#baby mind flayer | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesofesther · 8 months

Text

first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story #astarion ancunin

2K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 4 months

Text

mind blown (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: when you get a certain achievement while playing baldur's gate 3, it catches your boyfriend's eye.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: slight spoilers for baldur's gate 3 game, TALK OF MONSTER FUCKING/TENTACLES, you literally have the option to fuck a monster in the game and that is the premise for this one-shot. it isn't described in great detail, but is a background bit. and eddie makes fun of you for it. a lot. oral (f receiving, insinuated m receiving at the end). use of nickname "good girl". minors dni.

wc: 3.5k+

a/n: for anyone who was forced to witness me rizz the emperor on my last bg3 stream - consider this my... apology? half the time i was writing this i couldn't take it seriously so please laugh with me.

also, shout out to @hellfire--cult for the best possible divider EVER.

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: MIND BLOWN!

You don’t even notice when the notification pops up in the lower left corner of your screen. It’s the smallest of blips, hardly signified by the quiet ding from your Steam account in a pitiful attempt to congratulate you for the monstrous crimes you were currently committing on your screen.

But hey, you’ve got to experience the entire game, right?

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you click on the second dialogue option, eyes locked on your screen is disbelief in your own actions, “What the fuck.”

2. Take its tentacle in your hand, invite it in.

You watch in absolute awe as, who would have guessed, your Tav takes the tentacle in their hand, inviting the Mind Flayer in.

Oh, you’re not seeing Heaven for this. You’re getting kicked straight to Hell, receipts pulled up of this very moment in your lifetime. That time you only cackled when your younger sibling broke their wrist? Fine. That time you let a door slam shut on some random grandma? Forgivable.

But making your video game character fuck the tentacled-should-be-enemy? No, yeah, you’re heading straight to the flames.

“Oh. My. God.”

You really, really, really should have noticed the achievement notification. Should have considered the fact that this was an achievement at all. Should have considered that your achievement would be public. Should have noticed who was currently online, and who would be getting the notification of your sins.

Should of thought of your boyfriend, in the living room, playing the very same game on your shared gaming laptop that had been reduced to solely allowing the two of you to play Baldur’s Gate 3 at the same time.

But you’re too entranced by tentacles and embarrassment and shit, is this kind of hot? Is The Emperor kind of hot? to think of any of this until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re leaning far more forward than you had realized, drawn into the screen as your mouth hangs wide open in that continued naivety of disbelief that the game actually allowed this, and the next, two hands are landing on the back of your chair and shaking you out of the trance.

“Shit!” you can’t help but scream, scrambling wildly to yank off your headset with flailing hands. A few of your knuckles connect with something hard, and you spin quickly to find Eddie standing there with a hand clutched over his nose, “Oh my God, baby, I’m so sor-”

“Are you fucking the mindflayer?” he all but yells, not looking to be in an ounce of pain even as he continues to shield his face where your hand had blatantly smacked him. His eyes catch the screen in the same trance you had just been under before yelling out, “Holy shit, you’re fucking the mindflayer!”

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“You are literally fucking the space squid right now.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re fucking a glorified piece of sushi right now. You are literally-”

For the second time in the span of what hasn’t even been a full minute, your hand slaps Eddie’s face. This time, it’s more purposeful, slamming your palm right over his mouth before he can continue what you can’t even be sure is teasing.

And you’re missing the entire scene. Thank God for learning to quicksave as a reflex, you suppose.

“Eddie, I swear to God, do not speak another word when I drop my hand,” you threaten, no real violence behind your words as he glowers at you. You can see all that mischief swirling behind the look he gives you, every possible bad idea to ever exist in this Universe manifesting in those big brown eyes as they stare widely into yours. “Do you understand?”

He nods. Your mistake for trusting him, you suppose.

The moment your hand has dropped from him, it reveals that giddy smile, dimples screaming for your instant regret before he even opens his mouth to say, “Play it again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead,” he waves towards the screen where the scene is beginning to wrap up, your current companions interrupting the moment in horror. If you had still been entranced, you would have been an absolute mess. But all your focus had been stolen away to the boy towering over you, “Reload the save. Replay the scene for me.”

Your brows furrow as you cross your arms, shaking your head, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” you repeat yourself more firmly, leaning into your stubbornness, “I am not replaying the scene for you after you just made fun of me for partaking in it.”

Eddie wastes no time pouting as he throws himself down onto the bed nearby, looking at you with unimaginably forced disappointment, “Come on. You’re no fun.”

You hate how cute he looks right now. Bottom lip jutted out for dramatic effect, legs splayed out to straddle the corner of the bed. He leans back on his arms, torso elongating as you watch him take every steady and expectant breath. He looks determined.

Unlucky for him, you’re just as stoic in your decision.

“C’mon,” he whines softly, changing his approach when he realizes the cocky exterior isn’t chipping away at that set look on your face, no faltering in your decision to ignore his request, “Please? We both know that I’m not going to be fucking the squid, so this is my only chance to see the-”

“He’s not a squid,” you groan, starting to turn your chair to face the screen again and continue your gameplay, “Might I remind you just how hot my guardian was prior to the whole tentacle reveal? You can’t even blame me for succumbing to this, you know.”

His lips press together tightly, biting back a grin.

“Your guardian was very hot. But, pray tell, baby, why did you choose to fuck the tentacled version?” You’re not having this conversation. You blatantly refuse to, picking your headphones back up and beginning to slip them over your ears when Eddie’s hand shoots out to stop you, “Wait. I have an idea.”

“I’m not reloading the save so you can see the scene, Eddie-”

“What if…. I technically don’t watch the scene?”

You halt all movement willingly, headphones still hovering in midair even as Eddie takes his hand away. “What do you mean?”

He leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, sly smile shimmering on his lips as he finally abandons the god-forsaken pout. He’s radiating pride as he simply asks, “Wanna have your mind blown in real life?”

Your entire body flushes with heat, starting to actually get embarrassed that Eddie wasn’t letting this go.

“With God as my witness, if you do not stop making fun of me for this, I will kick you out of this room and lock the door.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he says slowly, inching off of the bed, dropping to his knees on the carpet of your shared bedroom, “Not in the slightest, sweetheart. I’m making you an offer.”

You eye him cautiously as he slowly makes his way closer to you. When he’s nearly tucked under your desk, you’re quick to bring your knees up, still terribly weary and unsure of where he’s going with this.

“What do you mean then, having my mind blown in real life?”

Eddie’s smile has gone downright salacious as he easily fits himself under the desk that holds your computer, situating himself perfectly so that if you were to drop your legs back down, he’d be kneeling prettily between your knees.

“Reload the scene. And drop your legs, yeah?”

He says it so casually, nonchalance dripping from his tone as if he’s just asked you to pass him salt or inquired about the weather rather than the actual request he was insinuating. It has your knees pressing more tightly together, your chin dropping on top of them as you stare down at him in the cramped space.

“Are you… are you seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting right now?” you question, each word falling from your mouth slowly.

It had been a while since either of you had really gotten your hands on one another. Not on purpose, of course. The two of you had simply fallen victim to the immersive game, spending most of your free time either playing your individual campaigns or joining one another on a multiplayer one. Afternoons melted away from gameplay, and the two of you were usually already to the point of exhaustion once you’d end up in bed together. There had been a certain lack of affectionate touches, suggestive squeezes of your thighs and faux-innocent kisses of the neck. And neither had noticed, minds equally preoccupied on thoughts of pixelated characters and harrowing journeys over a screen.

You can’t remember the last time either of you outright suggested sex.

“Deathly serious,” you can see the shine of his teeth as he flashes them in the dark space. You continue to hesitate until he quickly adds on, “Only if you want to, of course. If not, I can always fuck off and leave you to Squidwar-”

“I want to,” you interrupt, ignoring the new nickname for the Mind Flayer that he had started to taunt you with. You carefully let your feet slip off your chair, avoiding knocking him in the face with your ankles. He aids you, a careful hand running from the back of your knee and down your calf as he guides your legs to rest on his shoulders. The fact that you had started gaming without pants was suddenly very helpful.

“Good girl,” it’s sort of ridiculous, the way his words cut right to your core, nearly making you let out a small gasp. Your body is suddenly very aware of just how long the accidental bout of celibacy had been, “A few rules before we begin. You’re going to reload the scene, and really watch it this time. Headphones and all, got it?”

He places a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, and this time, you can’t bite back your little gasp. It only elicits a chuckle from him as you eagerly nod. You could care less about the game at this point, but you can’t seem to find the words to tell him this.

“If you stop focusing on the scene, I stop eating this pretty little pussy.”

If you weren’t so light-headed from the way his breath hits your clothed core currently, you’d probably see just how ridiculous this entire scenario was. It was downright laughable. Even a little shameful, honestly. By no means was it the weirdest situation that you and Eddie had turned into a game of sex, but it was certainly up there.

God, you were in love with a fucking weirdo. And it made you just as weird, if not weirder, as he was.

He gently slaps at your knee, forcing your attention to focus back on him, “Got it?”

“Got it,” you manage to choke out just as his hands begin to trail up to your hips, playing with the lace of your panties teasingly.

You lift yourself ever so slightly off the chair as he slips your underwear off, bringing the fabric down agonizingly slow. He has to shuffle plenty, guiding your limbs around just to finally remove the garment, but you hardly pay attention to all that awkwardness. Your Tav is still on the screen, awaiting instruction just as you were.

When Eddie finally has your panties off, knees back to hanging on his shoulders, you can hear him let out a soft groan at the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he sighs gently, leaning his cheek against your knee ever so slightly, “The tentacles really do it for you, huh? Already fucking soaking-”

“Shut up about the tentacles,” you groan out, throwing your hand back in exasperation, “For the love of God, please shut up about the-”

“Ah, ah,” he tsks, pulling farther away from you, “Might I remind you the whole point of this is all those tentacles on your screen right now, baby? Maybe I should have you hook up your speakers instead of your headphones just to make sure I can hear the entire scene.”

You’d honestly forgotten about the scene at this point. It was the least intriguing part of your evening now.

When you stay quiet, biting your lip to avoid making anymore smart ass remarks that would only prolong what you desperately wanted, desperately needed, he finally takes it as his cue.

That damn grin, dimples and all, look up at you with all the ill intent in the world as he gestures for you to slip on your headphones. You do it immediately, and just before you’ve fully engulfed your ears with them, Eddie says, “Now, please do the honors, and hit F8 for me, doll.”

Immediately, the only noise you can hear is the ambience from the game. One swift punch of your F8 key pauses it entirely, sudden music replacing it as the reload screen appears on the computer. Eddie waits, staring up at you for a few moments, probably having memorized just how long these damn reloads take from how much the two of you save scum in the game (Ironic, given during your first playthroughs, he’d scolded you endlessly for save scumming rather than just trusting the dice and letting it all play out.)

After a few beats of stillness, you can see the scene prepared and ready for you to begin to click the options again to initiate the scene in your peripheral. Your eyes are still locked on Eddie’s, though.

He makes no move to move any closer to you, though, still smirking before he finally mouths ‘watch the game’.

It’s only once you do as you’ve been told that he has his mouth on you.

He starts slowly as you distract yourself with the screen, peppering kisses along your knees and inner thighs, working his way towards your pussy. Teasing you, taunting you, dangling what he knows you want so badly that it aches and has you spasming around absolutely nothing. It takes more effort than you could care to admit to focus your vision on the dialogue options, and even more to remember which one is going to initiate the goddamned scene.

When your shaking hand reaches for the mouse and finally clicks the correct option (thank God), his mouth finally hovers over your slick folds.

Whatever the Emperor says falls on ringing ears. Subtitles are useless, the words blurring together on the screen when his tongue takes its first stride across your core.

Your knuckles are paling from how tightly you grip your poor mouse, and you almost consider what you would do if this situation leads to you breaking such a vital piece of the shared gaming setup, but Eddie’s mouth is quick to distract you. You feel the vibrations of the hums falling from his lips just as they trail to wrap around your clit, forming suction as he gives one harsh suck that has your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. Your eyes can barely manage to stay open as you blindly click for the next dialogue option being presented.

Kiss the tentacle and hope that it’s an erogenous appendage.

Not quite the same path you’d taken before, but it’ll get the job done. Especially when Eddie’s fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs even harsher, pressing himself even harder against you as his tongue dances over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Kitten licks, but every single one sends a bolt of electricity up your spine.

The sound that comes from the Emperor in the game doesn’t matter to you, completely overridden by the audible groan you can just barely catch from Eddie as your headphones begin to slip off.

Was that… a good sound?

You hadn’t noticed you’d breathily recited the words you read across the scene until movement below the desk catches your eye, and Eddie is nodding into your cunt more eagerly than the character on the screen could ever be capable of.

It’s the type of eagerness that has you whimpering, the kind of enthusiasm that guides one of your hands away from the keyboard and down to tangle into the roots of Eddie’s curls.

He’s going to be the death of you.

His grip tightens until he’s tugging your hips hard enough to bring you further slumped down in your seat, letting your thighs cradle either side of his head. His nose bumping your sensitive clit as his tongue circles teasing against your entrance. Once, twice – and then it dives in, pushing you to arch your back, a soft cry leaving you as you yank at his hair.

With a heaving chest, you find yourself reciting another line of words from the screen despite making no move to click any options, “Do it again. Please, God- do it again.”

He lifts to look at you at that, smiling wide with glistening lips and chin alike, “God? Oh, you’re making me blush, babe.”

“Eddie-” you start, but a smack on your thigh from one of his ringed hands effectively shuts you up.

“Play the game, and I’ll do it again.”

Your hand smacks against the mouse, and you must click the right option, the exact command you’d just demanded of Eddie, because the scene continues on.

You’re not watching the screen. Not consistently. Your eyes can’t stop flickering down to your boy, to his dark eyes shining up at you as he keeps his face buried between your thighs, the only thing giving away his current grin being the slightest crinkle beside those eyes.

The entire sequence from before is simply playing out, just as before, but your mind stays on the feeling of Eddie’s tongue on you. When he releases one of your thighs and brings his fingers into the mix, stretching you out far more fully than his tongue had, you’re preening beneath his touch. Gasps, moans, whimpers, sobs – they all fall from your lip as he knows just how to work you. All the right touches to bring your neglected body to the precipice, practically worshiping you on his knees as the brightness of the screen exposes your face to him. Eyes tightly screwed shut, mouth wide open, lips swollen from poor attempts to keep your noises down through biting them.

It only encourages him further. Only has him forgetting entirely about the game as well, the only goal on his mind being making you cum on his tongue.

And you do.

In hot waves, broken calls of his name, both hands tugging mercilessly on his hair. Your thighs are squeezing his cheeks tightly as you clench down on his fingers.

Somewhere between all the whispers of his name, numerous squeaks of please falling from your mouth, he slows down. He gives you a chance to bask in the after-warmth of it all, your entire body buzzing as you catch your breath. You truly, genuinely hadn’t expected to cum that quickly. But it had been a while, and if anyone knew your body well enough to get you off in record speed, it was the man currently still seated on sore knees with a winning grin on his face.

“Your headphones aren’t even on anymore, you cheater,” he teases, sounding just as out of breath as you felt.

You detangle your fingers from his hair, retracting your hands just far enough for one of them to flip him off, “Shut up.”

Your eyes are still closed, head leaning back almost painfully as the headphones cut into your neck. If you could live in this moment forever, you probably would.

He presses forward, placing a quick peck to your sensitive core that makes your legs try to squeeze together instinctually, “Make me.”

At those two words, you finally open your eyes, slowly lolling your head towards him, eyes narrowing at the challenge.

“Get off the floor and onto the bed, and I will.”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

The entire process somehow manages to remind you just how ridiculous the situation was. Watching Eddie clamber clumsily out from beneath your desk, cheekily flashing you the set of panties he’d taken off of you that he shoves into his pocket. Eyes glued on him as he flops himself down onto your shared bed, still looking far too proud of himself.

Your heart swells as you look at the absolute idiot, knowing he was yours.

“Well?” he asks expectantly, raising his eyebrows as he shimmies his shoulders jokingly, “You gonna make me or not, sweetheart?”

You’re quick to start to jump out of your chair, just eager to be close to him again, deciding the game could wait until tomorrow. Just as you do, however, Eddie puts up a hand, biting back an even wider smile.

“I’m only reminding you because I won’t hear the end of it otherwise,” he drawls, slowly pointing a finger back towards the desk, “Don’t forget to press F5.”

You roll your eyes, but you do as he says.

It works. It’ll save you time next time you reload the game – allowing you to skip the entire encounter, considering the way you’ve discovered there are far more fun ways to have your mind blown.

Now, however, it was Eddie’s turn.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

(please let me know if the tagging worked!!)

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson one shot #ghost's stories

623 notes · View notes

love-byers · 2 months

Text

we need to talk about the very real possibility that vecna has been messing with people's memories of will, even his own memories

AND that vecna was messing with the phone so mike and will couldn't talk

they didn't forget will's birthday. they aren't changing his birthday and they aren't changing the dates in s4. they've ackowledged will's birthday on march 22nd 2 years in a row. which means it WAS wills birthday the day mike got to california. which leaves no other option than vecna messing with people's memories so will's birthday is forgotten and he grows lonelier and lonelier and eventually vecna can use him.

if you aren't aware, harry potter and the chamber of secrets is on the s4 inspo board. but to back up a bit, will is very similar to harry potter's character. will and harry can both see what the villain is seeing and feel what the villain is feeling because a piece of the villain is stuck with them, it's a part of them. both of them end up using this against the villain. will and harry both experience bursts of pain associated with the villain. will is connected to the hive mind so when the vines/ud/vecna is burned, he feels like he's being burned too. harry's scar feels like it's on fire when he has a vision of voldemorts pov and when he is near. in s3 after will is sure he's feeling the mind flayer again and he's drawing pictures to explain how it left a mark on him, that's essentially what happen to harry when he was a baby and voldemort tried to kill him.

also vecna...voldemort...yeah

in chamber of secrets harry went the whole summer thinking ron and hermione didn't care about him anymore because he never got a single letter or call. not even on his birthday. the first chapter of chamber of secrets is called the worst birthday.

but harry finds out that ron and hermione had been sending him letters, but dobby the elf had been intercepting them and hiding them. he did it because he knew voldemorts plan of getting into hogwarts and to harry, so he wanted harry to think no one cared about him at hogwarts so he wouldn't go back, because if he did go back he'd be in great danger.

this could mean so many things for what happened between s3 and 4, in s4 and what'll happen in s5

el and mike couldn't talk on the phone because it would put el at risk. he makes sure she has her walker before she leaves and says he'll steal cerebro to talk to her. and in s4 you can see el's walkie in her mike shrine clear as day. mike and el cannot talk on the phone. they communicate through walkies and letters.

but dustin still says, "joyce has this telemarketer job she's always on the phone, mike won't stop whining about it."

he's not whining because he can't talk to el. he's whining because he can't talk to will. undebatable.

but after dustin says that, the hawkins gang start to think it can't just be joyce's job because the phone is ringing and ringing for hours. i bring this up because the writers have already introduced one instance of the phone being busy, but not because of joyce's job.

so what if that's happened before too? clearly it's not out of the realm of possibility.

what if vecna was intercepting the phone line when mike tried to call? so he thought the phone was busy and it never even rung for will? and it went the other way around too, so they could never talk? so will would think his favorite person doesn't care about him?

or, what if it's true that henry's good conscience is alive and he's really just under the control of the mind flayer like people theorize, and he's intercepting the phone line because he doesn't want will to go back to hawkins, because if he does, he'll be in danger just like harry was?

OR, what if the phone interception isn't to hurt will, but to hurt mike? there's piles of theories about why mike is a good candidate to be vecnad in s5, so what if it was an attempt to make mike think his favorite person has moved on and doesn't care about him anymore, making him sad easier to target? but mike left for california, so vecna wasnt able to get him.

the possibilities here are endless. i'm so excited for s5!!!!!!

edit: after i posted this i started thinking more about the fact that will doesn't act nearly sad enough for someone who's birthday was forgotten by everyone. he acts like he doesn't even know it's his birthday.

in response to the birthdaygate theory, the duffers said something along the lines of, "we aren't that cruel". now we all know how sneaky the duffers are. so i think this is a way of them saying "oh don't worry, will isn't hurt by everyone forgetting his birthday because he doesn't even know it's his birthday."

remember what joyce said in s2 when will was posessed?

"Do you know what March 22nd is? It's your birthday."

i think this is foreshadowing that vecna is messing with will, because the last time will didn't know what his birthday was, he was possessed.

and in s4, will doesn't know what march 22nd is.

VECNA STAY AWAY FROM HIM I SWEAR TO GOD

i made a whole post about the harry potter parallel here

also a post about mike and el only communicating through the walkies and letters here

#stranger things #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler endgame #byler analysis #stranger things 4 #st5 #st5 speculation #st5 theory

233 notes · View notes

thatfreshi · 1 year

Text

He's Not Sick, Is He? (Astarion x reader)

I had this thought the other day, and am interested to explore it. The way Astarion describes how he feels after Cazador's death as 'numb,' I have a feeling he would slip into a bout of depression for a while after, unsure of what to do now, unsure of what his purpose is now that Cazador is gone. Might make a resolved part two of this.

tw - ed behaviors, self-harm, gore, drinking

Recommended Song: Swingin Party - Lorde

You and Astarion stayed at a nearby inn the weeks after Cazador's demise. The innkeeper let the two of you stay as long as you needed, as a way of saying thanks for dealing with one of the worst vermin in the city. With everything handled, the Absolute gone, the mind flayers off your minds, there was nothing left to do. You remember that evening, when you two stumbled into the inn room, feeling as if your bodies were going to fall apart. Astarion though, he felt it in a way that was indescribable. He expected there to be this weight off his shoulders, for the air to suddenly feel clearer, and yet there was nothing.

When you sat on the edge of the bed to start taking off your blood-stained clothes, he simply went to the washroom without a word, practically slamming the door. You were no stranger to the occasional vampiric hissy-fit, but this was far from that. The energy he was radiating, it hurt, got caught in your throat like choking on tears.

As soon as the door closed, he tried to hold back tears. He was alone now, but if he wasn't careful you'd hear him, crying like a baby after doing the only thing he's ever wanted to. Who frees themselves and sobs about it? No, he shouldn't feel this way, not empty and pathetic. Instead of trying to wash up, Astarion simply slipped back against the door, and sat there in whatever this feeling was. You choose not to disturb him, sure that he just needs some time to himself. You fall asleep eventually. He doesn't come to bed for hours.

The next day, you wake up before him, quite the odd occurrence. You decide not to wake him, knowing he's exhausted. He deserves some restful sleep. But his sleep is in fact not restful. It's light, serving almost no purpose. His mind is still far too active, never truly drifting into anything peaceful. Your shuffling around the room wakes him quite easily. When you hear him move around in the sheets, you turn quickly.

"I'm sorry my love, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright."

He says nothing else, and you move to sit on the bed as he lies there.

"How are you feeling?"

Astarion isn't quite sure how to respond. It feels like there's this void in his chest, perhaps his entire torso. Usually he would love waking up to you, make some quip about how gorgeous you are despite the bedhead, but nothing comes.

"Tired."

Odd. He only has to sleep for a couple of hours, and yet he's tired? You brush it off, thinking that perhaps it just wasn't good sleep.

"That's alright. Do you need anything? A drink?"

"No, I think I'm just going to sit here a while longer."

He's barely moved since he awoke.

"Aster, you haven't had any blood since the day before Cazador's. You need something, especially after all of that energy you used up."

The vampire turns in the sheets, looking away from you, wrapping himself in the blanket.

"I'll be alright."

"Nonsense, you need-"

"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all Tav."

His words wound you, but you try not to take it personally.

"Alright. I'll give you some space."

Steps out the door, the light closing of the entrance. Astarion still in the sheets, wearing the same blood-covered clothes from yesterday. He begins to weep again, waiting just long enough that he knows you've gone downstairs.

You're met with the rest of your companions downstairs, who are all glad to see you.

"Well well, if it isn't Tav. Is the vampiric hero of the realm joining us for breakfast?"

Gale is in quite a good mood, happy to be alive and well.

"No he... he just needs to rest a little longer."

You sound unsure of yourself, but they don't question it. You understand Astarion better than any of them, and yet you were stumped by his behavior. He's never been this short with you.

"I don't blame him. I barely got up this morning as well."

Shadowheart smiles, drinking a fresh cup of tea.

"Well, now that we're all freed of the Absolute and our other various problems, where are we all headed?"

Karlach has been waiting for this moment, excited to start living a life outside of the terror that was the cultists. The group all starts talking about how they'll probably stay in the city, just in case Baldur's Gate ever needs them again. Gale talks about how he'll have to move everything from his tower in Waterdeep, and many of your companions offer to help with the move.

"What about you and Astarion? I'm sure you two lovebirds have some big plans now that he's free."

Of course, Karlach meant it kindly, but you were stumped. What would the two of you do now?

"We haven't really had time to talk about it. I'm sure we'll come up with something soon."

She thankfully takes the answer at face value. After a hour or so of chatting, you take your leave, heading back to your room. You softly knock, letting Astarion know you're coming in. He hasn't moved, but he hasn't slept either. You don't say anything, instead you move to lie next to him, wrapping your arms around him. Usually your touch is electrifying, so welcome, but he can barely feel it. Your soft fingers, the embrace of your arms, your breath on his shoulder, it all means nothing. Why does it mean nothing?

"You really should feed soon Astarion."

He says nothing, simply wondering if he'll feel like this forever. Was it a final curse that Cazador bestowed?

"I... I don't feel like it. I don't really feel like doing anything."

"I know my love, but you at least need some blood."

"It can wait. Maybe tomorrow."

Tomorrow comes, and the day after, and many days after that. The two of you stay at the inn, barely having spoken about anything. You try to insist to your friends that he's sick, which wouldn't be entirely incorrect.

"Should I come see him?"

"No, no need Shadowheart. It's just a bad cold, it'll pass soon enough."

One by one, your companions make their way out of the inn, and Gale is the last one to stay. One evening, you're at the bar downstairs, and Gale comes to drink with you.

"This seat taken?"

"No, just me."

You take a long swig of whatever the barkeep poured in your cup. He situates himself on the stool beside you, motioning for a glass a wine.

"Tav... he's not sick, is he?"

You shake for a moment, tears start forming. It takes all of your energy to speak a single word.

"No."

Silence.

"No he... he's barely done anything since we got back. We barely talk. He hasn't had any blood Gale I- I'm really scared."

He takes a somber sip of his wine.

"I know you care about his privacy, understandably, but why wouldn't you tell us?"

You try to take another sip of your drink, but shake too much.

"Because I'm afraid it's my fault. That maybe by stopping the ritual, I somehow did this to him."

Gale takes one of your shaking hands. You're not used to warm touch.

"You didn't do anything wrong. We both know he would've become a monster if he went through with that godforsaken ritual. Have you considered that he's just feeling a little lost? After all, this is all he's wanted for centuries, to see his master fall."

You try to dry your tears.

"Yes, of course, I knew he'd be emotional... but this? I've never seen him like this.

"It will pass Tav, you just have to be there for him."

"How am I supposed to be there for him when he barely even talks to me? I keep trying, trying to tell him that it's alright, that I'm here, but it doesn't help. He won't even drink from me."

"Perhaps there's nothing you can do. He might just need time."

You manage to finish your drink.

"What if he never gets better?'

Gale doesn't meet your eyes, taking yet another sip.

"I know I'm the optimist amongst us, but we just have to hope. All we can do is hope."

You order another drink, and the two of you drink in silence for a while, until eventually he retires to his room.

"I leave for Waterdeep tomorrow, to go get my things, but I'll be back soon enough. Send a pigeon if you need me?"

You nod, a somber smile on your face.

"Thank you Gale. Best of luck in your travels."

You stay frozen at the bar for a while, not wanting to go back to the room, not wanting to face your lover fading away. He refuses to leave, even when your companions left the inn, he refused to say goodbye. When you do decide to come back, you softly knock, as always. He's strewn about in the sheets, reading some tome he's read a million times before. You come sit on the floor by the edge of the bed. He doesn't seem to notice you at first, eyes moving slowly across words he already knows. Just something to do, something easy, something that doesn't make his body feel like a bag of bricks when he thinks about it.

"Do you think you're ready to feed yet?"

Astarion simply shakes his head.

"Please my love, please. I know it's hard right now, but please just try."

"I don't know, I just... I don't think I can."

You sigh, holding back tears, streams still wet on your face from the bar. Instead of pleading with him, you grab a nearby bottle and your knife, taking them both to the washroom. You slice clean down your arm, wincing at the pain of the blade. You haven't sharpened it in a while, leaving jagged lines down your forearm. He hears you, but can't bring himself to say anything, simply feeling guilty. You take the mouth of the bottle to your arm, letting the blood drip into the glass. It burns, you didn't even think of cleaning the blade beforehand. You let it bleed though, until the bottle is full. You grit your teeth as you clean the wound, wrapping it in some spare bandage, fully knowing it will leave an ugly scar. When you leave the washroom, you put the bottle on the nightstand nearest to Astarion.

"There. For whenever you're ready."

And with that, you leave again, slowly closing the door, your arm throbbing in pain. He looks at the bottle, knowing what you've done, and he tears up again, something he hasn't managed to do in front of you all this time. You're frustrated, and you don't know with who, but it makes you sick to your stomach. It's as if the life has been drained from him, like he'll never be the same. You leave the inn, and walk for a long time, wasting the hours of the night crying as you drift to wherever. You get a few odd looks, but no one dares stop to ask why you're crying in the middle of the street this late. At some point, your feet stop carrying you, and you sit against the rock in some alley, hugging your knees, fully sobbing into the fabric of your pants. You're scared, scared to go back, scared to see the bottle still full on the table. For a moment, just a moment, you think what would happen if you left him there, if you disappeared. Guilt overwhelms you, causing the tears to fall faster. No, you have to go back, but not now. Not now, but soon. You silently hope soon doesn't come too fast, and you feel horrible for it. But for now, you have a couple hours in this dark alley, a couple hours before you feel the need to check on him again. And you begin sobbing again, knowing that nothing will have changed when dawn comes.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst

692 notes · View notes