew, she couldn't shake the lingering doubt that gnawed at her core like a relentless predator. 

What could she possibly offer that they couldn't procure with greater finesse? In the symphony of her insecurities, the discordant notes of self-doubt played on, a haunting melody that echoed through the corridors of her mind.

I’ll never be good enough - 

“It seems she’s had quite enough,” Gale interjected, rescuing her from the abyss of negativity once more.

“Tchk - if this leader can’t even face two tieflings, how do we expect her to help us in any other manner?” Lae'zel's words cut through the air, sharp and direct.

"Hah! Spare me," Astarion scoffed, "The one who ended up caught and caged by those tieflings has the gall to lecture us about leadership, while our own leader risks life and limb to save your ungrateful hide."

So he’s not mad at me? Then what’s going on with him? Nym wondered.

"One should refrain from casting stones while dwelling in glass abodes, as the saying goes," Gale quipped seriously.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “This is why I suggested that we leave the gith to her fate,” she stated, still kneeling beside Nym.

Nym couldn’t fathom why Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart were all on her side in this issue, especially after she’d shamefully fallen in battle.

“She’s right, in part. You all deserve better,” Nym conceded, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I will try to do better, in future. I’m sorry.” 

Though her voice wavered, she knew acknowledging her shortcomings might help diffuse the tension and ease the harshness directed towards Lae'zel, whose prowess in battle aboard the nautiloid hinted at her potential in future conflicts. 

She also hoped that her statement didn’t come off as too self-loathing, because she knew that too, would be burdensome.

Thankfully, her speech quelled the impending conflict for the time being, and Lae'zel made way to camp as the rest of their group continued to the grove once again in search of answers to their tadpole problem.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

The clouds had cleared by the time they reached the grove. This time, they made note to speak to every vendor before continuing on.

Astarion managed to steal quite a few arrows, and other items that were more easily accessible to take while Nym distracted the sellers by making conversation and purchasing the items that were too risky to nick.

She was able to acquire three more scrolls of Lesser Restoration for her “project” with Astarion through the vendors.

Nym knew that she should gather a couple more scrolls, just to be safe. She tried to hide the scrolls in her pack before Shadowheart or Gale were to notice; the fewer questions asked the better.

One of the vendors, Ethel, stood out among the crowd, an elderly woman with a weathered visage. Without much consideration, Nym divulged everything about their parasitic affliction, much to Astarion's evident amusement.

However, the reaction from the rest of the group was less jovial, their disapproval clear.

“I suppose we didn’t learn our lesson the first time around? Shadoheart interjected with a tight-lipped expression.

“To give grace, Nettie was trying to kill Nym,” Gale interjected dismissively. "But we must exercise more caution about our condition - something was. . . unsettling about that woman."

“She seemed positively demented, I’m just curious to see how this unfolds,” said Astarion with a cheeky grin.

“You’re something of a free spirit, I think, Astarion,” said Nym, nodding curtly and heading toward their next destination.

Astarion fastened his pack and walked behind her as the rest of the group followed suit. “It takes one to know one, darling,” he said, catching up with her and flashing a wink in her direction.

Nym stifled a giggle, acknowledging the camaraderie they shared.

Except for moments when he was upset with me, Nym thought, still reflecting on her day critically. 

Nonetheless, in the event of a confrontation, the four of them could easily manage an encounter with a single elderly woman - of that much, Nym was sure.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

The horizon had all but snuffed the sun’s light, and Nym was elated to have found a total of five scrolls of Lesser Restoration during today’s journey.

She and Astarion sat across from one another in his tent, as Nym excitedly organized all five scrolls between them.

“There,” she said, hovering her hands over the scrolls. “Five will be enough I think.”

Astarion’s eyes and mouth fell wide open, his words seemingly caught in his throat. “You’re - serious about this?”

“Yup! I believe that the results of this experiment will become fundamental knowledge for you, and possibly other spawn, depending on where our lives take us.” Nym paused. “I mean - where your life takes you.” 

Astarion’s expression rapidly morphed into a composed, devilish grin. Crawling towards Nym, he positioned his lips near her ear and snaked his hand up and under the back of her shirt, splaying his fingers possessively. “This is quite the gift - darling,” he murmured, his voice resonating at a low timbre that sent a chill down Nym’s spine and his breath tickling her lobe.

Astarion nipped at her ear, coaxing quiet moans from her throat as she began to melt in his gentle grasp.

Astarion sat back on his knees, the sudden loss of contact making Nym droop, unbidden. As usual, even the slightest physical affection caused her eyes to become heavy with desire.

Astarion neatly placed the scrolls off to the side of their bedrolls. “You’re sure you want this,” asked Astarion, offering her one last chance to withdraw. 

“Huh?” Nym replied, snapping out of her reverie. Nym then scrunched her eyes shut and nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! For the pursuit of knowledge.” 

She beamed. “Er - and if you want to use all of my body while drinking from me, I am - of course - impartial.” She gazed away, avoiding eye contact as a warm blush crept up on her cheeks.

“Just impartial?” Astarion cooed, wrapping his hand around the back of Nym’s head and gently lowering her onto the bedroll. His eyes roamed over her face, finally settling on her lips with a composed precision that seemed almost too controlled, as if savouring the moment with deliberate care.

Astarion crashed his lips into hers fervently, seeking entrance with his tongue and eliciting whines from Nym.

Nym reciprocated, closing her eyes and letting Astarion take control of her mouth as he climbed between her legs, gripping her waist.

He continued to massage her exposed waistline tenderly while placing chaste kisses in a line from her cheek, to her jaw, and then her throat where he would begin to suck her tender flesh into his lips without drawing blood.

Nym felt him holding back, reminding her why she felt so incredibly safe around him. She didn’t want to impose her desires, but her knees came up and her hips tilted upwards, unbidden.

Astarion groaned into her neck, his mouth disconnecting with a pop as his hips rocked into her warm core. His hand journeyed south, teasing just beneath the waistline of her pants.

“You seem more than impartial,” Astarion groaned with a sweat forming on his brow, becoming breathless.

It was true that Nym desired more, and she knew that if his hand were to travel any lower, he would find her weeping quim as evidence of that. 

However, Nym felt Astarion’s hardness as he rutted against her, and she could tell how painfully tight his strays must be.

She witnessed the desperation of the handsome elf lying between her legs, noticing how he carefully avoided letting his hands wander too far. It intrigued her that a vampire spawn of two hundred years - finally free in a myriad of ways; to bask in the sun, darken doorways unbidden, and bed whomever he wished - displayed such restraint when it came to intimacy, seemingly valuing her word a great deal; or at least a great deal more than most of her previous partners who would’ve surely plunged their fingers into her nethers - and elsewhere - by now.

“Just admit it, my dear. You wish to feel me inside you - don’t you?” Astarion whispered, nearly moaning the last words as his fingers softly nudged below her belly and his hair grazed the side of her face.

The idea of retorting with “But you want me, too,” crossed her mind, but she was unsure how those words would sit with him.

Opting to protect his pride, Nym gave in with a “Yes,” and a, “please - I want you.”

Astarion took to her response by swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, before closing in on Nym’s lips with a hasty smooch. 

He stood to remove his pants and his length sprang free, its tip glistening with seed already. 

In the meanwhile, Nym removed her loose top and baggy pants with a flourish, readying herself for what she knew was to come.

“How do you want me?” Nym asked considerately, coming up on her elbows.

Astarion loomed over her and gestured his hand over her body. “You’re perfect right there, my love. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I. . .” He paused, breathing deeply, “unravel you.”

He descended on Nym, kissing her all over and inserting two digits into her entrance, palming her clit with practiced ease. Astarion made a satisfied sound when he felt how wet Nym was, and Nym gritted her teeth to try and stifle her cries while he brought his teeth to her breast, taking her mound into his maw.

He ran his tongue along her pebble and curved his fingers into her hole, pumping languidly. His teeth punctured the flesh on her breast and he began to suck vehemently, his voracious sounds sending vibrations through her body.

Just as she began to quiver around him, he lifted from her bosom, watching as her jaw slackened. He stroked her inner walls, prioritizing the tight circles he was creating with his palm on her nub.

He looked at her with an intense crimson gaze, his usually tamed hair clinging to his forehead. Astarion’s mouth was stained with her ichor, making him appear feral and wild - two things she typically thought him to be the antithesis of.

Nym was panting, completely lost in his touch and trembling wantonly. 

Amidst the haze, she reached for his face and cupped his cheek in a lover's gesture. When her palm made contact with his face, his expression relaxed and he placed a sweet kiss on her wrist.

His hand sped up, coaxing more cries from Nym. Her orgasm crested and Astarion adorned a satisfied smile, watching Nym’s hand fall limply to her side.

Nym lay panting and twitching transiently while Astarion removed his fingers only to insert them into his mouth. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he cleaned his digits, humming around them. 

He freed his mouth of his hand, a string of saliva connecting them for a moment. “Delicious,” he purred.

“The night has only just begun - and I have other means of making you come undone,” Astarion cooed, leaning into Nym’s ear once again. “And other things I’d like to make you cum on - if that’s quite alright with you.” His voice bore a deep husky tone that nearly made Nym faint once more.

Unusual for Nym during intimacy, she found herself unable to speak. She could all but ogle pleading eyes up at Astarion, his chest muscles rippling with each adjustment under the candlelight.

Astarion positioned himself between Nym’s thighs, kissing her face all over and thrusting teasingly between her folds, an affection that made Nym’s heart flutter. She had so many sexual partners in the past; she had slept with some women, and almost every man her age in her village, many partners of hers falling between or outside the binary of “man” or “woman”. Despite having been made to cum by so many peers, and even having been cleaned up for after trysts, never had she felt this continuous connection and admiration from someone that she shared a bed with.

It felt right - which in turn made something within her scream and tear away at her walls of self. She felt an immediate urge to snuff the screaming, to smother it into silence; but as Astarion thrust inside her at last, the proverbial screaming increased to a fever pitch. 

Astarion pulled his face from Nym, who had started sobbing with a trembling lower lip. He immediately stilled. Panicked, his eyes were round and his brows canted up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone low and serious.

Nym brought her forearms to cover her eyes and swipe the tears away. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she had to ruin this moment with Astarion because her brain concluded the ludicrous notion that she’d only been a warm body to everyone.

They liked me,

They finally liked me . . .

They wanted me around.

But no matter how many times Nym tried to reaffirm her counterfeit beliefs, the truth was ripping and tearing a gaping hole into her fermented soul.

Before she could think better of it, the words slipped from her lips, “Do you like me?” 

She trembled, removing her arms from her tear-riddled eyes.

Astarion looked upon Nym, his lips parted and his hardness still seated deep within her. “I - yes, Nym.”

“But am I . . . more than just a warm body for you?” Nym asked. She felt she already knew the answer if she were being honest with herself, but she just wanted to hear it come from him.

Astarion paused for a moment, blinking at her in stunned silence. His face changed into something pained before he settled himself on his elbows, his face mere centimetres from Nyms. 

“So much more,” he stated firmly.

“Are we . . . friends?” Nym said in a whisper, her wet brown eyes boring into Astarion’s crimson stare.

“At the least,” was the last thing Astarion said before diving for her mouth in a possessive kiss. 

Nym’s lips matched his with passion, unlike any other time they had kissed before. She brought her arms around his back and pulled him close to her. Nym felt ridged scar-like bumps on his back with her fingers, and she massaged his skin delicately. 

She pulled away from the kiss to breathe, as her nose was slightly stuffy from crying.

Astarion gazed at her adoringly while she caught her breath and then pulled her up onto him as he sat back on his heels, her knees resting on either side of him as he held her body close, still filled with his length.

The shifting in positions stirred Astarion within her slightly, causing her to clench around him, her breath picking up pace as she became accustomed to her new placement upon his lap.

His arms wrapped under hers, holding her close. Simultaneously, she encapsulated him, softly tracing along the scars on his back with her fingertips.

“Do you wish to stop?” asked Astarion.

Nym’s lower lip came out in a pout. She didn’t want to stop, she just wanted to feel better - to know that the person she was making love to wanted her for more than -

. . .

Her mind turned to fog, her memories swirling away like a colourful chemical oil spill in mud as she lolled her head forward, inhaling the scent of bergamot and rosemary.

“It won’t change anything between us, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Astarion reassured.

Nym felt oddly calm, aware of what she had just experienced yet unable to fully grasp her peculiar recollections and fragmented emotions.

“No - I want you, “ Nym pleaded, “don’t stop.” 

She couldn’t entirely fathom it, but somehow she felt seen by him; almost as if he understood her paroxysm just now on a deeper or more personal level.

Ultimately, Nym wanted to feel better, and in that moment the way Astarion’s body connected with hers simply felt right.

It seemed he needed no further reassurance, as his hands trailed down to Nym’s bottom, lifting her before dropping her back down on his length prudently.

Nym carded her fingers through his curls while she began moving in rhythm with Astarion, his shaft reaching into her deeply. 

She exhaled a breathy sigh, holding onto his shoulders for balance while she rode him, the subtle and typically imperceptible stubble on his face grazing her on the skin near her collarbone.

His breath came ragged before he fell back, calculatedly pulling Nym with him.

Nym searched for his lips and she pressed them with hers firmly while he brushed his fingers in her hair and then guided her head to the side, disconnecting their lips and exposing her neck to him.

The way his fangs grazed her throat made her shiver, all while Astarion’s pace slowed with one hand in her hair and the other grasping her hip.

His teeth punctured her tender flesh, and his arm that wasn’t in her hair hooked around both of her upper limbs as well as the small of her back, fastening her to him. 

Once he was fully latched onto her, she could feel him sucking and groaning into her neck, his sighs vibrating his entire chest and reverberating through Nym.

Astarion held her taut, using his position to piston into her with great abandon while taking long sips of her lifeblood. 

The initial pain of his bite always faded quickly, turning into something pleasant within just a few seconds. Nym felt Astarion grow harder and larger as he drank from her; this always happened when he supped while they were intimate. Not only that; his flesh grew tepid, and sometimes even warm against her.

How his already large member grew even larger inside her made the pleasure nigh unbearable, as she could feel his cock making contact with every inch of her walls come every thrust.

She was so close again, and as if he could taste it, he removed his fingers from her hair and snuck them to her clit, halting his gulps while he expertly readjusted but not unsheathing his fangs.

A few strokes of her bud sent her crashing into her second orgasm and milking Astarion with her core.

Astarion seemed to follow her thereafter as he removed his hand from her pearl and bottomed out, fully thrusting into Nym and holding her tightly against his hard ivory chest. 

Breathless, Nym could feel herself being filled with his seed, the affection in his grasp and the blood loss causing her to feel weak.

With a grumble, Astarion replaced his possessive latch with the warm and soothing flat of his tongue, followed by his lips which kissed her tenderly. 

Nym, recalling their plans for their experiment, perked up with the little energy she had left, “Why did you stop drinking - what about our experiment?”

Astarion sighed, his head falling back to the bedroll. He looked somewhat frenzied with blood coating his chin. He thrust into her once more, a sigh catching in his throat. “Not tonight.” He massaged her scalp and loosened his grip on her torso. “Just - stay with me, tonight.”

Nym’s heart skipped a beat at his words, and she wondered if he heard it; she hoped he did. Nym knew not if Astarion desired to put off their experiment and have a simple night for his own sake or for Nym’s. Perhaps it was for both of them, but it was a gesture that she didn’t expect and it made her stomach flutter with delight.

This time, the aftercare felt tired, and something about it felt more genuine. When they rested, they held one another closer than ever before, as if keeping something big and scary from taking one another away.

Nym caressed the large protruding scars on his back, and only hoped that someday he would feel comfortable enough to talk about them. Until then, she would simply hold space, just as he’d done for her tonight - a gesture she was wholly grateful for.

Chapter 6>>

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

The plot thickens o_o

and apparently so does Astarion

I hope you are all enjoying my nerdy lore dump, I honestly have been loving doing research and getting to share my findings with you in such a fun and engaging way! <3 love you!

Illustration of Nym by me:

[saffron-rays]

Nightmare

HC: even though he doesn’t require sleep, if tav is human, Astarion picks up the habit as a means to spend as much time with them as possible… since humans have one of the shortest life spans of all the races in Faerûn.

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[baldursgrave69]

Nose Kisses

This is pure, self-indulgent fluff, I could NOT stop thinking about this scenario.

Summary: Astarion has become used to Agnes' little gesture's of affection. When she leaves camp without giving him a little kiss on his nose, he starts to wonder whether he has done something wrong.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 584

Tags: fluff, pure adorable fluff

While writing this I was listening to: Bloom by The Paper Kites

Find me on Ao3 here

The first time she did it, Astarion froze. It was a simple gesture, just a little kiss on the nose in passing. She probably did it without thinking, but it made Astarion’s cheeks feel warm. It was such a kind, loving, simple action that it caught the vampire off guard. Each time she did it, it gave him that warm feeling again. It became a routine of theirs, every time she would pass by him or leave the area he was in, she’d place a simple kiss on the tip of his nose. Karlach teased him about it, but he didn’t care. It made him feel loved unlike anything else.

“You’re a big softie at heart, aren’t you fangs?” Karlach teased watching Astarion smiled to himself, Agnes had just left to find camp supplies and planted a soft kiss to his nose. Astarion’s grin immediately turned to a scowl as he looked over at Karlach. “Oh come on soldier, it’s adorable,” she laughed, clapping a hand to his back.

The vampire found himself looking forward to those little kisses from Agnes throughout the day. She had been so patient with him, showing him how much she cared through those little acts of affection. She never pushed him, never asked for more. She was perfectly content to kiss him in passing and just be in his presence. It was overwhelming for Astarion, at times. How much she cared for him, for who he was not who he pretended to be.

“Star, We’re heading to talk to Jaheira, I’ll be back,” Agnes said, walking up to Astarion with Halsin trailing behind her. He was sat by his tent with a book in hand. He smiled up at her, patiently waiting for her to kiss the tip of his nose. She placed a hand on his cheek, shot him a smile and turned on her heel. The vampire had closed his eyes, leaning forward to prime his nose for her lips. Once her hand left his cheek, he opened his eyes to realize she had walked away. Astarion froze for a moment, his hand coming up to touch his nose. What was this? Had he done something? Was she upset with him?

Astarion’s mind began to race, playing back every interaction with Agnes that day. They hadn’t spent much time together, she insisted he take a break for the day while she ran around Last Light trading and gathering supplies for their journey to Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps she was upset with him for… something. Astarion set down his book, standing up and pacing about his tent. His mind was so occupied with replaying every interaction that he didn’t realize Agnes approaching him.

“Love,” she said, her hand on her hips as she watched Astarion pacing. He turned to her, startled by her voice. He crossed his arms, frowning in her direction. “Yes?” He snapped, tapping his foot. “I forgot something,” she said with a grin, closing the gap between them. “What?” He asked in confusion. Agnes placed her hands on the grumpy vampire’s face and stood up on her toes. She placed a light kiss to the tip of his nose, pressing his cheeks together. Astarion froze, looking down at Agnes. “You… forgot?” He said, something he hadn’t considered. As Agnes went to pull away, Astarion pulled her into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear before releasing her from his grasp. Agnes chuckled, bopping his nose with her finger before heading back out.

[kittenintheden]

Right Side of My Neck

so yeah I did that. it's a 420 weed sex fic. let's go.

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Ori (female OC) Word Count: 1.8k Content: 18+, post-canon, established relationship, AU or possible future for NYS we don't know?, oral sex, PIV sex, mirror sex, stoned sex, recreational drug use, safe sane consensual.

AO3 Link

Ori reclines on a chaise in their shared flat and gazes out the window as dusk approaches, the last strips of orange-red glow fading on the horizon beyond the city’s rooftops. Her knees are folded up to her chest and she smiles, eyes half-lidded as she raises a hand-rolled cigarette to her mouth and takes another drag, holding it in her lungs for a few seconds before she parts her lips and lets the smoke flow out over them, spilling like a waterfall.

Stars begin to blink into the stretching black sky like someone’s poking holes through the dark to let the pinlight past.

From the other room, Astarion approaches in his loose casualwear, holding a silver goblet in each hand. He dangles one beside Ori’s shoulder and she reaches up with her free hand, taking it and smelling the contents. A rich, dry red. Her favorite.

“You always know the exact thing,” she says, raising her face to pay him an adoring smile.

He stands above her and strokes his fingers through her hair, tilting his head. “I know you. And I am glad for it.”

Ori hums, taking a sip of her wine before she sets it on the nightcast windowsill. She takes his hand and pulls him downward until he chuckles and sinks to his knees beside her, leaning in close to brush their noses together before he sits back and drinks from his own goblet.

“You,” he teases at a lilt. “Smell like devilweed.”

“Do I?” she teases back with a smirk, bringing the cigarette in for another light drag. She releases the smoke out of the side of her mouth. “Pity. That shit makes me so silly in the head.”

“Tragic,” he agrees sadly. “I do prefer you oh-so-serious.”

“I know, but it’s been such a long day,” she says. “Hasn’t it?”

He takes another drink. “Wouldn’t know. I just woke up.”

“Lazy little house lad,” Ori says. “Come here.”

Astarion lets her lift his chin and tilt his mouth toward hers. She sucks in a draw, embers glowing red in the dark, and holds it on her tongue. When she puts her thumb on his bottom lip, he lets her prise it open and blow the smoke into his mouth, punctuating it with a light lick followed by a kiss.

He could hold it for an eternity, really, but he doesn’t. When he breathes out, the smoke curls between them and fills the room with its resinous, sticky scent.

“Mmmm,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You’ve some catching up to do,” she says, placing the cigarette in his mouth. He takes a drag of his own and then removes it with two fingers, tapping it against a nearby tray and setting it aside, still burning.

“Budge up,” he says, crawling up on the chaise next to her. “The stars won’t watch themselves.”

She chuckles and turns back to the window, scooting in closer so he can lay behind her. Within ten minutes, he’s pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder and stroking down the length of her arm with his fingertips, tracing the twining lines of her tattoos to her wrists and back up again. He wriggles in tighter, murmuring lightly as he buries his face in her curls.

“Why do you always smell so good?” he groans beside her ear.

Ori shakes with giggles, her nose wrinkled up in delight. “That was quick.”

“You know what that shit does to me,” he purrs, nipping her gently on the ear before he reaches a hand around to tilt her face toward him so he can kiss her, licking languidly into her mouth to taste the weed and wine on her tongue.

She leans her head to the side to suck lightly along his neck. “I might have counted on it, admittedly.”

“Cheeky,” he breathes as he hooks his fingers into her loose trousers and pulls them down over her hips. “I like it.”

“I…” Ori cups his jaw in her hand and guides him in for a rolling wave of a kiss. “... like your mouth.”

He grins and lays his weight across her, shifting to one side so he can reach out over her head to pick up the smoldering roach, and takes a hit out of the side of his mouth before replacing it. He holds Ori’s eye as he moves down her body and stops where her split shirt lies open, exposing her from the ribcage down. Astarion tilts his head barely to one side, curls his tongue, and purses his lips, shaping the smoke as it flows along the dip between Ori’s ribs and folds back on itself.

Ori watches him briefly disappear behind the cloud as he laps at the skin below her navel in an open-mouthed kiss, moaning softly while he moves his mouth down to the crux of her thighs. He doesn’t even bother with pretense, his skilled tongue finding all her favorite places like he has her mapped from memory. She arches and whines, her thighs clamping around his ears as she reaches her hands down to tangle into his curls.

The devilweed twines through their blood, making everything go dilated and stretched taut. Every touch a caress, every stroke a spark. Astarion lights her up with lips and tongue, unable to stop grinning against her as he loses himself in touch and taste, scent and sound. His fingers reach along the outer edge of her thigh and he scratches over the skin there, eliciting a cry from Ori above him.

He furrows his brow and dips his other hand between his legs, running a palm over his hardened length, and oh, that’s nice, but that’s not…

Astarion loosens his bindings for some relief and returns his attentions fully. Ori’s wrapped one leg entirely around the back of his neck and her head’s thrown back as she cries out her pleasure. She’s been riding the swell for such a long, lingering moment, and he does something phenomenal, something like a firm stroke and soft flick, and she comes beautifully.

He doesn’t stop, even when she’s shaking around him. The fingers in his hair tighten, but she doesn’t pull him away. Time slows and all he knows is the smell of her and the taste of her and her thighs embracing him.

He makes her come again, then once more for good measure.

“Gods, enough,” Ori gasps, struggling to sit up and pulling him up by the shirt and using her hands and her bare feet and whatever else she can to help him disrobe above her.

Astarion feels her palms run up his torso from waist to chest and he shuts his eyes and lolls his head forward, her touch leaving a lasting stripe of pleasure wherever it goes. He barely registers it while she maneuvers him back onto one of the large cushions and slides off the side for a better angle.

Then he feels her mouth on his cock and all is right. Astarion arches himself back onto the cushions and sighs, spreading his legs and looking down the length of his body to see Ori flick her eyes up at him while she takes him, her lips so soft and sweet over his hardened length.

She was always beautiful in sunlight, and she’s beautiful still in starlight.

“Salen arael,” he says, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth.

Ori shutters her eyes and hums around him and it’s like feeling music set to the tune of lust. Astarion rolls his eyes back and smiles lazily, focusing on the indescribable pleasure of her mouth and the giddy joyous rush it is to love her. Both sides move together inside him, a coin spinning and spinning on its edge. 

She gazes up at him as her tongue glides along his skin and she sees everything he never wanted her to, so long ago.

A man completely undone, his carefully managed hair askew and hanging loose in his eyes from sleep and sex, shirt come loose and hanging about his shoulders, eyes lidded and adoring, limbs heavy with the assurance of safety.

Ori takes him deep and takes her time pulling back and away. Without even needing to communicate it, Astarion is pulling her up by the wrists and turning her around, hands scrabbling at her hips as he guides her down onto his lap. She reaches between their legs to hold him steady while she sinks down onto him and they both moan out their want as she takes it all and their hips press flush.

Astarion would like it very much if he had the mental fortitude for a clever line or two, but at present, the best he’s got is “fuck with you very good,” which he doesn’t feel is up to his usual standard. Instead, he reaches around to cup her breast as he lets his body take over, rolling up into her and melting, melting.

When she reaches around behind her so she can wrap her hand about the nape of Astarion’s neck, Ori cracks her eyes open as she pants from the sensations washing over her and spots herself in the mirror across the way. Her shirt laid fully open, one breast bouncing a little more than the other as her hips rock upward, compelled by an invisible force.

“Ah fuck, that’s hot,” she gasps.

“Huhn?” Astarion grunts in question from where his face is buried in the crook of her neck as he fucks her.

“Don’t stop,” she responds.

He doesn’t. They fall into a slow, rhythmic rock, moving in tandem and enjoying one another, their minds and bodies in a relaxed sort of flow.

The impending promise of orgasm begins to prove too tempting to resist soon enough. Astarion wraps his arms about her torso and kisses at her neck, trailing one hand down between her legs.

Ori laughs, the sound achingly familiar. “Hells, four? You’re asking four?”

“Four is an excellent number,” he gasps. “Humor me. Soon.”

She lolls back against him and lets his careful fingers work one final reward from her.

Ori’s groan is long and low as she shudders from core outward, the heat of her warming him where he’s buried inside her. Astarion sighs out his rapidly approaching peak.

With effort, Ori turns her head to press her mouth against his ear and says, “Come inside.”

He presses hard up into her and holds her in place with his hands on her hips as he goes rigid and then shudders with a groan that’s one part incredible relief and one part disdain at a horrible pun.

Their rocking slows and he stays wrapped around her for a minute or two while they tease one another with aftershocks now and again.

“That joke is so bloody stupid,” Astarion croaks at her without moving, his head resting against her shoulder.

“Works every time, though, doesn’t it?” she teases.

He grumps noncommittally as he rolls them both back onto the chaise.

[pursuitseternal]

Introducing “Our Blood is Thicker:” Enemies to Lovers Astarion x Tav (OC female)

Astarion x Tav (female OC) | E | 4.8 K Chapter

Summary: He can’t remember anything, but she does. The betrothed she believed dead, the source of all her centuries of grief and heartache now in the middle of her path after the Nautiloid crash. He might look mostly the same as the one who stole her heart, but something is different about him. Dark. Changed. Something hidden. But her own centuries of becoming battle-hardened haven taught her wisdom and insight beyond her own elvish abilities. He is a monster she can tame, a challenge she will have to face. No matter the heartache.

CW: angst, heartbreak, enemies, sexual tension you can cut with a dagger, vampire trauma-induced memory loss, calculating manipulation (Astarion), Spoilers for the gameplay

A/N: Prompt fill, 3rd Person POV, female Tav OC, headcanon Astarion as Star elf ✨, our Little Star

Read on AO3 if you prefer

Chapter 1: Wondering

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“Shh shh shh shh,” that sweetened, mellifluous voice whispered in her ear so softly. Lips nearly pressing against her sensitive, pointed ear. Something about it reached into the dark recesses of her memory. Jarring almost more than the danger he posed.

It was a sharp contrast. So caressing in tone. Strange, compared to the way he used every bit of his wiry, lean, overwhelming strength to push that dagger towards her neck.

“Not another sound… not if you want to keep that… darling… neck of yours….”

Shivers, colder than ice, colder than death ran down her spine at his words. Recognition shot right through her. It was a voice that once haunted her thoughts, one she once craved. But that craving had turned sour, that longing had long ago twisted into spite.

That silver hair, those piercing eyes and dangerous smile.

Even the way his arm cradled around her back, bracing her into him as he tried to threaten and destroy her.

But she had been here before.

Destroyed by him once.

Over a hundred years of loathing, resentment, anger, it all came rushing up, pouring out from her. Her hands swift and strong, she grabbed his body where she could, smashing her head right into the bridge of his beautiful, aquiline nose.

His howl of pain as he rolled away made her heart sing.

Her companions watched, mouths open as they stood in a line, some in surprise, some in delight. Karlach’s laughter was especially reassuring to her ear. Making her go just a hint faster as she scrambled for her own elegant blade.

But it was a struggle to keep her stance, to keep up. Maybe that fucking parasite is making me slow, she cursed inwardly, or maybe he’s just become quicker. Faster. But equally mean and threatening as before.

A ghost from her past, just as much of a… threat… as he once was.

Already at his feet, he clutched his dagger in hand, lips pressed in suspicion and cold, calculating spite. “I saw you on the ship…” he hissed.

She squared her shoulders, spinning her own blade expertly in hand. “That doesn’t give you the right to touch me, Astarion Ancunín,” she hissed back.

She saw it, giving her a sublime dark and twisted joy. His shock and doubt the moment she gave his name. A flicker over his face as his concentration, his intense charm and swagger, shattered. He eased on his toes, weapon lowering. Looking for answers, maybe for peaceful conversation. But it was too late for her, swallowing down the bile that had risen to speak his name again.

No backing down now, she sneered. And besides, she wasn’t alone this time. Her party stood behind her, their anxiety palpable as they watched. Waiting for her to choose: attack or speak.

And for every scar on her heart that bastard made, she longed to attack, but her own, ancient elvish sensibilities prevented her.

She couldn’t just kill one of her own. Not when there were already so few Star Elves to begin with.

“I take it, we’ve met before,” he replied. Cold, so cold in his tone. And cautious, as if he weighed every word before he let it out from those sneering lips. Same old Astarion. “At least before you crawled around the Mindflayer’s ship doing gods know what…”

That was it. She snapped inwardly. It was hard to control it, her need to pummel his pale face. “Don’t remember?” She forced a charming smile, narrowing her sharp, silver eyes at him. “Of course not, over a century of chasing your own ambitions and leaving your people behind…” She swallowed the need to mention herself… how he left you behind, her mind hissed at her with all the venom she had tried to bury.

He said nothing, but she could see how his mind was racing, scanning her up and down and all over with those… crimson… eyes.

She paused. Where were those deep violet ones? The ones she would once lose herself in, deep like the night sky she had stared into, abandoning all reason, forgetting her own self in, during those long and lonely years, wishing she wasn’t alone in her bed at night….

Rapidly, she shook her head.

It pulled him back into the tension, the pale elf hardened his form again, back on the offense, a second dagger in his fist now. “Tell me what you know about these parasites, or I’ll decorate the ground with your innards, darling…”

That’s when something pulsed in your mind, the parasite swimming, throbbing as their minds smashed together.

She saw through foreign eyes… crouching in the darkness, the tang of old blood… locked behind walls away from the stars, the sky, forsaking the sun… her stomach burned with a hunger she had never known. And slowly her mind raced, trying to cling to the memories of faces and names and the feeling of grass under her feet and wind on her face.

She wished she had chosen death as the blood on her back began to dry, as the pain of his knife still cut your senses and deadened her mind. She tried to remember anything, but it all faded into the dark…

Her eyes shot open, the glaring sun a relief to her heart as she gasped. As if she had been suffocated by that dank dark prison herself.

Astarion glared at her, so intense and angry as those crimson pools narrowed. “They took you too, I saw it during… whatever that was,” he scowled at her. Confusion, mistrust, wrinkling his porcelain brow. “It seems we have a common goal, darling, even though I could feel your hatred for me clear as… day.”

“Another gift from the Ilithids, it seems,” she scoffed, “glad I didn’t have to waste my breath telling you.” Her lithe fingers resheathed her dagger, turning on her heel to face her new found companions. But they didn’t budge even as she approached with all the confidence of a seasoned commander.

“That's it?” The elf called, voice sharp as he followed in her steps. “You’re going to just… leave me? Even though I am stuck with the same fate as all of you?” He sounded desperate, an edge of true fear flickering in his mellifluous voice.

She scoffed, tossing her shining red hair over her shoulder with a glare. “I seem to remember you always preferred to go your own way,” she jeered over your shoulder, feeling the tips of her own pointed ears growing hot with rage.

“Look, if I remembered anything, I’m sure I would have centuries to apologize for, but as it is…” he cleared his throat. She turned fully at the noise of discomfort, reassured by the closeness of the others beside her. She watched as he put on a well-practiced smile, making his arms soften as he flexed them at his sides. “I… I don’t, I can’t remember much other than my name, and little of my past.” His eyes scanned your company: wizard, cleric, tiefling… begging and pleading with their wide wetness in every way that matched his supplicant tone. “Please, I know you’re trying to find an expert, a solution…” he placed a hand on his heart, smile softening, forcing sincerity, “I’d like to, too.”

The wizard shifted beside her, leaning closer so his voice reached her ear. “It would be.. most extreme to just… ignore someone thrown into our path and bound to the same fate,” Gale’s calm and soothing lilt seemed to only aggravate her.

“We know nothing about him,” she snapped between gritted teeth. Hissing, her mind corrected those furious words: you know nothing about him.

“Do you know anything about any of us?” Shadowheart added, eyes so soft and sparkling, tone so damnably calm too.

Her nostrils flared, her temper beating in her head. Made things difficult to think past all feelings that swirled in her stomach and befuddled her mind. But she forced herself to take a breath, closing her eyes as she turned to face that unsought phantom from her past. “Fine,” she gave a relenting hiss, “for the good of the group, I will allow you to come.”

His brow quirked. Too attractively, too seductively for her own good. “Thank you,” he crooned in reply, catching her fist where it balled at her side and pressing his lips on her fingers.

His mouth was cold, but so was the air, she shook the observations from her head. Trying to keep everything he did at a distance. Hard to do as he smirked down at her, as rakish and roguish as once plagued her dreams. “I always enjoy being allowed to come,” he purred, quietly enough for her ears alone.

“Don’t,” she rasped through her tightly clenching jaw. “Don’t make me regret this spike of altruism on your behalf…” Finally ripping her hand from his chilled hold upon her. “Not that you would know the word at any rate.”

He stiffened, caught off guard again as she mentioned his past… who he was. “For as much as you think I should know you, darling, I don’t…” he squared his frame, rigid and defensive. “And for as much as you think you may know me, of what I once was, I assure you…” he seemed to sneer bitterly, his teeth flashing in the sun, “…you do not.”

Provoking him was fun, she decided. Maybe, making him pay would be a pleasant distraction from the fear of these damned parasites. She made her lips smile, giving her fiery, burnished red hair a toss. Cool and collected. “Then it seems we will have much time to get to know one another, Astarion.”

There it was again, that outward show of being polite, his feral nature just simmering beneath. “Of course,” he bowed his head, closing in so close, she had to push past him.

But the moment she cleared ahead, he was right there again, and this time, she couldn’t fight the aggravated sigh in her throat as he fell in step behind her. His body so close, she could feel the brush of his sleeve—richly colored, decadentally embroidered—with every fucking step. That’s when his sultry voice leaned too close to her ear so as to fill it. “So, since you’re so cunning and sneaky and beautiful, I’m sure you know about these parasites…”

“Certainly,” she threw him her most annoyed and caustic look. “I know enough to tell you they’ll turn you into a Mindflayer,” she snapped her reply. Quick and to the point.

“A…” he stopped frozen in his tracks, shaking his head as he scoffed with bitter laughter. “Of course,” he sneered with disdain, “it’ll turn me into a monster. What did I expect?” he commented, quietly, under that icy breath, almost to himself.

She sniffed, her own irascible, twitching grimace on her smooth face, letting out all the barbs that had piled up as he looked at her, that aloof veneer just… pissing her off. “You were always a bit of a monster, Astarion,” she teased, malice in her words. “Shouldn’t be much of a change for you.”

That did it. That broke into his ice-cold defenses. He roared, hands clawing into her upper arms, his massive strength shoving her little, flexible frame against the closest tree. He’s so close. His breath chilling. His teeth bared in her face, but all she could see was the feral, unchecked wilderness in the shocking red of his eyes. “Look,” he growled, voice barely more than a rumble as he pinned her into that unyielding tree. “I don’t know what you remember, or who you remember. But I don’t know you… I don’t recall your name, your face, your annoying, rash, irritating presence…”

“Funny,” she kept her face relaxed, pleasantly smiling softly, strangely calm as all the bile began to draw from the dark recesses of her soul. At last, her mouth spewed the words that had tightened in her chest since she recognized him. “I can recall everything. An elf’s memory is their curse, you know. I remember the depth of colors in your violet eyes, I remember the way your giggle would turn every head to give you the attention you longed for, even as a youth.”

His pinning frame eased, but he kept them on her body. Still heavy and strong as he pressed over every inch.

She wished he wouldn’t.

But it only kept the poison flowing. “I remember the taste of your tongue in my mouth, the heat of your hands as you caressed me through my gowns… I remember the way your voice cracked with feeling when you gave me your word we would be wed, my betrothed for every age… every lifetime…”

Now it was her silky voice that cracked. And she watched the shadows draw over his pale face. The lines around his eyes crinkling as he winced, as if her words were sucking a venom from sealed wounds.

“I remember that same untamable need for power, for ambition, the same that made you leave your people under the stars, in the woods, to go to Baldur’s Gate for your studies. For you to find a way to take power from society, exploiting the law… becoming a Magistrate so you could discover true power and freedom…”

Those dark red eyes shut completely. His lips drawing slowly in a pained sneer. But now the words just couldn’t stop. Not now.

She inhaled, shakily and deeply. The pain almost overwhelmed her. “I recall every second of waiting during those years, waiting for your letters… for your return to me… to make me your bride but…”

He gave a rattling breath from his chest. “But I never did…” his hands swept down her arms, lingering for a moment before he released her completely. “I couldn’t return…”

She gave a derisive huff, a laugh of pure ire and disbelief. “I know. Well, I thought I did. I went looking for you, Astarion. I found your… grave.” She almost shouted the last word. The full extent of her pain, her betrayal coating her voice, coloring her vision in pure, red rage. “I sought after how you died. Murdered in the streets. Like the traitor you were to me.” Her breath was rough and ragged. “I let you go from that moment, Astarion. So forgive me if stumbling upon you very much… not dead… is a bit painful.”

“I assure you,” he spoke through his perfectly white, gritted teeth, “it might not be as painful as the truth.”

“Well,” she sniffed in scorn, “once you deign to share it, then I’ll stop assuming you faked your own death, just to get away from me. What a sense of humor the gods must have to throw you back in my path now.”

“The gods have nothing to do with it,” he twisted his head, and she could see every muscle in his neck clenching and throbbing. “You’ll learn the truth, I’m sure. Maybe it’ll even come to you in the night…”

Brows furrowed, making her face screw in contempt, too irritated to be confused. “Maybe,” she snipped, “might be faster than waiting on you to do anything.”

He grinned, brows canting, those eyes gazed at her with that same amused stare that once made her thighs wet with need. And dammit, if she didn’t start to feel it again. Especially as that smirk started to twist more rakishly. Her heart skipped a beat. The wind in his hair, tousling those same silver locks, the scent of his skin, citrus and spice, she hated the way it still tugged at her body.

“Fuck,” she cursed, jutting her chin up at him, trying to look composed and undeterred. And unaroused. “I just hope you’re as good of a fighter as you once were,” she taunted, eyes scanning the daggers at each side of his narrow waist. “Seems your body remembers that even if you don’t remember anything important.”

“I would dare to say, darling, I’m even more dangerous now than I ever was,” he preened. Proud. Insufferable. “If you ever felt yourself in danger around me before, perhaps you may wish to watch your back… and your neck.” His eyes raked down her body, that same ancient heat in his eyes even if he didn’t remember it from… from before.

That was enough. She huffed and stalked on up the trail, trying to put as much distance and as many other bodies between her and him.

That’s when she saw it… where the rest of her party had already gathered. Something about the rocks ahead, the massive door in the wall, something inside her wanted to see what’s inside… and without another thought, she shoved on the big, wood planks.

“Locked,” she proclaimed, looking at her sweet Wizard, giving him a soft, pleading look for any help he and his magic could offer.

“Well, I do suppose…” Gale smiled, “anything to help our fearless leader, even if it’s just the gentlemanly thing of holding a door open…”

“Done!” Astarion crowed, his lockpick in one hand, the other gesticulating dramatically as he bowed. The thick door did, in fact, groan on its hinges as it opened into the mountain. “Who needs magic when you have a fine tool to shove in tiny holes, hmm?”

His eyes fixated right on her. Gods, her mind raced at the way he looked at her as if she was bared to the sun. Is he remembering?

“Well, Astarion,” the cleric taunted as she drew closer, “no one is accusing you of gentlemanly behavior.”

“I should certainly hope not,” his eyes shifted that heated, flirtatious stare on Shadowheart. “Gentlemen aren’t known for having as much fun as I tend to… enjoy.”

“Ugh,” that groan came from her, through, totally unplanned. She pushed between them to enter into the dark. But what she tried to ignore, try to distract herself from, was how her stomach knotted, how her blood boiled at the image that was now burned in her mind. Of how he was just… smirking at her…the cleric… undressing with his eyes… throwing those honeyed barbs…. And all he has for you is just anger and blades and pain, her thoughts scratched at those old, heartsick wounds.

As she entered into the dark adventure ahead, she didn’t know what was worse. The enemies in her path, or the traitorous ghost that haunted her with envy within her heart.

With a sigh, she could only hope he was as brutal a fighter as he seemed to think he was. External enemies he could slay, but she doubted he would help, could help, that bitterness and jealousy that had taken root inside her.

___________________

Hells below, she moaned, she made it to the night. Alive and in one piece. And… as she surveyed her companions that fate had shoved into her path, it was thanks to all of them. Even… she groaned inwardly… Astarion. He was indeed vicious. Worse than she remembered. He loved the bloodshed. He thrived in the chaos of battle. He became one with the shadows to sneak up on the enemy.

It was…. Gods forbid… impressive.

She mindlessly sorted through the food that everyone had pilfered on the journey today, every companion busied now piecing together sleeping places. Some of the more ambitious, entitled, conceited companions had begun to construct tents.

Like Astarion.

A heavy sigh, she tried to ignore how he was bouncing on his toes, fairly giddy to make a little abode under the night sky. Rolling her eyes painfully far back in her skull, she settled for a comfy, if austere, bedroll that she settled by the fire.

She looked at her hands as she fluffed her pillow, shifting the thick blanket to cover the leather of its back. So dry, so scarred. Calluses on both her fingers from holding sword and dagger. Seeing Astarion… it made it hard not to remember the days before. The days when pricking her fingers with a needle and thread were the worst she could do… days when she touched the finest silks, softer than starlight, that shimmered just as brightly and just as…

“Shame you can’t fashion yourself a little retreat away for yourself… a little place for privacy, secrecy,” that irritating and silken voice snapped her from her sweet memories, thrusting her right back into the agony of his presence. The reminder of all she lost. And he towered over her, looming above where she crouched.

Turning a look of pure spite up at him, she glared from over her shoulder, unable to miss how his legs stood so close to her rear. Nearly touching her with his body.

“What need would I have of secrecy, Astarion?” She taunted as she stood, carefully putting more room between them as she did so.

“Given how little I do recall about you, I’m sure I have no idea,” he purred, crossing his arms.

Exasperation. It had been a long day, ending it with more of him wasn’t ideal. She needed to… put something to rest. Anything.

“Okay, I get it,” she huffed, crossing her arms too, jutting her chin up as she met his sultry stare of indifference, “I remember much more than you. For whatever reason, I don’t know. And I know after all this time, I doubt I deserve any form of explanation. But my memory is all I have….”

She swallowed, the words you were all I had burning a hole in her throat as she fought them back down.

“But what I do know is that… someday… I would like to know what happened,” she blinked her sharp silver eyes, turning away hurriedly to hide the harsh sting of tears that began to burn. “When you’re ready… if you even remember enough to share that.”

Breathless, she waited for some snarky reply. For some witty rejoinder. But it never came. She turned. He was just… standing there. The light of the setting sun seemed to glow around him, almost making those soft, silver curls on his head incandescent.

Gods, she knew how it was she fell in love with him so easily, so long ago. A lifetime ago. Shadows darkened his eyes, and she saw it then, how he had let his guard down for a split second. Nothing but purest pain on his face.

“Astarion,” she breathed, those long forgotten feelings creeping back up. Timeless affection, boundless attachment, undying devotion.

“I will tell you… but,” he swallowed, giving a heavy, saddened sigh. “Gods, I wish I remembered more, remembered… you.” He looked at her then, really and truly. No squinting or leering or smirking. “You seem so, nice… when you want to be. You sound like you really, truly cared for me.”

“I did,” came her reply. I do, her heart screamed through the cage of spite that she had built.

“I am… sorry,” he kept his eyes fixed on her, so wide and soft. “I… must have cared for you too, I… I can almost feel it too.”

Her lungs burn. No, no. She was past this, for almost two centuries, she had buried herself in serving her people, defending them from enemies, seeking victories on the battlefield. Alone. Prowess with the blade. Feats few of her race have ever attained. No marriage or love to soften her.

And yet…except for his eyes, this was her love… her… gods, she swallowed the words… her betrothed.

“It’s alright, Astarion,” she shrugged, shoving down all that saccharine sentiment, “even if you did feel the same way as you did once, there is still the pain of losing you for such a long time.” Her head hung down, her eyes looking down the front of her well-worn linen shirt, as if she couldn’t examine the creases in her sleeves hard enough.

Then she felt him drawing closer.

“I… didn't fake anything,” he whispered. Standing right before her. Not touching, but staring back in the fading light. “I didn’t fake my death.”

She let out a quiet scoff. “So what, then if you didn’t fake it, you really died?” She couldn’t help the slight mocking edge to her voice as he dragged up all that pain she fought to still keep locked up tight.

He gave a single, loud, bitter laugh in return. Then, his face instantly lost all that softness, becoming all slanted angles, clenching muscles, and spiteful glare. “I was captured,” he hissed, “kept as a slave to a… monster.”

“Astarion,” his name was a sob in her voice, her body unable to stop her hand from reaching out to rest on his arm as it clenched at his side.

“No, I don’t want pity,” he snapped his teeth in rage, “I don’t want your pity. What I want is revenge. Freedom. These tadpoles have obviously affected us, in more ways than I think anyone can simply observe. There is a power here.” He trembled under her featherlight touch, but he hadn’t shaken it off. “And I would like to use it to its benefit for me, for once.”

“Sounds like even with… everything you endured, you haven’t changed all that much,” she tried to smile. Despite his pain and rage on his beautiful face. Despite her heavy heart.

“You have no idea what you are speaking of,” his voice was exacting, enraged, and sharp.

Her head nodded, the soft red waves of her hair falling gently as she did. “No, no I don’t. You’re right.”

And instantly something shifted in his frame. His gaze felt… different on her face. Even though she didn’t look up. Not yet.

“And I would want those things for you too, even once upon a time,” she added, “Freedom. Revenge.” She trained her eyes on the ground between them, feeling his stare’s intensity more than seeing it.

And still, he allowed her hand to rest on his arm.

“When we… once were… together, I would never have said such a thing. But I have changed in these centuries too. Fought enough battles, looted enough corpses to lose the softness of my hand and the gentility of my voice.” She struggled to breathe again. Something around her heart releasing at last. “Maybe it’s best that you don’t remember me.” She gave the hard sinews of his arm a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we just get to know each other as we are now?”

“I kind of like the sound of that,” he hummed. Then he cast that well-practiced smile, the only warning before his other hand came to cover hers arresting it from his body in his soft fingers.

His touch was still so… cold.

“I do still wish I could remember more of you,” his voice dipped low, soft and sweet and tickling in her ear as he seemed to draw closer. “Maybe you can think of some things to… trigger my memory?”

“I could certainly try,” she managed to reply, and as he began to crowd her.

“I’d be open to some ideas of yours, darling,” his hand raised her to his lips, placing a polite kiss on her twitching fingertips. “I also have some… suggestions that you might find… intriguing.” His eyes flashed as she looked into his face, as she felt his breath on her hand where he kept it pressed close to his mouth. “Especially since you say we were betrothed…”

Nope. She gave him a disapproving frown, a bitter chuckle. “If you can’t remember if we have coupled yet, then I am not about to tell you either way, Astarion,” she smirked at him. “If we are getting to know one another again, it seems only fair you should earn such a privilege again as well.”

He shrugged those strapping, broad shoulders. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he purred. “Not with how… delectable… you smell.”

Her breath burned in her lungs, his hand turning hers slowly, running a thumb over that sensitive skin inside her wrist just once. Pressing it against his nose. Smelling her flesh. Even more painstakingly slowly, his lips caressed it, trailing a few more over those tingling nerves he was igniting on fire now. Then he released her just as quickly as he had stolen her hand to press to his lips.

Similar, but so, so much more daring. Devious. Desirous. Gods, kissing her fingers was one thing, but this. Oh, she felt molten inside, barely noticing just how cold he still was to the touch. Finally he released her. “You should rest, my dear. Tell the others, I will take the first watch to show you all I’m on my best behavior.”

She watched him turn and take two steps towards his tent.

Then he stoped, casting a smirk over his shoulder. Catching her in the glint of his crimson eye. “Sweet dreams… Cordehlia.”

Hells… her name. Her gut stabbed in on itself. Her legs gave out slightly, as she hoped he wouldn't notice.

No one had said it… her name… not within his hearing. How… did he…?

As he crept his way to the treeline, Cordehlia watched him as he stalked away. Wondering just how much he might remember.

Wondering at how much he had changed…

Wondering… why was he so cold, and why were his eyes so red…

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[delightfulgingersnaps]

"Before you say anything, I couldn't just leave them," Yenna said with a stubborn tilt to her chin, hefting the basket full of moss kittens higher into her arms. One of them climbed onto her shoulder clumsily with a pathetic, trilling, meow. Astarion stared at the basket full of cuteness with disdain, putting his book down with a sigh. "Yenna, darling, don't you think we have enough animals around here? We're not a petting zoo." "They followed me back from the Feywild, what was I supposed to do? They like me." "They don't 'like' you, they're little freeloaders." He sniffed slightly, suspicious of any creature that was this cute. Where was the catch? "They live in trees and use photosynthesis to eat, Astarion." "Even so. I don't trust them. Look at them, they're up to no good. And we both know the horrors you've accidentally summoned from the Feywilds." He gave her a pointed look, which Yenna ignored. Instead, she pursed her lips in amusement, tilting her head and gently picking one of the soft creatures up, leaning down to let Astarion get a closer look as the kitten mewled. "Look at this face. How could they possibly be up to no good?" With a wide grin at her husband's answering scowl, she stood up straight again. "Now that I think of it, they remind me of you."

"What?" "Big, sad eyes, soft hair. Cute. Just like you." Yenna's grin widened as Astarion's scowl only deepened.

"You're not helping your case, my dear," he muttered back to her through a narrowed gaze, though his words held no heat and she could see the corners of his lips twitching slightly.

Pouting playfully, Yenna put the basket down, letting the kittens crawl out, much to Astarion's annoyance. "Halsin would let me keep them," she teased, moving to sit on the arm of Astarion's chair, leaning into him, gently threading her fingers into his hair.

"Halsin has a heart of gold and no self-restraint." Astarion raised his brows, looking up at Yenna as she watched the kittens fumble around the room. "Are you trying to butter me up?" Gentle fingers slid over the point of Astarion's ear. "Maybe." She shifted, and grinned down at him before letting out a soft sigh. "Please? I'll just find them a nice hollow tree in the yard. We won't even know they're here. Probably." Astarion let out a scoff of a laugh, but his gaze was affectionate as he shifted to wrap an arm around her waist, squeezing gently. One of the green kittens jumped up onto the other arm of the chair, peering at the both of them. "You never needed my permission, my darling. But yes, alright, fine. But I don't want to hear it when they cause some sort of...mischief. I'm not above saying 'I told you so'."

Yenna laughed and hopped up from where she sat to gather the little creatures up, but not before offering Astarion a sweet kiss. "Oh, I'm well aware."

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 10 / The Trunk

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7] / Click here to read on AO3.

Summary/Setting: 

Fifteen years after the Ascendant and his lover went their separate ways, they run into one another at Wyll Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala. One dance is all they share. A week later, a cataclysm of events, spurned by Eirianwen’s return, uproots the life Astarion had been building for himself.

One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. Astarion is forced to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

-----

“Wait, Ani,” Astarion warns when the sorceress releases his hand, her fingers ghosting across his as she walks away. She instantly starts to wander when the servants swarm them at the dungeon doors. The entire situation had caused quite a ruckus, and Astarion is caught between quelling his employees' concerns and providing them various instructions. He’s simultaneously signing something to Melga and Thrak as he tells another servant to send the maids upstairs. 

In moments like this, Astarion is reminded that he is constantly surrounded by people and yet always alone. It’s his fault, he knows; he prefers to place himself above others, an easy way to ensure he will be able to look down his nose at them. He holds everyone far beneath him, apart from the one woman he keeps on a pedestal, built up in his mind like a goddess he worships and a religion only he follows. 

Eirianwen glances back at Astarion, where she is paused on the stairwell leading to the second floor, and he lifts his gaze to her, quickly pointing to the ring on his finger before turning to answer another question from his steward, Pascal. The cacophony of voices and questions around him, all needing guidance, is unnerving. Ani recognizes the man Astarion is talking to, but is shocked to see how much he’s aged in fifteen years. He’s almost completely gray. Time is quite different for humans; she often forgets the luxury she has as an elf. 

It gives her more time to hold grudges and run from mistakes. 

She spots the ring on Astarion’s hand and then peers at her own hand resting upon the shiny oak banister, frowning down at the marred flesh. Despite his previous motion, the sorceress is still somehow shocked to see the matching band on her own finger. Her brow furrows as she continues to walk up the steps. 

What had she missed? How long had she been asleep? 

Questions dart through her mind faster than she can climb the grand staircase toward the room she used to share with Astarion. She’s still walking up the steps in a dazed, daydreaming state. Ani’s almost to the second floor when a sudden bolt of pain shoots through her body, culminating in the overwhelming need to vomit. But no, she couldn’t possibly do such a thing, she hasn’t eaten in— 

Eirianwen retches. Hot, acrid bile spills onto the perfectly polished marble of the second floor. She’s doubled over and gasping for air when another violent spasm attacks her body and more green fluid spews from her mouth. She suddenly feels feverish as a throbbing pain pulses in her hand, igniting the entire limb in fire. Two servants rush to clean up the mess as a familiar arm comes around her shoulder. 

“I don’t think you should be standing quite yet, darling,” Astarion murmurs, and without another word he sweeps Eirianwen off her feet and into his arms. He walks to the bedroom with Ani pressed into his chest; she just barely hears the rapid cadence of his heart.

He carefully places her on the chaise lounge in the bedchambers; it’s a piece of furniture she’d picked out, incidentally. They’d made love many times, in many positions, on this same chaise. He’d carried her here, wrapped around him, more times than he can remember. Recollections flash through his mind in rapid fire and he swallows as he blinks them away. 

He leaves her there to speak to the servants on the landing and then quickly returns. Eirianwen feels awful. The taste of bile still sits in her mouth. When Astarion returns he breezes to the carafe next to the bed, on top of one of the side tables, and silently fills a cup with water. Then he hands it to Ani. 

She drinks in silence. Gods, she’s parched. Holding the glass is difficult, never mind the weakness she feels in her hand. Her body is shaking. 

“Who… who was that down in the dungeons, Astarion?” Eirianwen finally asks, her voice sounding hoarse, as she lowers the empty glass from her lips. 

“Delilah. She stole the God Killer,” he replies as he gently takes the glass from the woman and places it on the side table. His brows stitch together as he watches Eirianwen. He’s never actually interacted with someone after Delilah’s poison has done its damage. 

Ani’s eyes clamp shut. Her head is pounding. She’s trying to follow along, but it’s hard to think past the pain in her body. Another wave of nausea flows through her and she retches; no sooner had she made the sound than Astarion appeared at her side with a waste bin. But nothing comes, there’s nothing left to regurgitate. 

“The dagger Edmund used was laced with a very potent poison. You slept through the worst of it but the effects will probably be there for a day or two longer. The rings are… working. But Delilah’s draughts are stronger than anything you’ve seen before, I’m sure. You were out for a few days, darling. Your hand…”

He trails off as his jaw clenches. He shakes his head and gently gathers Ani’s hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way should she vomit. Deft fingers perform the action without much of a thought, as if it hadn’t been fifteen years since he last styled Ani’s hair for her. “Jaheira is looking into it. She mentioned conferring with Halsin.”

He senses Eirianwen’s heartbeat spike up a fraction at the mention of Halsin, and feels that sickening twist of jealousy rise in his gut— perhaps being stabbed by the God Killer had been a moderately better feeling than that sensation— but quickly stifles it. “Now… we can talk more. But let us get cleaned up and then eat something. It’s quite a bit to discuss. Would you like to bathe first, or should I, darling?”

*

Astarion bathes first as Ani waits in the bedchamber. A set of servants bring her a tray of fruit to snack on while she waits, and the sustenance improves her physical state, if only a bit. Her spotted serval cat, perched upon the chaise, meows away. She listens to Umber’s ramblings and scratches distractedly at the large feline’s fur, occasionally murmuring a response or two. 

When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a plush crimson robe and toweling his hair, Astarion meets the sorceress’s gaze and notices she appears to be staring through him, lost in her own thoughts. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, brow furrowing in concern, before he asks, “Are you doing alright, Ani?”

She blinks and then snaps back into the room, her blackened hand flexing against the feline flicking its tail next to her. 

“Umber says you let her sleep with you in the guest room, and that you’ve been taking care of her while I’ve been asleep. She likes the steak and lamb she’s been eating here far better than the birds and mice she eats on the road… you’re spoiling her, Astarion,” Eirianwen says with a weak smile, glancing to the side before stroking the cat’s ear. Umber purrs and then focuses her jade eyes on Astarion.

He drops the used towel in a basket at the end of the bed as he moves toward the cat and strokes a single curled finger up under her chin. The creature moves to playfully nip at his digit, affectionately holding it between four sharp canines with no intent to cause harm. This must be how Eirianwen often felt, all those years ago, with a part of her body seemingly always caught between his fangs. Doting on a dangerous creature. 

“I think she would’ve preferred to sleep next to you, but Jaheira suggested it would be better to not. She’s smaller and far cleaner than Scratch— it was less of an inconvenience.”

He won’t tell Ani he actually enjoyed the company. It sounds too pitiful. 

Umber releases his hand and then hops from Eirianwen’s side with a flick of her tail. She ducks and hides under the bed before emitting a meow; Ani’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly before it smooths again. After a moment, she moves to stand. Her eyes lift to examine Astarion in the process.

“Your ear is still split,” she murmurs. Eirianwen had never seen a laceration last this long on Astarion; his vampiric regeneration had always kicked in by now. Though she knew the God Killer’s capabilities, it was still unsettling to see. 

Astarion begins to lift his hand to his ear, but before he makes contact, Eirianwen has her fingers pressed to his flesh. A cooling sensation spreads from lobe to tip as a spell mends the slice along his pinna. And then, almost by force of habit, Ani idly traces her finger down the edge of his ear as she pulls away. 

The fleeting sensation causes Astarion to stiffen as his body flares with an unexpected wave of powerful, raw, aching desire. His heart jumps. His cock does, too.

*

“Mm.. do that again, darling,” Astarion purrs from where his head is resting on Ani’s lap.

Eirianwen fills the tent with a soft, melodic tinkle of laughter as she gently tugs on Astarion’s ear once more, coaxing a little moan from his lips, “Oh, you like that, do you?” 

“You know I do, darling,” he responds while he palms at the bulge forming between his legs as his lover continues to methodically massage his earlobes. Astarion groans and rocks his hips forward as a small, relaxed smile spreads across his face, “and that’s why you always pretend to do it by accident when we’re in the tent.” 

He was putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone. 

*

Eirianwen seems distracted as she pulls away from him; she hadn’t even realized what she’d just done. Astarion thinks it’s simply a small, habitual sliver of comfort she’d so routinely offered once upon a time, but it causes his breath to catch and all the same. The hope he's kept locked in his heart threatens to break from its cage. His ear feels as if it’s on fire, but when Astarion reaches up to inspect it, he finds a perfectly healed pinna.

He clears his throat and then opens his wardrobe, aiming to pull out a set of clothes for himself as he says, “I’ll speak to the servants about preparing lunch while you bathe; I’ll be in the office when you’re done. You’re welcome to borrow something of mine for today, though I know it won’t fit correctly. I’ve sent for your things from Wyll’s— I apologize, I should have sent for everything sooner.” 

“Oh… it’s not a problem, Astarion,” Eirianwen responds, still lost in a fog as she walks toward the bathroom. Umber meows from under the bed once more. “Thank you.” 

*

After calling down to the kitchen about lunch, and to secure a meal of short ribs for Umber, Astarion returns to his office. The pungent smell of lye assaults his senses and he quickly moves to toss open a window. The room appeared normal, apart from the gauzy white curtains flecked with blood. No one would think a murder occurred just an hour ago. 

Astarion vaguely thinks the curtains will have to be replaced tomorrow just before his eyes settle on the mountain of paperwork precariously stacked upon his desk, all requiring his attention. 

Business never quit. 

He grimaces and grabs half of the hefty stack, trying to move the scrolls into a desk drawer. Surely much of it can wait; had it been truly pressing, his steward would be breathing down his neck this instant. As Astarion relocates most of the documents, the small piece of parchment Pascal delivered – gods, had it been less than 24 hours ago? –  sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar sigil, flutters to the floor, catching Astarion’s attention. He’d forgotten all about it. 

Long, lithe fingers retrieve the letter and deftly undo the wax fastening. Scarlet eyes run across the page and instantly narrow at the simple, foreboding message. 

“You will find me in Elturel when you are desperate enough. 

– Lady Lysandra Morgan”

Astarion re-reads the message. His fingers tremble as they fold the paper and shove it into his pocket. Desperate. He wasn’t desperate for anything, not even for the return of the God Killer. He had no true use for the dagger, nor any plans to use it; he’d certainly slain enough gods for an eternity by now. 

But then a sudden shock of acid through his veins, beginning at the ring and shooting up his arm, pulls his mind to Eirianwen. He hears her stifle a whimper of pain through the walls. A sickening feeling begins to grow in his chest.

He fears he may already know where this path leads. He may have unknowingly carved the way for the both of them. 

*

Astarion is scribbling his showy, looped signature on yet another scroll when Eirianwen enters the office. He turns his head to greet her, but the moment he does, his breath is stolen away and his mouth suddenly feels as if he hasn’t drunk anything in centuries. 

He’s certainly used to thirst, but perhaps not like this. He’s sitting mere feet away from an oasis, longing to delve into her depths.

She’s dressed in his old camp shirt. He must have a strange look on his face, because Ani halts, frozen in place. 

“I— I hope it was okay to borrow this,” Eirianwen says, looking down as she tugs at the bottom hem of the clothing piece, where it grazes just above her mid thigh. 

It’s clear she isn’t wearing a brassiere. The threadbare cotton grazes against the peaks of her breasts, and the darkened patches of skin around her nipples are barely visible through the white fabric. The winter air from the still-open window has chilled the room significantly; the tiny buds hidden beneath the blouse are stiffening in response. His eyes flit across her chest and then back up to her face before she notices.

Is Ani even wearing briefs or is she entirely barren under the— 

Astarion coughs and rips himself from his musings as he forces himself to tear his gaze away. He finishes signing the scroll in front of him and grabs another as he murmurs, “Yes, that's perfectly fine, darling. Though, I wonder… where on earth did you find that?” 

“In the very bottom drawer of your wardrobe…” Ani starts, her voice containing a strange tinge of something he cannot identify, as she settles herself on the tufted leather sofa across the office. She focuses on her blackened hand, bringing the other hand to rub against the marred flesh. “I looked in the other wardrobe drawers but nothing else seemed… comfortable.” 

Astarion hums a distracted response, continuing to place his signature on documents to avoid staring at the woman mere feet from him. There is a silence that stretches a moment too long.

“I found all the jewelry,” Eirianwen blurts, and then her hands come to cover her mouth as if she’s shocked by her own admission. 

Astarion does not need to ask for clarification. She is, of course, referring to the several anonymous commissions he’d made over the years from her parents in Silverymoon. A trunk full of never worn, customized pieces had been locked and tucked away under his bed, until now, when Eirianwen presumably ripped it from its hiding place. The contents alone must be worth close to half a million gold. He’d spent nearly the entire first year’s worth of blood money on unneeded jewelry, designed for someone that would not be around to wear it. Astarion often wondered if her parents thought about their daughter when they, unknowingly, made each piece for her, much like he thought of their daughter when he designed it. 

His fingers twitch just enough to cause a wavering loop in the signature he’s scrawling. His jaw starts to clench as he stares at the parchment before him a second longer before rolling it back up and moving to yet another scroll. “What possessed you to look under my bed?” 

“Umber,” Eirianwen explains hastily, “she… she said it smelt like my parents under your bed. And, of course, I really had no idea what on earth she meant but she was insistent and— and—“ 

Ani stops, her eyes shutting and fingers coming to press into the lids as she tries to form a question from scattered thoughts. Astarion chews his own cheek as he considers how to answer the question she isn’t able to ask, and then he lifts his eyes to look at Eirianwen as he taps the quill upon the desk once, twice, thrice. She opens her eyes to meet his gaze, and he offers a simple half-shrug… his face is unreadable.

“After I performed the Rite and you almost died in the dungeons, I promised I would always take care of you, Ani… did I not? I am not one to make a promise lightly; you, better than anyone, know that.”

A gust of air blows through the open office window and grazes against the bloodied curtains, causing them to drift from the windowpane as the two elves stare at each other. Eirianwen sucks her lower lip between her teeth but says nothing. 

“I…” Astarion sighs and shoots his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers twist the snowflake signet pinky ring, the only commissioned piece he actually wears, “I… hope the money was… helpful in your travels. I know you had expressed wanting to travel together after— but…”

He trails off, forcing his eyes from the ceiling and back to meet Eirianwen’s gaze. He cannot actually meet her eyes, so he focuses on his favorite vitiligo patch instead. He is horrible at this. This should not be as hard as it is. 

Ani nods and then opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted by Pascal breezing into the doorframe with a thick ledger in one hand. He doesn’t peer up from the document as he says, “Lord Ancunin, lunch will be served in the solarium in ten minutes as you requested. Thrak and Melga are currently burning the spawn’s corpse—“

“Thank you, Pascal,” Astarion interrupts, his tone tight with irritation. The steward glaces up, confused about why he is the recipient of his boss’s ire. But his eyes widen in realization when he spots Eirianwen in the room. He snaps the ledger shut. 

“Apologies,” he murmurs, and after an awkward pause, inhales a sharp breath before saying, “Lord Ancunin, when you have a moment, I’ll need to go over the ledger with you. I have some… concerns.”

Pascal makes to leave the door frame, and at the last moment pauses and turns to address the sorceress, “Good to see you awake, Lady Eirianwen.” 

“Spawn corpse?” Eirianwen asks, whatever warmth had grown in her chest toward Astarion instantly freezing over as Pascal disappears from the doorframe, calling after one of the servants as he goes. 

Astarion rakes his hand through his hair and nods with a grimace. He cannot ever outrun the mistakes of his past when the woman before him remembers every single one. He is thankful that she is not running away, at least. “Yes, but– darling, like I said, we have a lot to talk about. Lunch first. You haven’t eaten in days, and we cannot have this discussion until you eat. Please, Ani.”

He only ever says please when he's desperate; he's delaying the inevitable, he knows. But can he not pretend for a moment longer, before fifteen years of hurt cuts him to the bone? He’d already survived death from some version of Eirianwen today, he isn’t certain he can survive a condemnation for his mistakes from this version, too.

But, he supposes, he has no choice. When it comes to her, it unfortunately seems as if he never does have a true choice, at least not if he wants to keep her within his orbit. He has always been putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.

----

Tags: @anukulee @viowolf

[imgeekgirlfan]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark

Pairings:  Astarion x Original Female Character(Named Tav)  [From Baldur's Gate 3]

Tag/Warnings : Canon Compliant, Post-Endgame, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tragedy, Mentions of past abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, References to Depression, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis : Astarion returned to the city of Baldur's Gate, following the final request of his beloved, who asked him to bury her next to his grave. As dawn approached, Astarion held the lifeless body of his love, reminiscing about the countless memories they shared together.

A/N : The story started when I came across this tweet: 'do you guys think your tavs/durges stayed with their love interest long term or not?'

I got the idea to tell the story of my Tav and her love interest, Astarion. What would happen to them after the end of Baldur's Gate 3? I've been thinking about it a lot and it's quite heartbreaking.

From these little headcanons, I developed this one-shot about them.

My Tav is a human bard with a noble background. So, I imagined her as the daughter of a noble Baldurian,which contrasts with Astarion's background. Their initial relationship was more of a adversaries before blossoming into love in the end.

Listening to the song "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie gave me a lot of inspiration for this couple. (At first, I wanted to use the song "Take Me To Church" as the title, but it's too popular. I thought a song that many might not have heard of would be fitting for this tale.)

Read in Ao3 : here

"Jones," Astarion whispered, calling his beloved, but she didn't respond. 

Her eyes closed tightly, her body growing colder with each passing moment. 

Astarion pulled her closer, hoping his slight warmth might warm her. He knew it wouldn't help, and she would never wake to look into his eyes again.

Human lives are fleeting, from young maiden to old crone, from crone to spirit. 

Her entire life was a blink of an eye compared to his cursed immortality. 

Once, Astarion had both disdain and curiosity about this human. A race so fragile and feeble, never wielding a sword to harm anyone, raised in a noble family, spending half a comfortable lifetime in a grand mansion in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by obedient servants bowing to her every whim.

He couldn't make sense of her. For a vampire like him who had struggled to survive amidst enemies and a cruel world for centuries. He was nothing but a bloodthirsty creature, a servant under a master's foot who got treated worse than a common slave, struggling to sustain his life with the taste of filthy rat blood that almost made him vomit.

Astarion envies her for an ideal life in the gilded cage he could only dream of. envied the short-lived human existence. While he had no right to die willingly if his evil master didn't want him to die,

And he wondered why she had fled her high-life in the capital city of Baldur’s Gate to suffer with them. why someone so inept at fighting would risk her life battling monsters, from goblins and evil undead to even gods, to aid them and help everyone unrelated to her.

He thought Jones was foolish, and he didn't like fools.

Ironically, eighty years later, he found himself shedding tears at her death.

"I wish to be buried beside your grave, Astarion." That was one of her last wishes before she breathed her last in his embrace. This led Astarion to make the singular decision to step out of the Underdark and return to Baldur’s Gate, the city where he once hated heavily, to fulfill the last wish of his beloved.

The black sky began to turn deep blue. Astarion knew he should hurry to bury Jones properly before the sunrise. As he contemplated, his eyes caught withered flowers left on the ground near his own grave marker. For a brief moment, Astarion reminisced about the memories he shared with her. He had once brought Jones to his own grave, recounting his life before turning into a vampire. and then visualizing a future where he wished to live with her,as his past had died over two centuries ago and she was the only future he desired.

Astarion remembered his overwhelming fear that Jones might refuse him. She was the highborn daughter of Baldur’s Gate's noble families. Why would she choose to endure the hardships of life with an elf vampire like him?

Yet his fear vanished instantly when he saw the soft smile on her smooth face. She placed flowers on his grave and embraced him, accepting his love wholeheartedly. 

That night was the night he died and was reborn in her embrace. Not as the enslaved Astarion, not as the villainous Astarion, but as Astarion the redeemed, never to be alone again because he would have her by his side forever.

But the words 'forever' don't really exist, especially for humans and vampires.

Still, Astarion couldn't help but secretly hope.

Sometimes, darker thoughts overshadow his mind, eclipsing all the goodness he has left. Astarion often secretly pondered that if he chose the path of power, performed an ancient ritual to sacrifice seven thousand souls to a devil, and transformed himself into a vampire ascendant, he would have enough strength to walk in the sunlight with her and enough power to turn her into a vampire like him. Then they could live together forever without the fear of death taking her away.

But it was Jones who restrained him then. She persuaded Astarion to see that these powers offered him nothing but the dark legacy of the Vampire Master, an inheritance of wickedness that would never end. She told him he could be better than Cazador, his former master, and he didn't have to continue killing others to sustain his existence anymore.

Astarion trusted her, though he couldn't deny feeling deeply regretful. And Jones sensed his feelings. She gently grasped his cold hands and earnestly vowed, "Astarion, I will find a way to cure you of vampirism, so you can walk under the sunlight with me again."

And she kept her promise. After successfully helping Baldur’s Gate city fend off the threats of the Mind Flayers and Nether Brain, she and him began a new adventure together. They journeyed across the entire continent of Faerûn, from Waterdeep to Athkatla, Neverwinter, Luskan, and even the mysterious realm of Feywild, all in pursuit of finding a cure for him.

Those times were special, building strong bonds and beautiful memories between them. They laughed together, danced together, fought together, and held each other close under vast skies and twinkling stars as witnesses.

Until Jones began to age and couldn’t continue the journey. That was when they both realized how little time they had left. And no matter how much time and effort they put in, there was no way to find a cure for him anymore.

Facing the harsh reality was incredibly difficult. Astarion had to hide his deep sorrow while he tried to persuade her to stop the adventure and live out her remaining days in the Underdark, the dark and sunless realm, the only place where he could be with her.

He knew what the near future held. Nothing would hurt as much as watching his beloved age continuously, waiting for her time to pass while he remained unchanged.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you as I promised. Please forgive me," she said during their time in Underdark. Her bright blue eyes, the very eyes he fell in love with, overflowed with guilt.

Astarion wanted her to know that he could never be angry or hate her.

The shovel still lay untouched on the ground, with no sign of being used anytime soon. While the vampire elf sat silently in front of his own grave marker, letting old memories flow through his mind once more,. Both his arms cradled her lifeless body as if she were still alive.

"My beloved, please continue to live on for me. I wish to see you happy for a long time," another of her last requests echoed in his mind. The gentle touch of her frail hand on his cheek still lingers in his heart to this day.

"Jones." Astarion whispers her name again. Tears, which he had not shed for a long time, now streamed down his pale face. "I can't do it," he murmured to her lifeless body. "How can I find happiness without you?"

A golden beam slowly crept in, chasing away the darkness from the vast sky. Yet Astarion's body remained unmoving, just like the eyes of the vampire, which refused to leave the withered face of his beloved for a second. He memorized every detail of her, keeping it in his memory as best as he could. She still looked as beautiful as ever in his eyes—always and forever.

"I wish the next life was real. I hope we'll meet again, live together, and build a family," Astarion whispered softly, planting a tender kiss on the edge of her lips. "Wait for me, darling. I'll follow you soon, no matter where you choose to go."

Finally, he tore his gaze away from her, looking up at the sky once more. For the first time in centuries, he had the chance to gaze at the nearing dawn with full eyes. As the sun peeked over the horizon, followed by the warm rays starting to seep through his skin, cracks began to form, turning his skin into tiny specks of dust.

Before his final consciousness faded, Astarion's thoughts remained vivid. 

This was the most beautiful dawn he had ever witnessed.

[shewhowas39]

chapter title: "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" chapter summary: in which the cat(starion) is out of the bag about the vampire in the camp, and a wild Karlach finally appears! content warnings: mentions of blood

A/N: i'm so excited to be at this point in the fic! expect so much banter and sexual tension from here on out.

***

PREVEIW

Astarion makes his way back to the cave a couple of hours before dawn, giving him just enough time to trance before the others will want to begin their daily trek. He finds that he’s smiling, feeling almost giddy.  Gods, if this is what sentient creatures taste like, it’s no wonder Cazador forbade his spawn to drink from them. It would have filled the mansion with more joy and excitement then that miserable bastard could tolerate. 

He’s so jubilant that, for a moment, he considers going to June again, shaking her awake and begging for another sip. 

He glances over at her bedroll, near the back of the cave. She’s facing the back wall, away from him and the others, so he can’t make out much more than a mass of dark blond curls. Beside her, the dog is fast asleep, one of his front paws twitching as if he’s dreaming of chasing a rabbit. 

The bloody dog. If he hadn’t interrupted, Astarion could have kissed her. 

That thought tempers his giddiness a little. Because he had not planned to kiss her. Not yet, at least. Not in a tiny cave with their sleeping companions mere meters away, where sleeping with her wouldn’t exactly be feasible without causing a whole heap of unwanted attention and drama. 

Drama he’d love to witness occur between other people but not deal with himself. Not when he’d just revealed his secret.

That had been another thing Astarion had not planned. But he’d been feeling agitated, cooped up by the storm that trapped them in this cave, and hungry, unsure when he’d be able to hunt again. And June had smelled so good. Even being within five meters of her had him salivating, and there wasn’t much farther for him to go in this cave. 

So he’d decided to go for a nibble. Just to see what it was like. It’s not like he’d really thought it through. And he certainly hadn’t taken the dog into consideration. 

He also hadn’t taken her into consideration. It never even occurred to him that she might say yes if he’d asked. Sure, he knew she would be the least likely to stake him if he got caught. At least, he knew that before Alfira was killed. Though he does actually believe June when she says she doesn’t remember doing it. Still, even if she had let him live, the possibility that she might willingly allow him to feed on her… 

His mad mage is full of surprises. 

So he had drank from her - been so swept up in the unbelievable taste and the feel of her body beneath his and the sweet little noises she made as she clung to him - that he’d nearly gone too far. Thank the Gods she had the wherewithal to stop him. Because that would have been a mess in the morning.

And then he had almost kissed her. And he's pretty sure she had been leaning up to meet his lips before the dog showed up.

***

check out the full fic on ao3! we're inching ever closer to some spicy territory!

[ancuninfiles]

Bite Night [REVISED]

Gif by @astarionposting

18+ MDNI - M/F - Astarion x F!Tav - Words: 4K

[REVISED AS OF 06/26/2024]

Summary: He found himself surreptitiously climbing atop her vulnerable body, holding his breath, being sure not to wake her—he didn't need to breathe anyway.

Slotting his leg between her thighs for balance, he placed his elbow on the ground beside her head. He tilted her chin to the side, before slowly and gently brushing her hair away from her pulse point.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Having lost his inhibition, he fisted Tav's hair with fervour, beastially pushing her neck into his mouth. Only then did he hear the salacious mewl of his prey, as he instinctively tasted the pleasure that flowed through her veins.

—𝘐𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦. . . e𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴? he questioned.

Astarion's eyes fluttered shut as he groaned deeply into her neck, bringing his knee flush to her core. Tav began to writhe beneath him, arching her back and slowly bucking her hips on his knee.

Tags: smut, somnophilia (if you squint), non-consensual vampire bites, blood drinking, enthusiastic consent (sex), vaginal fingering, P in v, creampie, mating press, outdoor sex, soft Astarion, sorcerer Tav, nondescript Tav, Aftercare, idealized version of events, no beta we die like cazador

MASTERLIST (Other works by me)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (Recommended)

𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Astarion had never met anyone like Tav. Despite their first meeting—where he held a dagger to her throat after tricking her into thinking he needed help—she had shown him nothing but kindness. In retrospect, it was interesting to note that Tav, being a sorcerer, could have easily used Shocking Grasp on him while he had her pinned beneath his blade. Instead, she had been oddly compliant.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

“I saw you on the ship, didn't I? Nod,” Astarion cooed

Nodding, Tav gazed back at him with half-lidded eyes and knitted brows—a look he could only assume was partially caused by the midday sun beating down on her face. It was as if she completely surrendered to him, going practically limp in his arms, which made him soften his grip slightly.

“Splendid—and now you're going to tell me what you, and those tentacle freaks did to me." he peered down at her, eyes briefly flicking to her neck where her blood bloomed beneath her skin. Despite her relaxed form, he could feel her quickened, prey-like pulse, causing his mouth to moisten.

“I—I didn't do anything. . . I was abducted, same as you!" she pleaded.

“Don't lie to me. I—agh!” Astarion yelped, as a violet aura surrounded them both. Their minds suddenly connected; he could peer into her thoughts and feel what she was feeling. 

To his surprise, her mind was laced with compassion—compassion for him, the man holding a blade to her throat. 

—He and I have the same problem, these tadpoles—and he is likely reeling after all this. He could be a good ally. 

Subsequently, Astarion's memories were exposed to Tav through this odd psychic connection. Broken pieces of his past—pieces that he would have rather kept to himself, though nothing incriminating. 

“What was that? What's going on?" he asked, his voice, laced with anxiety.

Panting, Tav spoke. “You saw into my mind. It was the parasites—they connected us," she said, eyebrows still knitted. She inhaled deeply through her mouth before a wave of calm seemed to ease her expression.

Her breath smelled of mint, and her hair, lavender. 

—Gods—her scent, her pulse, her expression—everything about her is distracting, he thought.

Although he would have loved to hold her for a while longer— to grab her hair and sink his teeth into her delicate flesh, he decided against it. Confident that she was not a threat, he released her with care. However, they maintained eye contact as they slowly stood up—the trust had yet to bud within their fresh companionship.

She wants to be my ally, he reflected, grateful.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

They had acquired two more allies on their misadventure so far—a cleric with an odd name, and an annoying wizard who talked too much. Tav seemed naive, to say the least—she was picking up strays left and right and Astarion couldn't help but question: were these others to be trusted?

Although, Tav had a way of making everyone feel accepted and comfortable. 

“If you need anything, please let me know. I don't care if I'm sleeping, reading, or otherwise busy, you can wake me up. I want to help," she exclaimed to the entire group, in earnest. She even made sure to make eye contact with each of them as she said this—she truly meant it.

—Gods—she couldn't be more sweet. So. . . tempting, he thought to himself. 

He wondered if she would taste as sweet as she acted—but no, he had to stop thinking such desirous things. Even if he merely hinted that he was a monster, Tav would surely end him. Besides, Cazador would most definitely flay him for drinking the blood of a thinking creature.

Although. . .

The parasite had granted him immunity from the sun—maybe Cazador couldn’t control him at all anymore.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

The sun had fallen below the horizon, signifying the evening's end. The day had been exhausting—looking for a healer, which they had to fight through a horde of goblins to get to. 

It had been nought but three nights since the nautiloid crash, and Astarion had already snuck off the previous night to find a boar, which he stupidly left in the middle of the road. Tav and the Shadowheart had fixated on it—the cleric pointing out that the boar had been left fully intact, yet entirely exsanguinated. To his dismay, these strangers were smarter than he had initially thought.

Tav had been so exhausted that she fell asleep beside the fire, while everyone else left to their tents. 

She was a powerful ally, indeed, as the two of them carried the team. The wizard was frequently coming within an inch of death and you would have thought the cleric was blind because she missed almost every shot. 

—Leave it to Gale to cover the ground in grease, only to slip in it and fall prone, himself, Astarion scolded internally.

While everyone was sleeping, Astarion slipped away into a clearing in the woods to have some privacy and decompress at last—he had not been able to since the nautiloid crash. 

Finally, alone with his thoughts, Astarion's memories of his master plagued him; it was as if he were truly there, reciting his rules. 

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

—Terrifying. So much for decompressing, Astarion thought. 

Distressed, he left the clearing—though not without an unsettling feeling, gnawing at his resolve. 

—He can't control me anymore, I can walk in the sun, Astarion mused, attempting to calm his frayed nerves. 

A sudden distracting burning climbed up his throat—he was starving. It only made sense, after having exerted himself more than usual during the day's unfruitful endeavour.

Though he was tasting pseudo-freedom, away from his tormentor, he knew he would never be free from the vampiric syndrome that enthralled him, so.

He had to find something—or someone—to eat. . . soon.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•☾☼☽•:•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Astarion arrived back at camp, stopping at the tree line, only to assess its state. 

Sweet Tav was still sleeping soundly by the fire as her words replayed in his head, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask—I don't care if I’m sleeping."

Sweet Tav who had shown him compassion almost immediately after he threatened her life with a blade to her throat. . .

—Naive.

Sweet Tav whose breath was minty, whose hair smelled of lavender, and whose pulse sounded so beautifully hypnotic. 

Astarion, bewitched, had snuck close enough to Tav to see her throat, beautifully exposed, during his rapacious musings. 

An easy target, Tav wore a thin, silky nightgown with flimsy straps. Her supple legs, exposed and glistening in the firelight as she lay on her back. The wind blew, stirring the flames, and wafting her herbaceous scent towards Astarion. He attempted to suppress a shameful urge to inhale deeply, as his mouth watered, yearning to sink his teeth into her delicate skin.

He found himself surreptitiously climbing atop her vulnerable body, holding his breath, being sure not to wake her—he didn't need to breathe anyway. 

Slotting his leg between her thighs for balance, he placed his elbow on the ground beside her head. He tilted her chin to the side, before slowly and gently brushing her hair away from her pulse point.

—Formalities, he thought, surely not a gesture of kindness.

He carefully lowered his open maw onto Tav's throat, although he was shaking with anticipation—or perhaps it was simply the sanguine hunger.

Finally puncturing the skin, blood sluiced into his mouth as he latched, almost like a feral animal, and began to imbibe. Her blood was ambrosia—a full-bodied flavour of ichor that he'd never experienced before. It was sweet, yet complex, reminiscent of a fine-aged wine but entirely unique in its own right.

It was everything. She tasted like the sun, like life itself—like freedom.

Having lost his inhibition, he fisted Tav's hair with fervour, beastially pushing her neck into his mouth. Only then did he hear the salacious mewl of his prey, as he instinctively tasted the pleasure that flowed through her veins.

—Is she. . . enjoying this? he questioned.

Astarion's eyes fluttered shut as he groaned deeply into her neck, bringing his knee flush to her core. Tav began to writhe beneath him, arching her back and slowly bucking her hips on his knee.

As her blood rushed through his body, his groin began to harden, filling with heat. Desire built in his lower abdomen, causing his cock to strain uncomfortably against his strays. 

Astarion continued taking generous gulps, running his tongue across her pulse point, trying to coax more blood into his mouth. 

A primal groan spilt from his lips, unbidden, as he yearned for friction.

Astarion repositioned himself fully between her thighs, pressing his clothed bulge onto her exposed entrance. Surprisingly, she accommodated him, tactfully wrapping her legs around his pelvis. 

Tav reached her right hand up to Astarion's curls, but he grabbed her wrist, roughly pinning it beside her head—he needed more.

Tav whimpered, but her rutting slowed, as did her pulse. In that moment, a war raged in his mind; he wanted to stop—he wanted her in the worst ways—but something indescribable within him was fighting to suffocate all wistful ideologies of his humanity.

She was so weak, so feeble—beautifully helpless beneath him. He thought he could hear his name being called in the distance, but then he realised it was a mellifluous voice murmuring in the faintest whisper—Tav. 

Something in her passive plea strengthened his morality, snapping him from his predatory enchantment, and he unlatched dutifully.

With knitted brows, he pressed the flat of his tongue to her wounds until the bleeding halted. He placed a chaste kiss of atonement on the injury, as he avoided her gaze by hiding in the crook of her neck.

At last, he released her wrist—as he ought to—but her hand found his, and she swiftly laced their fingers together. 

His eyes rounded and his brows canted up at her gesture. Perplexed, he moved from his sanctuary between her head and shoulder to study her face; however, her eyes were fixed on their dovetailing digits.

Eyeing her puncture wounds, he felt a pang of deep shame—an amalgam of unprocessable onyx and verdant hues that he would promptly stuff down into his disordered and congested corpus vault.

With a lithe knuckle, he tilted her head to face his, finding her eyes heavy and wet while her cheeks were flushed. Her chest heaved as she shared his gaze with blown-out pupils. Overall, her demeanour seemed serenely rapturous. 

"Why did you stop?" she breathed.

—Does she truly not know? he pondered. It seemed as though her compassion was boundless, to her detriment.

"Oh—you sweet, generous thing," he whispered.

Tav's reached to Astarion's face where she gently caressed his cheek, as her other hand remained affectionately tangled with his. Eyeing his lips, she analysed the blood on his chin, swiping it softly with her thumb. Her eyes fluttered up to meet his gaze once again, however, he was admiring her lips as she had his. Her seductively parted mouth adorned the same colour as her blushing cheeks.

Astarion's gaze flicked to Tav's again, as she caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. 

—Such a gentle little thing, he thought, and after what I've done to her. 

The firelight danced in her glistening, tired eyes, while her hair was gorgeously spread amongst her bedroll. She was like a deva—no, a goddess. She couldn't be real—it couldn't be possible that someone could forgive him for what he had done to her, let alone want him to continue. Though, Astarion bore an odd and novel concern for her well-being.

Tav slithered a trembling hand to the nape of his neck. "I want you if you'll have me," she exclaimed,  smiling earnestly. "Please, Astarion," she supplicated.

His name sounded melodic on her lips, as if she were a siren, pulling him in with her bewitching song—pulling him in, to drown in her. 

Their lips crashed like the waves in the Sea of Fallen Stars, their tongues exploring and tasting as they moaned into one another. Their kiss was bruising and sloppy; Astarion found he was enjoying more than just the flavour of her ichor. 

Tav made advances with her tongue as well, opening her mouth wide enough to let Astarion indulge, submitting to his plot. Her mouth tasted as minty as it smelled, and his, like her blood.

One of her hands carded through his locks, and the other splayed on his back. He rocked into her while groping her soft body—greedily exploring and reaching under her nightgown to grab her breast. He pinched her nipple, eliciting a muffled squeak from Tav whose mouth was still being thoroughly ravished. 

Releasing her mound, he skated his hand down to her folds at last, finding her soaked. Pleased, he withdrew from their kiss.

"You are positively dripping for me, darling," he purred, rubbing languid circles on her clit, causing her back to arch.

She groaned as her face contorted. "I want you inside me—please," she begged, her eyes round and pleading as her words drifted out in a meagre sigh. 

It was clear to him that Tav was suffering from blood loss by the way she futilely squirmed, seeking friction with what little might she had. He wanted to mitigate her illness; though, all he could do was capitulate to her desire.

"Only because you ask so sweetly." Astarion feigned dominance, knowing he would obligingly do anything she asked of him. 

He plunged two digits inside, stretching her weeping channel. She hummed her assent, encouraging him to curl his fingers seductively as he began getting her hole ready for his girth. Her jaw slackened, eyes fixed on his as wanton mewls spilt from her lips. 

With his free hand, he pushed her nightgown above her breasts, exposing her naked and writhing body to the night air. It hadn't occurred to him until then that they were in the middle of camp—the cleric and wizard could discover them, however Tav seemed unbothered. In addition, Astarion noticed that his senses felt much sharper since drinking her blood—he was confident that he would hear anyone coming long before they could see anything. 

He increased his pace, pumping into her consistently as he palmed her clit. 

Her lower muscles tensed, all while her breaths became frantic—he could feel her approaching her climax around him. The way her breasts moved in harmony with her heaving chest made her look even more delectable—he yearned to taste her tender mounds and to feel her hardened pebble in his mouth. 

His lips encapsulated her bosom, and he groaned at the feeling of her nipple when he flicked it with his tongue. He nipped and sucked, taking care not to break the skin as he savoured.

All at once, she cried his name, stuttering as she came on his merciful fingers. He pinched her nipple between his teeth before toying with it and suckling at her supple flesh enough to create a plethora of hickies. He ascended from her now limp body, a string of saliva connecting them as he sat up, finally withdrawing his fingers only to grope her beleaguered mound.

He began to generously fondle both of her breasts with either hand as she laid with her arms up, palms facing skywards, resting beside her head. She bit her lip with knitted brows as she allowed him to roam her body freely.

"Hmm—you're wonderful, Astarion," she hummed, smiling brightly.

"You're unbelievably beautiful," his sincere words slipped from his lips before he could ponder his intonation, just as he had hoped to avoid.

However, he only saw adoration in her eyes before bringing her into a molten kiss. He roamed her form with his grip, leaving red prints in its greedy wake before landing his strong grasp on her bottom.

Their lips flew apart as Astarion's length was straining unbearably against his pants. Without rising, he expertly unlaced his trousers and his large, glistening member sprang free. 

Glancing down, he witnessed her core and thighs, damp with her juices. He hooked her knees over his biceps and teased her entrance with his tip. He wanted to bury himself fully between her legs with reckless abandon, but he thought better of it, choosing to study her expression first.

Her brows were drawn together, pouting as she wiggled her hips, attempting to ease him inwards.

Astarion smirked, growling playfully at her impatience. "Please tell me if you want to stop. Can you do that for me?" he cooed, withholding his servitude in wait for her agreement.

“Mhm.” She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

Having heard her consent, he sunk his member into her in one slow, well-executed thrust. Her response to was immediate: her breath hitched, inhaling deeply through her mouth, and each exhale carried on an exasperated sigh as her respiration accelerated.

Instinctively, he panted as well as he felt himself stretching her inner walls. He felt himself leaking precum as his tip became snug with her cervix. However, her jaw was clenched and she breathed through gritted teeth, causing Astarion to lose confidence in her comfortability.

"Are you okay?" he prodded as he stilled inside her.

"Mm—yeah,” she hummed, “you're just so big, I've never had someone reach into me so deeply. It doesn't hurt, I promise. It feels so good,” she reassured.

“Oh darling—I'm going to fill you right up," he said, pulling out partially before snapping his hips into her with vehemence. 

He rutted into her at a consistent pace, reaching into her deeply thanks to her contorted position. Her warmth engulfed him, just as the fire that crackled beside them engulfed its wood. 

Reaching to her clit, he applied pressure in taut circles. He revelled in the understanding that he was stretching her mere millimetres below where his fingers caressed—and that her helpless body and wanting mind were surrendering to him as he worked her to her apogee.

Her mouth fell agape and she panted as her undulating thighs tensed expectantly. 

The sight of her open mouth created intruding thoughts of her flavour and texture. Oh—how he wanted to tie his tongue with hers. But he had an equally enticing idea: like a tongue, to wrap his words around her mind—to spread its folds and engender rapture.

“That's it. Good little lamb.”

Their combined needs were paradoxically synchronistic—he gazed down at her with a momentary desire to ruin her, while she looked up at him, yearning for destruction; her lower quivers as confirmation.

And how lucky was he? To flash his fangs at his prey, only for it to offer itself—sacrificially.

When she fluttered around him, he didn’t stop—he felt her unbidden grip on his length as if it were a desperate hold on the precipice of a steep mount. He wouldn't let go, he would only tangle her arm and pull her from demise. It is not the magma laying in wait below that shall end her—what waste that would be.

—When I am right here; and the honour belongs to me.

He readjusted her legs atop his shoulders until her knees were nearly beside her head. He was able to reach deeper into her than ever before, and his hardness was hitting her sweet spot at the perfect angle—for both her pleasure and his.

"Do you want me to fill you, darling? Is that what you want?" he teased, breathless as he fucked her ceaselessly.

"Yes," she begged, "please! I want you to feel good, too.”

Tension built in his lower abdomen at her words, and he couldn't help but stifle a moan. He hadn't felt this aroused—this hard for a long time, if ever; for he couldn't remember. It was as if the taste of her blood—the taste of freedom—had spurred a renewed feeling. The feeling: safety. . . he felt safe with Tav. 

No Cazador, no kennel, no chains. Only Tav, her celestial expression, and her blushing complexion due to his reverence.

He could feel her tight walls—wet and stretched, all for him. She felt so very ready to receive his bestowal, and she'd supplicated for it already.

He pressed himself—flush into her folded form as his orgasm crested. Groaning a deep rumble—he emptied himself into her, as his leaking tip compressed against her cervix.

As he came down from his euphoria, he rested his head at her side, placing chaste kisses on her neck—where he had bitten earlier. 

His length twitched as his jism spurted, overflowing her channel and inevitably dripping past their entanglement and onto the bedroll. He pulled out mere inches before snapping into her once more—thoroughly marking her with his essence.

Astarion savoured the feeling of his body—so close to Tav’s. . . inside her. Breathless, he brushed her hair away from her face, admiring her features—swollen lips and tired eyes. She'd been thoroughly ravished, and he anticipated that he'd be able to ravish her again—perhaps endlessly, he mused.

Finally, he pulled out of her, kissing her once more before rolling onto his back and pulling his trousers up.

Glancing at Tav, he bore witness to the ruinous and lewd display—the display he'd created. Her inner thighs were painted with their combined fluids, her neck adorned two crimson puncture wounds, and her nightgown was hiked up—past her breasts. Clearly, she'd been drained to the point of exhaustion, and at no fault of her own. 

Astarion sought to take care of her, given he was the one who'd made a mess of her. Additionally, the idea of leaving her the way she was caused his stomach to lurch—she deserved better than that, truly.

 “This won't do,” he said, scooping her up bridal-style which caused her to squeak.

He chuckled, her head leaning on his body as he carried her to his tent. Laying her down on his blankets, he smiled pridefully. 

“I'll only be a moment, I promise,” he whispered before retrieving his softest handkerchief from his bag and crouching out of his tent.

He soaked it with the cold river water, ringing it out before making long strides back to his tent—where Tav was.

He crouched into his tent to find her resting—peacefully with a subtle smile on her face.

"This is going to be a little cold. Apologies in advance," he cooed, running the damp cloth along her most vulnerable parts. She hummed in assent, her smile deepening as he cared for her body—beautifully used. 

Having finished, he cleaned himself with the same cloth and tossed it in his small wicker hamper.

Though the night was warm, Tav was bloodless and cold—she required blankets, surely. Unfortunately, he only owned two beige and boyish blankets that looked more like rags. To compensate, he hastily strode to Tav's tent to retrieve her bedding.

Once arriving back to her, he set her up with the proper accommodations; jostling her about like a sleepy doll. Astarion peered at Tav—snuggled up in the blankets—admiring his handiwork with pride.

Undressing completely, Astarion joined her under the blankets, facing her. Taking in her features, he brushed his fingers across her cheek and under her ear—his thumb, stroking her cheekbone.

He vowed to apologise in the morning; but for now, she was in his arms, smiling as she slept. 

Nuzzling into him, she pecked his hand, and his eyes rounded in response.

He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead before she turned around and pressed her backside against his groin. He initially froze, overwhelmed by her odd affection, but he soon embraced her into his arms, basking in her lavender scent.

He didn't understand the novel emotions that coursed through him, but he relinquished his uncertainty for another day, as he sought to simply enjoy his little victory—the compassionate woman in his arms.

Astarion joined Tav in her somnia, not yet realising that it'd be the most peaceful trance he'd had in two hundred years.

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Notes: This was the first fictional story I'd written since I was a child, and it was terrible before I revised it but people seemed to like it, anyway :). Since starting this journey, I've learned a lot, and writing has *actually* become one of my biggest passions—all thanks to *your* continued support <3

MASTERLIST (Other works by me)

[selfshippingwhore]

It didn’t feel real, Astarion would often think that this was a dream and then he’d wake up in a cell with Cazadro looming over him.

Part of him felt like he didn’t deserve this life, didn’t deserve Firiel or his little girl after all the things he’s done.

His finger caressed the soft cheek of his daughter, she was staring up at him with wide eyes. Firiel was fast asleep, something that she deserved.

Besides it didn’t matter to him, he loved holding his little star.

“I hope you are like your mother. Sweet, kind, so full of love.” He whispered. A small smile forming on his face when her small fingers grasped his own. “So beautiful…My little star.”

[snowfolly]

A Simple Life

Astarion x original f!Tav | one shot, 2,931 words

Astarion and Tali are taking a break from the road to stargaze for a moment. He reflects on what was and what could have been with his little gray songbird at his side.

Cw: references to Astarion’s past abuse, some cursing

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, soft Astarion, post-game, headcanons, self-indulgent af, Astarion’s Pov

Notes: Headcanons galore about noble elves in Evereska and Astarion’s past- if that’s not your thing then this may not be the story for you friend! • No beta on this one-shot & I am certainly not a professional writer • Also just as a little side note- My Tav, Taliesin, is genderfluid and uses any pronouns. They have used a ring of opposite gender for around 60 years (which they use about half the time), so I write/draw them as either gender :>

Read on ao3

-

“Imagine though, if we had stayed back in Evereska we could have had a simple life, well, at least compared to the ones we’ve lived. Perhaps my bitch of a mother would have sold me off to your family to wed you — for a handsome dowry of course,” Tali mused, staring up at the night sky and the thumbnail of a moon that bled the faintest silver light upon the land, “can you even imagine? We would have been absolutely miserable.”

Astarion laughed, his arms behind his head as he laid upon the long autumn grass, the scent of comforting vetiver and leaf rot was strong but not unpleasant so close to the earth. He stared at the constellation Correlian just over the horizon, thirteen bright stars standing out amongst a million others, giving him some kind of vague nostalgia, although he couldn’t pinpoint why exactly. Likely something left over from his past, from the time before; broken memories that would sometimes seep through in the form of indefinite feelings.

“Oh certainly, we would have hated each other. I would have resented you, you’d have resented me, we’d keep to different rooms on opposite sides of our sprawling mansion. We’d drink too much, despise our jobs in the family business, take other lovers and hate each other for that as well. It simply would have been a grand old time!” he jested sarcastically, one hand on his chest and the other waving about for humorous emphasis before glancing over at Taliesin.

Tali was such a slight creature, dressed in an oversized ruby hued poet shirt and high black breeches, her long, cool gray hair was back in her typical loose braids, balled up unceremoniously at the nape of her neck and held in place with a red silk tie. She sat cross legged and leaning up against the trunk of a tree nearly barren of leaves, her violin propped up beside her.

“We would have bickered nonstop, both of us bored to death as we played our roles,” Tali made a dramatic gagging sound and sat forward, hugging her knees and resting her head on them as she glanced down at Astarion with an impish grin, “but here we are.”

“Indeed, here we are, love,” Astarion replied quietly, turning to lay on his side, better facing his partner.

“Just two elves that have been really shitty at being elves,” Tali conceded with a smile, and Astarion nodded with a slight eye roll. She certainly wasn’t wrong about that. Neither of them worshipped the Seldarine. Tali was as decadent as he, self absorbed and mean spirited at times as well.

They were both city dwellers and cared not for the woods, but while she had played her music in taverns and inns for over a century in Baldur’s Gate he had been prowling them as a vampire spawn for much longer. The only time they had frolicked in forests was out of necessity, to get from point a to point b.

Lying on the grass with her and staring up at the heavens, contemplating the vastness and meaning of it all was as elfy as either of them got, he supposed.

“So…what exactly would have been your fate if you had stayed home? Seeing as to how I wasn’t there to come sweep you off your stamping mad little feet?” Astarion asked, nodding his head rhythmically with each of the last four words out of his mouth and Tali shrugged, her face not showing a hint of perturbance, which was good. Her past, much like his own, could be a point of contention.

“I was arranged to wed a noble merchant’s son when we both came of age, poor boy was sweet as mead but dense as cow dung. You might have known him, he was a bit older than me and a smidge younger than you. Not a brain in his head. Spent all day elfing-about in the woods, absolutely loved all that shit. Thank the gods I had the wherewithal to run away.”

“A dire fate that would have been,” Astarion said with a half smile, his gaze distant, deep in thought.

Evereska was such an obscure, foggy memory for him. He had very little recollection of it but he could vaguely remember the sprawling estates in the upscale part of the city, and one of them, not so far from his own family home was Tali’s — a house of noble merchants.

“Do you remember what would have become of you if you had stayed in Evereska?” Tali asked him with a hint of hesitation, but it was a question he had anticipated after he had asked her the same so frankly.

Astarion stared off into the field, garnet eyes faraway, his head propped up on his hand as the gears in his mind turned, but they weren’t turning nearly as efficiently as he would have liked. They never did when it came to the past, to the time before.

“Well, I’m not sure what my parents had planned for me, if anything. I… I really just don’t remember. I know that I left when I was very young, and I don’t know if I left on my own accord or if I was sent off. I just recall that it wasn’t a positive farewell,” he said solemnly, glancing back at Tali who was absentmindedly playing with the grass under her right hand.

“Do you… ever plan to go back to see them? Your family?” Tali asked without looking toward Astarion, and he was glad for it. His face fell and his heart sank at her words. His family.

A few stray crickets brave enough to bear the autumn chill were the only sound heard between the two as Astarion stayed silent for some time while he processed Tali’s question. He knew that she was curious about his past, but she never pried or prodded and it was only fair to answer her truly now.

“I have thought about it, of course I have,” he swallowed, looking up at her with round, pleading eyes and then back up to the sliver of moon hanging above, “I don’t think I could face them. I don’t know that I could…”

Astarion stalled a moment, irritated at his hitching voice before taking a deep breath out of habit. Oxygen was useless to his undead lungs but necessary for all the talking, “they’ve thought me dead for over two hundred years now. I don’t even know them anymore, Tali. I’m positive I left on very poor terms, I was buried in the city after all and that never would have happened if…”

“You don’t know that,” Tali interrupted, grimacing as she locked eyes with him, “there could have been many reasons for that. I remember when you died… well, vaguely as I had no idea who you were then, but I do remember your family mourning.”

Astarion’s languid heart skipped a beat, he felt like he had been punched in the gut at this revelation. Tali had never told him that. Astarion had known that Tali knew of his family but never knew that they had mourned for him. He had never asked about something like that though, of course he hadn’t.

“They mourned?” he asked in a small voice as he rolled over on his back once again, feeling defeated, feeling empty, at a loss. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hear any more of this. That part of his life was over anyway, dead in the ground like his kin thought of him, right?

“Of course they did. Your mother…” Tali looked at Astarion with a sadness that she rarely displayed, a look that hurt him further, and she must have picked up on his discomfort because she changed direction.

“Gods… I. Look , I was only a child but I remember everyone making a big deal of losing an elf so young,” Tali sighed, hesitating a moment more before continuing, “so I don’t think you left on awful terms, Astarion. If you ever wanted to go back…”

She was right… possibly. What if the negative recollection that he did have of his family was incorrect? It wouldn’t be surprising, as his memories of the time before were so shattered. But why would she even suggest going back to a place that she had run from for so long?

“You’ve been avoiding Evereska for how long now? A century?”

“One hundred and twenty two years thereabouts,” Tali said nonchalantly, taking a particularly hard blade of grass and poking Astarion with it in the side of his neck without warning.

“Gods, Tali, you little shit,” he growled, slapping at the grass with an irritated grin, “then why do you care if we ever go back? Your mother will have your head…”

“I don’t care about returning for myself you idiot, I care about what it means for you. For you to see your family, not mine,” she exhaled, ripping the long blade of grass in two with furrowed brows as Astarion glared at her momentarily before his eyes softened. He grabbed at her arm with his clawed hand, beckoning her wordlessly to his side.

Of course this was about him.

Tali was as selfish of a creature as Astarion was, unless it came to matters involving him, and then she was patient, she was generous and she was kind in ways that he knew that she sometimes felt vulnerable for. He could certainly relate to that, as he often felt the same way with her.

He couldn’t, however, quite understand why she loved him though. He would never be able to fathom why she chose to love him after he had threatened to kill her when they had first met, after every shitty thing he had done to try and manipulate her, after all the baggage he’d brought to the table, but he would not ever question her affection. He would accept her love gratefully, and give all of his in return.

Tali obeyed his beckoning hand and rolled over to his side without another word, lying against him with her head resting on the crook of his arm as he clutched the seemingly infinite amount of fabric of her oversized sleeve. They laid together in silence, watching the moon creep slowly above the grasping bones of bare branches for an indeterminate amount of time, and his mind lulled back to his atrocious past, as it was wont to do during stretches of silence.

And gods, he had endured so much silence in two hundred years, so many endless nights of hushed horrors. He found quietness in busy taverns hunting for prey, he heard nothing when his victims moaned in ecstasy under him, and when they were taken away screaming from the boudoir he would lay in silence, a million miles away. Worlds away.

Like the year he spent clawing and screaming into the dark… there was nothing but silence for so very long.

Astarion bit his lip, bringing his mind out of despair, reining his thoughts back to his gray songbird who chirruped love songs to him before every sunrise, his strange little pet, who could play every instrument put before her and made so much pleasant noise. Tali gave him so much joy, shared his wretched sense of humor, made him laugh every night with endless raucous stories and bawdy jokes. She filled his life with so much sound.

His little songbird now lay shivering against him though, and it pained him that he could provide her no warmth. He held onto her tightly as she clung to him, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck as he touched his lips to her silken hair, nearly loose from its red tie.

“I do appreciate you thinking of me like that, you know. I really do, love” he whispered to her and she nodded slightly, exhaling her warm breath against the cold flesh of his neck, sending chills over his skin.

“Of course. I love you. That’s what people do when they love each other, Astarion,” she said in way that could be construed as flippant if it wasn’t said so sweetly.

“Truly though, if you ever want to go back, we’ll go. Just say the word. I’ll be fine, my mother hasn’t sent anyone looking for me for twenty years or so. I’ll use my ring or something to lay low,” she yawned, “just say the word.”

He smiled into her gray hair, dark as charcoal in the low light, inhaling her scent, clean and floral, and he felt almost overwhelmed with it all. Not in a negative way at all though. Two hundred years of horror, neglect and misery had all led up to this moment of comfort, of truly being happy. He guessed that what he felt was overwhelming gratitude, for his freedom, for another chance at life, for her.

“Maybe if we ever find the cure for my condition…”

“When we find the cure,” Tali murmured, correcting him, and Astarion exhaled, knowing deep in his heart that the cure might not ever come, no matter how many years they searched — but he’d humor her anyway.

“Fine. After we absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent find the end to my curse then I'll think about going back. Perhaps. Maybe I’ll write them first, though. Wouldn’t want to give them a fright, thinking I was some sort of phantom,” he ventured facetiously as she curled up against him closer.

Astarion couldn’t feel the chill in the same way Tali could, and though she was no weakling he couldn’t help but worry over her being too cold. He shifted slightly, ready to announce that it was time to go when she spoke up in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think it would have been so bad, really?”

“What?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, momentarily confused.

“If we had stayed home, if we had been arranged to marry. I was joking but really, it could have been possible you know. We’re not too far off in age.”

Astarion blinked, his mind going over an entire century of what very well could have been in just a moment. Gods how mad they both would have been at the prospect. But would they have really hated each other after they had gotten to knows one another? They hadn’t liked each other very much when they had first met nearly a year earlier, but now. Now he couldn’t picture his life without the little shit.

“I don’t think so. It wouldn’t have been so awful,” he answered quietly, holding her tighter, helpless to comfort her as she shivered slightly, “but we would have never stayed there.”

“Oh we wouldn’t have stayed at all. Never in a million years. But I don’t think we would’ve hated each other. I don’t think I could ever hate you,” she said groggily, and he smiled to himself as she continued, “do you think you could have hated me?”

“No, I don’t think I’d ever be able to hate you either, songbird,” he said without hesitation before pulling away from her slightly, causing her to protest with a groan.

“But it’s time to move on, pet. The next inn’s a few miles up the way, It’s getting early and you’re freezing to death. That won’t do.”

“Are you sure that you don’t hate me?” Tali whined, curling up into a miserable ball and clutching her hands at her chest as Astarion rose to his knees, beckoning her up.

“Get up. I know you’re hungry too. If the innkeep’s up and about we’ll get you a potato, butter, salt, the works. A glass of hot mead, mulled wine…” Astarion smirked as she opened her eyes wide, he knew that mentioning food, potatoes in particular, would do the trick.

“Well. Fine,” Tali finally relented, her hands reaching up to him with lethargic waggling fingers as he stood to pull her all the way to her feet.

They collected their belongings waiting at the base of the tree and Astarion dug a cloak out from her pack for her, placing it on her shoulders before they made their way back to the road in silence. Tali grabbed his hand as they ventured forth once again.

“We’d have been hand in hand getting the hells out of Evereska too, I think,” she said after some time, and he was amused that the subject was still on her mind, especially after putting the idea of hot buttered potatoes and mead in there. Astarion looked down at her, her rose hued eyes bleary but as spirited as always.

“Darling, they’d have been lucky if we didn’t burn the entire damned place to the ground before we left,” he said with a dismissive wave of his free hand and Tali laughed out loud.

“Oh, so lucky.”

The simple life would have never been for them, not in any way, shape or form. But perhaps if fate had brought them together so long ago they would have had an amazing century with one another, running all over Faerûn, getting into gods only knew what mischief. If only things had been different. If only he hadn’t died in Baldur’s Gate, hadn’t suffered for two hundred godsdamned years…

Tali squeezed his hand tightly, bringing him back from his dark thoughts once again.

Everything leading up to that moment is what they were given. Nothing could change the horrors of the past, but hand in hand they could now do their best to make up for all that lost time.

With Tali by his side everything would be alright.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Okay, I’m sorry. I lied. I just had it share these last two clips.

{ cause I love him }

*Spoilers for act 3 *

His cry gets me every time•

•

•He’s so sweet, I love him.•

•Same clip as above but I picked a few different choices and talked to him after.•

[kittenintheden]

Got my finished commission from the extremely talented Annteya of Ori and Astarion being super gross with each other and I’m gonna go lie down probably bye

(Art for Not Your Sweetheart)

[velvet-sunflowerr]

Astarion brain rot got me - wrote my first ever fic about the man.