#astarion x original female character

[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.

[ancuninfiles]

Art by @bloodoathlilith

I love Gale in the bg omg

(Full version on Twitter)

[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.

[astarionformayor]

(X)

since when does Tav squirm like a toddler getting their nails cut during bite night? o.o

[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.

[fangsandfeelings]

There’s a first time for everything

After a long day of fighting for your life and attempting to save the known world, you decide to let yourself indulge in a bath at The Elf Song. Naturally, you leave your clothes on the floor of your room, out in the open….. where anyone could…..stumble upon them…..

—————————

Astarion sauntered down the hallway to your room. You had all gotten back not too long ago, so he thought he could sneak a late night chat with you before lights out. He mindlessly pushed the door open, already opening his mouth to start about how Wyll had gotten on his last nerve when he paused, you weren’t in your bed where you usually were this time of night. He immediately felt a surge of anxiety, but pushed it down, remembering that the most likely solution is not that you got kidnapped my your murderous kin, no. It must be something much more mundane than that.

He narrowed his eyes, looking into the darkest corners of the room, trying to perceive any traces of movement or suspicious activity, but nothing. Just as he was about to turn around and try another room in the tavern, he spied a precocious little pile in the middle of your floor. He doesn’t know how he missed it on his entry, but he certainly is intrigued now by the little peek of strappy, iridescent fabric he can see. He quietly pads over to the mound, his dead heart stirring a little, as if wanting to beat faster knowing what he’s about to get up to. Kneeling down, he lightly grabs at the piece that’s been eyeing him to find it is indeed your darling panties, just sitting here all alone…..

Astarion stares at the fabric in his hands, contemplating whether or not he should be disgusted or proud with the thoughts of lust that are running rampant through his mind. Is this a breach of privacy? Surely not, you’ve shown and given him things much more intimate than a pair of your panties. Before he can start to talk himself out of it, he raises the delicate fabric closer to his face. He can already smell your warm scent as it wafts towards him. Slowly, he lets himself raise his hand until your panties are held across his nose and mouth, and he greedily breaths in your scent. Gods…. He can feel himself already getting hard against the waist band of his trousers. He figures should probably take care of this…after all, you’re nowhere to be found…

~~~~~~~

You hear his footsteps as he crosses the threshold of your room, and you smile gently at the fact that you’ve memorized what his footsteps sound like. You sit still, waiting for him to either join you or at least say hello before heading to bed, but after his initial footsteps you hear nothing. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the rim of the bath tub, allowing yourself to relax for one more moment before calling him over, when you hear rustling, and a quiet but full breath, as if someone was breathing through…. fabric? You sneakily peer through a torn hole in the bath tub curtain, and you spy your beautiful pale elf, kneeling in the middle of your room, with a handkerchief across his fine features. No wait, you squint until you realize that the handkerchief is in fact your panties, and Astarion is getting utterly lost in them. You hear him softly groan and your eyes flick down to his trousers, where his cock strains against his waistband. You swallow, and feel yourself clench around nothing, just at the thought of Astarion being so around by you that even your underwear would warrant such a reaction from him. You’re stunned into watching him, not caring if the bath water turns to ice and your fingers and toes turn to prunes.

~~~~~~

Astarion sits and leans against the foot of your bed, panties still in hand, while he quickly undoes the lacing at the front of his trousers. He allows himself a soft sigh when his cock springs free, and is sure he imagines hearing a small gasp as it hits his stomach. He couldn’t care less at this point, making himself feral by only breathing in the smell of you. He moans when his hand wraps around his cock, but quickly stifles himself with your panties again. He enjoys a few slow strokes at first, his eyes rolling into the back of his head from the sheer ecstasy of his situation. He never in his 200 years would’ve guessed that he would be so enamored by another person that he would partake in such actions, but here he was, and it was exquisite.

He moved faster on his cock, feeling his balls grow tighter. Holy shit, was he this close to cumming already?

He let himself moan into your underwear, getting slightly lightheaded now from having it so closely pressed to his nose. His issue was however easily solved by using his tongue to pull the fabric into his mouth. He felt two little tears as he bit down to stifle even more moans trying to escape from his throat. He figured if he ruined this pair, he’d buy you 100 more, it was certainly worth the gold.

Another flick of his tongue had his tasting you on the now wet fabric. Sending him over the edge, reeling, pressing his head against your footboard and biting down on your pretty panties in his mouth. A long sound, he wasn’t sure whether it was fully a growl or groan ripped from his throat, barely quieted by the delicate fabric.

As he came down from his high, he pulled your underwear away from his face, glancing down at himself to survey the damage he caused with this little escapade. He had indeed torn two fang sized tears in the middle. Maybe he could embroider his name instead of buying you new pairs, he thought. That way if anyone were to see it they would know exactly who had made the holes in the first place. The one who had made a very similar set of pretty holes in your beautiful neck. He was only pulled from his thoughts by your voice from across the room,

“That was my favorite pair you know” you said, slightly hoarse from watching the events that had just played out. You let a smirk creep onto your face as he stared at you in shock.

Not one to be outdone, Astarion only let the shock show for a second before falling into a beautifully devious smile, holding up the ripped fabric with his fingers.

“Oh, darling, I think I can say the same. Don’t worry though pet, I’ll gladly stitch my name into them. It won’t take but a few days” your eyes went wide at the thought of feeling the stitching as you walked, knowing it was his name that was constantly touching you. You silently nodded, and he gave you a low chuckle in response.

“Looks like you could use a bath” you said to him softly, and he didn’t waste a second before peeling off his clothes and getting no into the bath with you.

“So when’s my turn?” You said to him, smiling innocently. He kissed you gently on your mouth, moving then to your neck,

“Whenever you please darling, your every wish is my command.”

—————-———

Here’s your second fic! Feel free to give me suggestions/feedback :))

[littlejuicebox]

LittleJuicebox Masterlist

Click here for my AO3 account. (Converting is a WiP).

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, please DM me and I can send you the google doc link. I have decided to keep tag lists for each individual series so you only get tagged in the ones you want.

My personal favorites are denoted by a +.

GN reader is denoted by a * otherwise assume Fem reader/OC.

Titles colored red are smut or other mature themes, 18+ only.

AstarionxWren Series:

This is a canon-adjacent passion project which focuses on Astarion and Wren, a ranger half-elf with her own backstory. She is based off my first Tav. Do you like angsty slow burns where two broken people find one another and learn to love again? Then this one is for you.

Chapter 1 / Chasing birds to get high (PG) + Chapter 2 / Between comfort and chaos (PG) Chapter 3 / Sunshine and midnight rain (PG13) + Chapter 4 / Protect the flames (M/Gore) Chapter 5 / Blue and silver bonded (PG13) Chapter 6 / Remember how it feels to have a heartbeat (PG13) Chapter 7 / Give peace a chance (M/Smut) + Chapter 8 / Dancing in a burning room (M/Gore) Chapter 9 / Lavender haze (PG-PG13?) Chapter 10 / I want to hold your hand (PG13)

Midnight Chimes Series:

Your parents own a tavern in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion was somewhat of a regular when you worked at the bar in your younger years. You don’t exactly trust him. Now you’re an apothecary owner based in Waterdeep, and when the two of you crash on the beach, you aren’t exactly thrilled to see him there, too. But things aren’t always what they seem.

1 / The Prologue +

2 / Three years

3 / Luck +

4/ Ringleader

Midwinter Carol Series:

Eirianwen and Astarion were in love before the Ascension ritual changed his behavior toward her. She refused to become a spawn, and they went their separate ways. The story starts when they run into one another fifteen years later; Eirianwen returned to the city to deliver some news to the pale elf. Meanwhile, the Ascendant had a night time visitor that convinced him to change his ways, and he believes his ex-lover might be the key. Will he be able to change after fifteen years of living life as a debauched degenerate?

1 / The Prologue +

2 / The Barrier

3 / The Carriage

4 / The Auction +

5/ The Repeat

6/ The Affliction

7/ The Interrogation

8/ The Scheme

9/ The Snake

AstarionxReader One Shots and Mini-Stories:

Mini-Stories are grouped together in order and denoted by a “Part X” in sequential order after the title. These are in general "timeline" order and follow my (admittedly self-indulgent) headcanon for Spawn Astarion x Tav but can definitely be read as OneShots. All stories are AstarionxReader, some allusions to reader having spellcaster ability but otherwise no real description apart from being female in about 3/4 of the fics.

Act 1-2:

The little things.

Before someone steals your queen

Act 3:

Drunken nights*+

The nail salon

You'll stay still, won't you, little love? +

Post-BG3:

Mermaid whiskey+

Baking Cookies*

Astarion talks in his sleep Part 1*+

My Sun, My Moon Part 2+

Glowing in the Underdark+

Reflections on one year of marriage

Highharvestide Part 1

Highharvestide Part 2

Handmade+

Dadstarion:

The wish spell worked.+

Daddy?

Little bump.

Labor and joy

Skin to skin.

Milk.+

Little lockpick.

Beach babies.+

A growing brood.

Puppy love.

Stuck.

Pre-BG3 / Random / Ascended Astarion OneShots

Midnight chimes / The Original One Shot

Pre-BG3. You’ve known Astarion for years… or at least, you’ve known of him. You think he’s a rake, but one night he changes your mind. The series "Midnight Chimes" started based off this "prologue."

A Midwinter Carol / The Original One Shot

“A Christmas Carol” but Ascended Astarion is Scrooge. He sees you after your break up 15 years ago, and then has an unexpected nighttime visitor showing him past, present, and future. Will he be convinced to change his ways? The series "Midwinter Carol" started based off this "prologue."

Naughty or Nice?

You’re Ascended Astarion’s little toy in the middle of a party. TLDR; he’s tease and a BDSM dom.

Dancing on my own

[tragedybunny]

A Little Visitor

༺Summary༻

It started as a typical evening for Serafina and Astarion on their journey throughout Faerûn. Tonight, though, Serafina is surprised by a furry little visitor to their camp, who might be more than he seems.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings / Tags༻ No warnings, just fluffy fun!

༺Word Count༻ 1691

༺A/N༻

The is for the lovely @icybluepenguin, thank you for the gift my dear. I treasure him and you.

Edited by @grandmother-goblin, thanks again for the work on it.

Read on AO3

A vampire spawn, when not half-starved, can have a number of incredible abilities. In their time traveling together, Astarion has grown stronger and discovered some of these abilities for himself. The problem, Serafina has observed, was that without another vampire to teach him about those abilities, they tended to be discovered by accident. 

Such as the spider-climb incident. A couple of thieves had tried to rob the inn that her and Astarion were staying in, cornering them across the room from the exit. Astarion had backed up to take a better shot at one of the bastards and had simply walked up a wall without thinking. When the fight was over, he had attempted to get back down and ended up falling in a very undignified heap on the floor. Sera’s attempt to coddle him and soothe his ego was undermined by giggles she kept choking back. The whole incident ended with him pouting until he received enough kisses and compliments to forgive her. 

There were other little surprises that came to them as well. Astarion healing faster than he could realize that he was hurt, or moving at speeds that she couldn’t track. Every new facet left him radiantly happy. Until now, his vampiric body had been nothing but a source of misery; years of torture, a whole life lost to the darkness, and not even a sense of what he looked like. But now, he was free. His body was his own, and he could take pride in the things it was capable of. 

The only downside Sera had found was the emergence of a fiercely protective streak. One that occasionally caused him to treat her like she was made of glass — including jumping in front of her when he perceived danger. Such instances usually ended with one of her eldritch blasts in his back and a discussion about her being a very capable warlock who saved the world, in case he had forgotten. 

She wouldn’t change a thing about him. Impulsive, sharp-tongued, and macabre as he could be, he was also loving, brave, and so much fun. Even if he was not particularly good at more domestic tasks, as the laundry she was hauling up from the river could attest. If it was up to him, laundry day was always tomorrow. So, she’d taken the last of the daylight while he tranced to catch up a bit. Unfortunately, it was going to have to dry by firelight, one of many small adjustments she'd made for a more nocturnal life. 

Astarion was worth all of them, though. 

Plopping the basket near the fire, she began to hang the wet items on the laundry line that was set earlier. The sky had gone full dark and it seemed a little strange that Astarion hadn’t wandered out of the tent yet. Hanging the last of the clothes, she poked her head into the tent with a little apprehension. Astarion still had the occasional nightmare or moment of panic, the horrors he had endured crawling out from the crevices of his mind to torment him and he would sometimes try to endure those alone. It wouldn’t surprise her to find him curled up in bed working through one. 

Instead, emptiness greeted her. 

“Astarion,” she called, perplexed, stepping inside the tent. 

It wasn’t like him to just wander off without telling her; even his nightly hunts were announced. Sera felt her pulse rise but told herself he’d seen her note and just went in search of a quick bite. She’d head back to the fire and give it a few minutes before worrying. As she turned to go, something caught her eye. Eldritch power crackled in her fingertips as a shape hurtled toward her from the depths of the tent. 

Just before she released a blast of magical energy, the shape became clear: a small white bat. Dismissing the spell, she stood still, flustered as the creature didn't slow. Finally, the little bat smacked into her chest, chittering loudly. 

Cautiously, her hands cupped him, wary of the small teeth in his mouth. His wild noises stopped, and he seemed to sulk in her hands. She had to be reading too much into what looked like a pout on his face. “Are you hurt, little guy? What are you doing in my tent?” 

The bat in her hands flapped his wings and squeaked before deflating again. 

“You must be hurt. Let’s see what we can do for you.” Gently, still wary he could bite down at any moment, Sera looked around for some place comfortable to place him before giving in and just lowering him onto her pillow. “I don’t suppose you’d let me look you over?” 

Settling onto the bed next to the little creature, she gently picked up a wing, which he snatched back. “Oh come on, I need to see what’s wrong with you. Too bad Halsin isn’t here.” The bat suddenly hissed, and she glanced down at him with worry. “Maybe Astarion can help me when he gets back.” A flurry of noises followed her words, and she laughed. “Oh, you like the sound of his name. It is a lovely name, isn’t it? Well, he’s lovely overall.” 

The bat wiggled excitedly, like he was trying to fly but couldn’t quite do it. 

“Poor thing. Promise not to bite me?” That time he definitely chittered in response, and Sera stared at it curiously. Could there be more to this small bat than she’d thought? Picking up the pillow, she placed him in her lap and cautiously stroked his soft fur. 

She hadn’t ever touched a bat before, but its fur was silkier than she would have thought, and it seemed to relax beneath her fingertips. “You’ll like Astarion,” she started, talking idly while she continued to pet him. “He’s a creature of the night like you.” 

He made another little noise. 

“You seem very interested in my… partner. I suppose that’s the best word for him. It doesn’t really quite do it justice, though. Hmm. Beloved. That’s a weird way to introduce someone, though.” 

Her new friend had relaxed under the motion of her fingers. 

“Can I look you over now?” she asked, lifting a wing to no resistance. Gently, she inspected both wings and his back. “I have to pick you up now, to see the rest of you.” 

With a soft squeak, he gave in. Sera carefully looked over his ears, and flipped him upside down to inspect his stomach before setting him back down. 

“I’m sorry, little guy, I can’t seem to see what’s wrong with you.” She went back to petting him. “Maybe once Astarion is back we can look for some local druids. I hope he’s alright, he doesn’t usually disappear on me. Maybe I should go look for him, in case something is wrong. I don’t know what I’d ever do without him.”

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. Even if he was a pain when we first met.” There was an almost indignant sounding squeak from the bat and Sera froze. “And he can be so very vain sometimes.” 

The bat exploded into noises, flapping its wings.

“Gods above, it can’t be.” She looked down and found red eyes looking back at her with a definite bit of embarrassment. “Astarion?” 

“SQUEAK.” Came the answer. 

Picking him up, she held him in front of her face staring at him. The little rascal’s tongue lapped out and licked her nose. “How did you even manage this? And how do I get you back.” 

The bat, Astarion, answered with a sad chirp and tried again to fly, this time managing to get himself airborne before crashing back down to the pillow waiting in her lap. “Love, what am I going to do with you?” 

Astarion hissed and let his little head fall onto the pillow. 

“I suppose this isn’t fun for you either at this point. What if you concentrated on it? Or didn’t concentrate? Or maybe sleep?” Each question was followed by noises that would have assuredly been not very nice words. 

“Well if you’re going to be rude — ” she set the pillow down on the bed “ — figure it out yourself. I need to make sure the laundry hasn’t been stolen by wildlife.” 

She'd barely stood when he began wildly flapping, attempting to get to her. Sighing, sure turned back, only to catch him for the second time that night, and have him excitedly lap at her hands. “Fine, I know you're sorry.” 

“We'll get this fixed, but you had better stay in here. I don't think you can get away from a predator right now.” 

Astarion hissed as she carried him back to the pillow, wings fluttering still.

“I'm sure you'll figure out the flying bit.” 

He had stilled in her hands and looked defeated. 

Sera’s heart ached for her love, trapped in a form he couldn't control. “It will be alright, I promise.” 

 Bringing him close, she gently kissed his little bat snout. 

Something in the air shifted and Sera sensed a change causing her to let go of Astarion. The small form was engulfed in shadow and a weight hit the mattress. “Hells!”

“Astarion,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and feeling his arms around waist. “Gods, you had me worried.” 

Pulling her close, he nuzzled into her stomach, chuckling softly. “So little confidence in me darling?”

“Forgive me for being scared my partner would be a bat forever, even if it would give me a lot more peace and quiet.” 

“Is that how you feel?” The only warning she had was the tightening of his arms around her waist. “You’re so cruel to me.” She yelped as Astarion pulled her down to the mattress, and snuggled against her. “Though I suppose this wasn't my finest display of power.”

Her fingers pulled through his silver curls and she kissed the top of his head. “You'll be perfect at it in no time, my love.” 

Astarion hummed happily and kissed the hollow of her throat. “At least I'll have you to pet and pamper me if I get stuck again.” 

tag list:

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

 @tallymonster  @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin 

@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

@elora-the-slutty-songstress @bhaalbaaby @spacebarbarianweird

@satanicspinosaurus @darlingxdragon @wanderingisobel @astarionsbeloved

@vixstarria @claryvoyantfray @misscrissfemmefatale @bg3obsessedsideblog @captainaceofspades @wickedwitchofthewilds @asterordinary @talented-bitch @waking-electric @snowfolly

[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

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“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…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Want more? Check out my Masterlist 🩸✨

[tripleyeeet]

CURSE YOU!

"WE ARE NOT GOD'S CHOSEN, DARLING, WE ARE GOD'S CURSED."

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PAIRINGS: Astarion Ancunin & Original Female Character

TAGS: 18+ sexual content, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, dark fic. Will tag accordingly each chapter.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh hey, welcome to the only thing (other than A Lover's Folly) my brain has been able to think about!

MASTERLIST

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PLAYLISTS:

astarion

zayis

knife to meet you!

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PRE

sharp tongues

ACT 1

the knife of insight

ACT 2

ACT 3

only fools fall*

POST

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TAGLIST CLOSED!

[littlelovelore]

lovers until the sun itself melts

[ancuninfiles]

(OP)

👀

[mangomonk]

to feel warm in cold love

↳ summary: in his attempt to make tav touch-starved for him, astarion realizes he's lost his own game. (alternatively, astarion is dreadfully cold and touch-starved, and tav is dreadfully warm and respects boundaries.) ↳ content: mentions of blood and battle, named tav, astarion is a little mean and very emotionally repressed, act 1 and 2 plot mentioned ↳ a/n: inspired by astarion's "don't touch me" dialogue and that one post that basically calls him a loser lol. title is from "cold love" by rainbow kitten surprise! also i'm a little confused by tagging convention — is tav alright to tag if they're an OC and not 'reader?' cross posted on ao3

The first time he fed on her, she sat perfectly still, her legs criss-crossed and posture straight as she swept her hair to the side. The perfect image of a monk. He would’ve teased her for it, had he not been distracted by the gleaming skin of her neck and the ache of hunger with his fangs. He couldn’t believe his luck.

How perfectly foolish to trust a vampire, he thought dimly to himself as he crouched over her, eager to take the opportunity — no matter how ridiculous it was — before she changed her mind. His fingers slipped into her hair to cradle the back of her neck as he tilted her head back carefully for better access. He moved with perfect precision — though he had never fed on a person before, he had imagined it in the darker moments of his hunger, even more so after he had met Xuan as he had begun scheming of ways to earn her favor. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that he had been dreaming of it.

The moment his fangs pierced her skin, all previous notions of what he had dreamt of before melted away and all he knew was the rich taste of her blood. He didn’t notice her shuddering in his hands or her slowly going limp against him as he swallowed gulp after gulp. He nearly forgot all restraint too, until she pushed at his shoulder hard enough for him to draw back. 

He felt warmth spreading through him, his hunger satiated, and then, shame roiling deep in his gut. A trickle of her blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. She was pale-faced, a dazed expression on her face as she stared up with him. Astarion, swept by this newfound satiation and familiar shame of his hunger, was at a loss for words. “This is a gift, and—” he began, just as she seemed to snap out of her daze.

“Sorry,” the monk said, “I didn’t mean to touch you but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Astarion stopped short to stare at her in disbelief, reeling a little. Had her blood been drugged with hallucinogens? Why was she apologizing? He stared at her for a beat longer, but she seemed to be entirely sincere.

“Oh,” he said ungracefully as he recovered, straightening and letting his expression fall into one of familiar charm. “Oh, darling, you can touch me however you want if it means I have a little snack as sweet as you.”

She frowned at him, but Astarion was too distracted by the bead of blood forming on her skin where his fangs had been to notice.

— — — — —

The next time he fed on her, Astarion was less controlled by his hunger, though the same thrill of anticipation ran through him as he crouched next to her. She insisted again on sitting, and though the position was awkward for the both of them, he wasn’t going to bite the hand that was feeding him. Not metaphorically, anyways. And not the hand, at least.

This time, he noticed her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if she was anticipating the sting of his fangs. He paused, hovering over the nape of her neck. “My sweet thing,” he murmured, amused. He noted the goosebumps that formed along the pretty curve of her neck where his breath ghosted across his skin. He noted the way she shivered in his hands. He noted that she smelled wondrously sweet beneath the smell of soap. “You can hold on to me if you’d like to.”

“Do you want me to?” She asked.

Astarion blinked, grateful that she couldn’t see his surprised expression from her angle. “Whatever you want,” he said after a beat. When she kept her hands clasped carefully in her lap, Astarion shrugged to himself and dove in.

— — — — —

The third time, he perhaps had gone too far because when he withdrew, she swayed for a moment and slumped forward, her forehead falling against his collarbone. For a moment, panic flared within him as he caught her, before she mumbled something into his shoulder. “Sorry, got dizzy for a moment there.” Another apology — he thought he’d get used to them by now, but each one left him equally bewildered and baffled. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

In his arms, he felt her try to withdraw weakly. Instead though, he held her firmly, supporting her boneless weight against him. “Let’s stay like this for a moment,” he hummed, tucking his chin carefully over the crown of her head and letting his fingers splay against her back. She was always so unfamiliarly warm. It felt like he was being scorched alive. “Would hate for my favorite traveling companion to crack her skull open. Our other companions would immediately have a stake through my heart, I suspect.”

To his pleasure, she didn’t protest, instead going even more limp against him. “Thank you,” she said into his shirt.

Astarion felt a warmth, similar to the one that she was radiating, flare deep in his stomach. It must have been because he had just fed. “My pleasure,” he said simply, meaning it.

— — — — —

Strangely enough, Xuan seemed to have no qualms with touching their other companions, Astarion began to notice. She linked arms with Shadowheart occasionally when they were walking — Astarion noted that Shadowheart never complained. She leaned on Karlach whenever they were standing close, despite the tiefling’s obvious warmth. Even Gale, the wizard who hadn’t touched a mortal being in years, she greeted with a fond hug.

Astarion though, she never touched.

It wouldn’t have bothered him if she didn’t make such a show of giving him a wide berth or nearly jumping out of her skin whenever he brushed by within an arm's reach.

It definitely wasn’t because he watched Wyll’s arm loop over her shoulder affectionately one night as they sat around the campfire. In the name of keeping warm from the cold, Wyll had teased. Cold? What did Wyll know about being cold? Astarion was always so miserably cold, but in that moment he felt something like angry heat flare up within him as he watched her lean against The Blade.

That was definitely not why it bothered him. Though Wyll flirted with Xuan in fleeting, light-hearted comments, it was Astarion who was putting honey in every word he shared with her. And he had made his advances even more than clear, quite literally spelling out his propositions for her. He knew she was interested in him with the way she flushed or the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking at her. So why was it that they never touched, not unless he had his fangs buried in her neck?

Soon, Astarion came up with a new scheme. And he thought himself clever for his plan too as he followed the sure-footed monk closely across the goblin camp, docking and releasing arrows efficiently the moment he spotted a goblin. He was feeling impatient. At the end of each battle, it seemed ritual for her to give the nearest companion a crushing sort of hug of relief and triumphant. So the faster this battle was over, the faster he’d—

“You’re fired up today,” she remarked to him as she clubbed another goblin with her staff. She didn’t even have to shout at him across the sounds of the battle because he had stayed within an arm's reach of her the entire fight.

Astarion preened a little, flashing her a devilish smile. He opened his mouth to smarm when Karlach bellowed across the courtyard. “I think that’s the last of them.” He watched Xuan’s face break into a triumphant grin as he took a step closer to her. The others were mostly across the courtyard, though Lae’zel was a few yards away.

“We did it!” She beamed, whirling around. Astarion now was only two steps away from her, his arms already preemptively outstretched when she stepped past him, throwing her arms around… the Githyanki warrior.

Astarion blinked once. Then twice. Then he turned, incredulous, to see Lae’zel pat the monk on her back awkwardly.

“The customs of this plane never fail to baffle me,” the Githyanki warrior said stiffly.

“You did brilliant today!” Xuan said brightly, practically glowing.

Astarion stared at the two, still slack-jawed. “And what about me?” He spluttered now, entirely undignified, but he couldn’t help it. Not when she was being so obviously stingy in her affections!

Xuan drew back from Lae’zel. Astarion couldn’t help the sick anticipation growing in his stomach as she took a step towards him. His hands twitched at his side, but he forced himself not to raise them. 

“You were brilliant too,” she beamed. “Your aim for the one in the tower was so precise—”

Astarion’s anticipation fell flat as she stopped several feet away from him, still prattling on about his fighting.

“Spare me the praise,” he snapped irritably, turning on heel swiftly to stalk back to camp.

— — — — —

He spent the rest of the evening brooding in his tent as the others celebrated their success with a hearty stew that Gale cooked and some cheap wine they had looted from a cellar in the Blighted Village. 

Was it possible that she wasn’t interested in him? He had made his advances perfectly clear, and though they had often rolled off of her like water, or she had just smiled embarrassedly down at her feet, she had never rejected him. 200 years of perfecting the art of seduction, and he couldn’t even get within a foot of a naive monk? The thought hurt his pride. And then another thought, one much worse, that spurred him to his feet and out his tent to seek out the target of his thoughts.

Was she disgusted with him? So much so that she couldn’t bear even touching him?

“Darling, are you decent?” He asked from outside the tent, letting his normal drawl tinge his voice as he added, “Though I wouldn’t mind if you weren’t decent.”

“Astarion?” She asked from inside. “Come in.”

He lifted the flap of her tent and stepped in. She was standing in the center of her tent, a crude, wooden comb in her hand — he recognized it a little bitterly as the one that Halsin had whittled for her. She must have just come from the nearby stream, because her hair was still damp and hanging in tangled tendrils, a sharp contrast to the dreadful braid she normally kept it in.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, blinking up at him owlishly. Astarion ignored the bubble of irritation in his gut. He couldn’t seek her out unless he was hungry? Though to be fair, which Astarion was not, the only times he did were when he was hungry.

“No, no,” he lied dismissively, waving his hand airily. Now to disprove his theory. “Darling, I can take care of that for you,” he offered, closing the distance between them and reaching for the comb.

To his dismay, she shied away from him swiftly with a nervous laugh, putting that cursed two feet of space between them again and nearly stumbling over her own bedroll in the process. “No, I got it, but thank you—”

“I don’t bite, you know,” Astarion blurted, half-irritatedly, half-miserably. She shot him a raised brow and quickly, he waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, fair point, I do bite, but you already know what it’s like, so there’s really no reason for you to jump out of your skin the moment I’m in an arm’s distance from you.”

“Well,” she said, not quite able to look him in the eye as she inched back imperceptibly. Astarion huffed under his breath at the sight. “I didn’t think you liked being touched.”

Astarion stared at her for a moment, expression slack. “Darling, what in your sweet mind has you thinking that?” He dropped his voice in a well-rehearsed manner. “Haven’t I been clear with you in my propositions that I’d like to be more than touched by you?”

A pained expression flitted across her face, but it disappeared tactfully. He only caught it because he was studying her carefully, quick to pick up any changes. She bit the inside of her cheek. “You told everyone not to touch you.”

Oh. Oh. He did have a vague memory of sneering, “Don’t touch me,” at the start of their travels. But he hadn’t expected anyone to respect it, let alone remember it. He felt like she had just clubbed him over the head and sent him reeling.

“If it’s you, it’s fine,” Astarion said quickly. He found himself surprised to know that he meant it.

“Oh,” she blurted, mouth opening and then closing. She looked equally dumbfounded.

Perfect. This was the perfect moment he had been building towards, when her guard was down just enough for him to sink his teeth in. Metaphorically, of course.

Astarion took a step closer to her. And then another. She looked like she was ready to flee, but out of pure stubbornness, stood very still. They were so close now that he could feel her body heat rolling off her in waves. He held back a shiver.

Astarion skillfully let his posture slouch in an attempt to not tower over her, tilting his head to catch her gaze again. He had a plan. Proposition her, offer her his services so she could enjoy his range of touch. He’d say it coquettishly, perhaps brush her hair to the side. Maybe drag the tip of his finger down the angle of her jaw. Something that would make her cave, that would make her so starved for his touch that she would devote herself to him. That was the plan, he reminded himself, and this was the perfect moment—

 “Well, maybe if you said please once in a while,” she huffed mulishly, clearly just to regain face, though her gaze darted away from him in clear embarrassment as a dark flush began to bloom rapidly across her cheeks.

Astarion was clubbed over the head with the sudden, newfound realization that she looked wonderful when she was flustered. His fingers twitched — he wanted to cup her cheeks and confirm that her skin was as warm as it looked. He stared at her, entirely distracted by this line of thought, any previous thought melting away as he watched the blush spread to the tip of her ears. He was so entirely distracted by this new image of the monk, that without much thought or resistance—

“Please,” Astarion murmured in a soft sigh, the yearning in his voice an unfamiliar ache even to his own ears.

She swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing. Astarion’s vision would have normally pigeon-holed to her neck at the motion, but he couldn’t quite tear his gaze away from her hand as it raised slowly, palm up between them. And then she stopped, her hand hovering between them, her gaze intent on his, brows raised in almost a challenge. Astarion found himself moving by himself, his hand moving to rest uncertainly over hers.

Her hand was wondrously warm. 

“Is this okay?” She asked softly, as if not to spook a wild animal.

Astarion swallowed. How could he tell her that this was more than okay? That it felt like she was lighting him on fire with just a mere touch? That he would happily burn? That he was warmer than he had been in the past 200 years? “Yes,” he managed instead, voice tight. “This is nice.”

Encouraged, she covered his hand with her other one, the callouses on her fingers brushing against his skin. Gods. She was devastatingly warm. 

— — — — —

When Ketheric Thorm finally fell to Dame Aylin’s blade, Astarion breathed out a long sigh of relief, undocking his arrow as he surveyed the mess and rubble. From his higher vantage point, he did a quick headcount. Shadowheart and Aylin seemed to be in a private conversation, the latter handing the cleric Selune’s Spear of Night. Gale was putting his spellbook away, looking haggard, but otherwise in one piece.

Astarion frowned, scanning the tower again swiftly. He always had a mental tab on where the monk was in battle given that most of his arrows went into picking off enemies that he deemed too close to her — most of them, if he was being entirely honest. He could’ve sworn she had been by Ketheric Thorm when he fell, but he still couldn’t spot her. Swallowing back his growing panic, he turned to hurry down from the little cliff he had used as a vantage point.

“Astarion.” His alarm melted away instantly at the sight of his monk straightening from where she had hauled herself up. The thought that she had sought him out after the battle sent a pleased thrill through him. “I never understand how you get to these places,” she huffed, brushing her bloodied hands against her tattered robes. He really wished she wore armor.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, reaching out to cradle her wrists and inspect her fists. He really wished she used her staff more. His stubborn monk. “As much as I love blood, this is quite a lot.”

“Not mine,” she said with a tired, but triumphant grin. Astarion thought he couldn’t tire of seeing her post-battle, breathless and beaming, even if she was covered in blood and grime. They stood staring and grinning at each other perhaps foolishly for a moment longer. “I can’t believe we did it,” she said finally, eyes still bright.

“I can,” he huffed as he rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, marveling at the warmth of her hands. “With a monk as stubborn as you are, I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a way to punch mindflayers back to their original form until your hands are just nubs. You really ought to stay out of the front lines,” he chided half-heartedly.

“But I have these hands watching after me,” she said, twisting her hands in his so that she could grasp his hands. Astarion stilled instantly, fighting the urge to close his eyes to immerse himself in the warmth of her hands. “Thank you for picking off the Necrolites.” Before he could respond with a shrug or a huff, she brought his hand towards her.

Astarion’s brain, for lack of better words, short-circuited as he watched and felt her lips press gently against his palm. Gods, the post battle adrenaline made her bold.

Inwardly, Astarion hoped for more battles to come in their near future. 

“Oh,” he blurted inelegantly, dead heart jumping back to life in his chest. “Do that again.” A pause. “Please.”

He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his palm. She pressed a firmer kiss against it again before brushing a ghost of a kiss against his fingertips and then one more against his wrist, as if she was feeling for a heartbeat. Astarion sighed, curling his fingers around her jaw.

“Oh,” she hummed, her eyes tracking over his face carefully. He felt entirely wrong-footed, as if he was losing a battle he didn’t know he was in. “You’re blushing.”

He jolted, scowling. “I don’t blush,” he retorted, before correcting himself. “I can’t blush.” In a poor attempt to distract her, he glared down at her a little impatiently. A little shamelessly. “Anyways, aren’t you here for your victory hug?”

Xuan arched her brow as she stepped closer. Astarion fought the urges to flee and close the gap between them and instead stood very still as she stepped even closer until there was only a hair's width between them. And then she paused, as she always did, a question in her stillness. Is this okay? 

To answer, Astarion closed the gap between them, looping his arm around her to place his hand against the small of her back. In all honesty, he was still getting used to it, his actions clumsy and stiff at times. But she never pushed him, instead always letting him take the next step in closing their distance. Once he did, she shifted a little in his arms to wriggle her arms around his waist. 

“You’re getting blood on me,” he huffed softly, though he made no move to shift away from her. Instead, he dropped his head to rest his forehead in the junction of her neck. He let his eyes flutter close as he marveled at how warm she was.

“I thought you liked that,” she said. He could almost hear the coy smile in her voice. 

Astarion sighed in defeat, smiling against her skin. “Only if it’s you.”

— — — — —

my masterlist

a/n: if u liked this, i would love to read ur thoughts tee hee it's always honestly a giant encouragement to write more when i read everyone's comments + i can't tell if i'm writing him ooc!

[delightfulgingersnaps]

A Rainy Day

Another little drabble, slightly more finished this time! From the same ongoing story between Yenna(my Tav) and unascended Astarion. Yenna notices Astarion is feeling a bit melancholy on a rainy day while they're stuck inside. Sweetness and smut ensues.

18+ only!!

CW: fingering, handjob, blowjob, utter fluff, deep loving connection

[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)