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thespookiestparker · 9 days

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The Price Of Freedom

A/N: hello everyone!! it feels very weird to be coming back to this blog with a new fic but I’ve been trying to put this together for months, I’ve finally torn myself away from the game for long enough to write about it lol enjoy!

p.s. I also made this playlist after I romanced him for the very first time and it was what I was listening to if you want some ✨mood music✨

Summary: Astarion struggles with his newfound livelihood now that he isn’t bound to Cazador

Pairing: Spawn!Astarion x GN!Tav

CW: Angst (That gets resolved), blood mention/description (kind of inevitable with a vampire but 🤷🏻‍♂️)

Over your time traveling with your newfound friends, you and Astarion had grown to be what you considered close. When everyone else had bedded down for the night, the two of you would more often than not find each other.

It had taken time, and you honestly weren’t sure it would happen. For a while, you were left to wonder if Astarion even liked anyone at camp, let alone you. Sometimes, he’d let things slip, though.

Like when you threw a pile of shit at that goblin’s face, he’d let out a soft chuckle. Short and sweet, something you’re sure he didn’t mean to set free, but he did nonetheless before the fighting had broken out. Or, a week later, when you’d started to catch him sneaking glances at you over the campfire as you spoke to Gale or Wyll. You could’ve sworn that a flash of jealousy flashed in his eyes from time to time, but you’d never tell him that you noticed. You didn’t want to embarrass him, even if he would never admit to feeling that kind of emotion.

It all came to a head at the party that was held at your camp with the tieflings from the emerald grove, when he’d asked to sneak away with you for the night for some ‘fun’. Something about him had seemed…off that night when you looked back on it. Astarion had seemed too composed for someone who’d been drinking. The vampire hadn’t said much about his past by then, other than that he’d had a master in Baldur’s Gate who had treated him like he was less than nothing. You could tell that pity wasn’t the answer here, that he would only take offense to something like that, so instead you showed him respect. He was a formidable ally, after all, you couldn’t afford to lose him, even if you hadn’t developed feelings for him.

Now, you were almost inseparable. Every time you fell in battle, he was the first to rush to help you up, and at first you weren’t sure if it was because he’d smelled your blood or if he was genuinely trying to help. That was, until you saw his eyes widen in a way you’d never seen before and only a few times since, vulnerable concern etched into his pale face. It made a pang of guilt explode in your chest that you’d ever thought any less of him.

Every day seemed to allow you to peel away at his prickly, impatient, and overall grumpy layers to get to the man beneath. The softer, more broken elf that had been hiding behind all these nearly impenetrable walls that he only seemed to let down around you, though it had been only partial to start. Even if someone else in the party was able to take a glimpse, you were slowly piecing together the whole picture.

Or at least, you thought you were.

It was the night before you were to reach Baldur’s Gate when the next one of those walls came crashing down around him, startling both of you.

You sought him out in the night, as you usually did, but when you peered into his tent, it was empty. Before you had time to process that, you heard his voice in the form of a deep growl behind you,

“What are you doing?”

Your body whipped around to face him, immediately noticing how he was towering over you. The blood on his chin glistened in the faint light of the moon, catching your gaze before his eyes of the same piercing red did.

You must’ve had a fearful look on your face because he seemed to snap back into his own mind, his expression going from a feral sort of anger to something akin to the familiar loving and vulnerable look you’d come to adore. But this was different. There was a deep sort of pain in his eyes, it made you instinctively extend your hand to him before he tore himself away.

“Don’t touch me.” he spat, his voice guarded and icy. He nearly pushed past you to get to his tent, to shroud himself in the familiarity of complete darkness and isolation.

“Astarion, wait—“ you tried, your hand hesitantly floating between the two of you as he angrily gripped the flap of his tent.

“Just. Leave me be. For tonight.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper just before he disappeared behind the red burlap of his tent.

The heaviness in your heart was devastating and cold, but you left him alone for now and decided to sit by the fire instead. Keeping watch over your sleeping friends as tears spilled silently over your cheeks.

All you could think about was comforting him, holding him in your arms until the pain seeped out of him in waves. But you weren’t about to go against his wishes, so instead you let your emotions run free until you fell asleep. You didn’t mention anything to the others in the morning, and you didn’t want them to notice. Astarion’s business was his own to share, not yours, so you weren’t going to let your emotions get in the way of that. He deserved privacy after all this time, you weren’t about to get in the way of that.

The next days distanced the two of you as your group explored the city. He seemed just as closed off as when you’d started your adventure, if not more, and you were afraid that nothing could get him to open up to you again. It seemed like the others may have noticed as well, though it wasn’t exactly a secret. The silence between the two of you was loud enough to be heard miles away.

“OOO! A circus! Can we go?!” Karlach squealed, gesturing to a sign that displayed a brightly colored poster for something called ‘The Circus of The Last Days’.

Maybe not everyone had noticed. No one else had said anything to contradict you, so you didn’t touch upon it.

“Sure, we can go.” You chuckle, trying your hardest to seem normal right now, for Astarion’s sake if not yours. You lead everyone into the circus, past the elf and the ghoul at the gate, and you all end up splitting off until it was just you and Astarion. You half expected him to distance himself from you again, since he’d seemed to need to be alone, but then his words from last night echoed in your mind.

“Just for tonight”

You weren’t sure why he’d suddenly wanted the distance, but you didn’t want to question it. He was well within his rights, but you couldn’t help the worry gnawing in your stomach that you were constantly pushing down.

All of it was interrupted when he slipped his hand in yours, a discreet maneuver that would’ve gone unnoticed by anyone looking at the two of you, before you felt him squeeze it. A wordless apology, which you happily accepted for now. You could talk later, for now, it felt safe to be enjoying the circus amidst the chaos that was your lives.

“Darling, do you think a statue of me would be too much for our little camp?” He asked, his normal smug confidence radiating from him as he posed next to a nearby tent. It was owned by a mud mephit and his wife, who were conveniently named Boney and Stoney, and advertised statues made of the likeness of any passersby willing to pay their price.

“It costs 5,000 gold!” You laughed, shaking your head at him as you tugged on his arm in a vain attempt to pull him away from said tent.

“So? Don’t you want something to immortalize my beauty for all of eternity?”

“I don’t need it, I already have you.”

The love and care you shower him with never ceased to take him off his guard, but he smiled regardless and continued on with you through the circus, enjoying the frivolous nature of the it all.

Days of traveling later, once your party had not only found Cazador, but made sure he was good and dead, you decided to at least attempt to breach the subject when he seemed to be more stable. Your relationship was so fragile that something this deep and painful could shatter it, which was exactly what you didn’t want.

That night, you found him just as you always did on nights like these, sitting by the dying fire as the rest of your friends headed to their separate corners of your dwelling for the night.

“May I join you?” You ask softly, gently touching his shoulder now that he’d been the first one to make physical contact earlier that day. You always let him take the lead on things like that because you wanted to let him be the one to make the choice of whether or not he wanted that kind of affection, knowing he had so little of his own autonomy for so many years. Even if he had expressed to you that it was becoming easier to differentiate you from those sorts of feelings.

“Of course, darling, always.” He responds in a similar tone, turning his head to look at you as you sat yourself beside him which made some of his stark white curls fall into his eyes.

“There have been times when you seemed to…” You pause, considering your wording for a moment, “...disagree with that statement.”

“That was different, I was…not myself.” He seemed almost disgusted by something, presumably something about himself or the way he acted last night.

“I’ve never seen you that way, it was almost like you were—”

“A vampire?” he interrupted, and you rest your hand over his where it lay on his knee,

“Someone else…You know that I see you for more than what you are. That I always have.”

“Regardless, I am lucky that you saw me in that state and not anyone else. I haven’t been that disheveled since I was first turned, and anyone else would only see a monster, which frustrates me all the more,” without letting you speak, he continued. Seeming to be fueled by the traumatizing anguish that lies within him, or at least some of it, “because it isn’t fair! I didn’t ask to be a monster! No one told me that I’d be cursed this way, and I regret not dying that night on the street—“ he exploded into a rage, though it was like the one you had seen the night he came back to camp. The same deeply seeded pain behind his eyes was ever present as he roared such hurtful words. He stood quickly, turning away from you as shame diffused from his being.

“Astarion…” You cried, holding out your hand for him only to see him flinch away. As if he was afraid you would hurt him, which made a burning pain spread through you emanating from your heart. It felt wrong, like you’d only made things worse without intending to. The tears that welled in your eyes came without your permission but you were helpless to do anything but keep them from falling.

“What?!” He whirled around to face you, his face spattered with tears. A level of distress and anger you hadn’t seen from him since Cazador’s passing. You’re suddenly reminded of the image that was him, kneeling over his former master’s lifeless body as he sobbed. Shirtless and covered in blood.

It had broken your heart to see him that way, but he’d needed that moment to let what had just happened wash over him. To finally be free.

You snapped back to reality when Astarion seemed to realize what he’d said, and how it had affected you as he roughly rubbed at his tear-stained cheeks.

“I…I don’t really think that way. This…all of this…has been… a bit much for me. Knowing that he forever changed me. That I’ll never truly have a chance to be something other than a monster in the eyes of most–”

You step forward, once again extending your hands but stopping just before you make contact with his skin to ask silent permission from him. He nodded with little to no hesitation, urging you on before you gently cupped his cheeks and continued to speak, “I don’t think that you’re a monster…You’ve said it yourself, you are so much more than he made you. I, for one, fully believe that. If you don’t believe it yourself right away, that’s more than alright, because I’ll be here to remind you. Every step of the way.”

He almost can’t look at you, more salty tears threatening to spill from his red and puffy eyes.

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to right now. All that you need to do right now is to rest. We both should.” You answer gently yet firmly, starting to pull your hands from his face before he grabbed one of your wrists.

“Don’t,” he started, an air of desperation in his words, “I…I haven’t been the kindest to you, and I apologize for that, but I don’t want to be alone. Please.” You hadn’t planned on leaving him, but usually touch was something that had made him uncomfortable so you were simply ending the contact even though he seemed to take it a different way.

“You won’t be alone…I’m here.” You reassure, moving your hand to his shoulder instead while letting him hold your wrist. “But I stand by my statement. Come on,” You lead him inside his own tent, bedding down with him for the first time since the night he’d come back to camp covered in something else’s blood, though it would be far from the last.

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thot-writes · 1 year

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i just posted art of my werewolf tav & astarion so y’know what?? take this fic to go along w it. what would astarion/the gang do if u were a lil werewolf (i did not mean for it to get this long lol)

your vampire not-quite-boyfriend + the gang find out you’re a cheeky little pup (act i post-grove);

Lycanthropy wasn’t something you were born into like some. No, like most others bearing the curse you were infected with it. The transformation process was an excruciating, torturous one that is still branded into your very bones.

The bloodlust festers in you, day and night, like a splinter that’s burrowed too deep for you to dig out. It calls for you to rip, tear, dominate— kill. But you can suppress it. Mostly. You refuse to be one of the many werewolves that is controlled only by their base instincts.

But every full moon the beast blood takes you completely, and you have no choice but to transform. You never remember the night after you’ve turned back. Only brief snippets of red, pain, and fur.

Despite not tracking the stars, you can normally tell when a full moon’s coming because your body begins to ache, preparing itself to split open to birth the savage wolf that slumbers within. Usually you’d start your preparations to restrain yourself, to limit the carnage as much as possible.

But these aren’t usual times.

Three weeks ago you were captured from your home by mind flayers and infected with a tadpole, your entire world turned inside out with stranger things happening every day.

You now travel with a Sharran, a githyanki, two ticking time-bombs, a warlock, and a vampire.

One of their spawn, at least. It’s a good thing that in Faerûn, vampires and lycanthropes tend to be neutral towards each other — unlike what the romance novels would have you believe. Otherwise it’d make the regular sex you’re having with Astarion quite awkward.

You’d think that knowing all the sordid details about your travelling companions would bid you to confess your lycanthropy, but you could never find a way to bring it up.

Or, more accurately, you could bring it up you just didn’t want to. Not necessarily out of trauma, just convenience on your part. Confessing lycanthropy normally comes with questions, and the way you were turned is… kind of embarrassing, so you’re never keen to retell it.

But tonight, the moon will tell everyone for you. if you don’t get out in time.

The whole day your blood hammered in your flesh, your head splitting apart in a horrific headache and your bones feeling as if they could break and reshape at any moment. You lied to your companions, insisted you must’ve just drank too much last night at camp, and they bought it. Kind of. You hope.

You retired early for the day and whilst the others lounge about the camp you’re near biting your fingers off in uneasy anticipation of what’s to come. You need an excuse— any excuse to get the fuck out of here before the moon fully rises. You think you have an hour at most before you’re no longer you.

“My, but you’ve been looking ill all day, [Name]. I don’t recall you drinking that much last night.”

You almost jump out of your skin. Your heightened senses of smell and hearing usually help in preventing unpleasant surprises, but not today, not when you’re so on-edge. It was Astarion’s lilted voice that called from behind you. A sweet tune you’re all-too-happy to hear, in regular circumstances.

He gazes at you with that hard-to-read gleam in his eyes. The kind of gleam where you’re not sure if it’s because he knows something, is hiding something, or wants to tease you. You manage a shaky smile in response.

“You weren’t with me the whole night, Astarion. We slept separately,” you attempt.

“That night anyway,” he adds with a pretty little grin on his lips. You notice his gaze flickering over your body. “So you’re saying after I drank from you, you… what? Went back to your tent for some late-night binge drinking? Not that I’m surprised, you seem the type, but even still. Your hangover looks particularly… aggressive.”

You throw your hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “What, are you gonna throw an intervention for me? Gonna beat me up? Write me a letter about how much my drinking affects you?”

He chuckles. “Oh please, as if I care that much. I’m just saying that you seem a little sicker than alcohol would leave you.” He gasps, then presses a hand to his face. “What if you were poisoned? By someone in this very camp? How scandalous! My money’s on the gith.”

“If I was poisoned my money’s on you bitch.”

A grin. He always seems to smile so much in your presence. You wonder how much is real. You wonder if you’re overthinking it, or if you smile just as much as he does.

You’re ripped away from your thoughts as a terrible pain grips you. It takes all your strength not to double over right there— you’ve already drawn too much scrutiny, you don’t want more. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your trembling hands still as the curse makes itself known. The pain you experience in transforming is what you’d imagine childbirth to be — if you gave birth to a baby out of every pore. You’ve only had this curse a scant few years, how have people managed to live entire lives with it?

Astarion notices your struggle. He tilts his head and looks on. “You really do seem like you’ve been poisoned. Or at least I hope that’s all it is. If you’re sick then I’m afraid you’ll be sleeping alone for a while longer yet, pup. I don’t want… whatever that is.”

You grit your teeth to prevent a cry. “I’m fi—iine!” you grunt. The pain lapses for a moment, this is your chance to leave. “I just— I have—uhh— really bad diarrhoea!”

“What?”

You make a show of holding your stomach and slouching. “Oh man it’s soooo bad right now, I’m probably gonna be shitting up a storm in the forest all night!”

“Gods above, please… spare me the details. Just go.” Astarion waves you off and grimaces at the mental image you’ve conjured for him.

“Okay, I better go have violent diarrhoea everywhere in the forest now— don’t follow me! Don’t look for me! Don’t let anyone look for me! I gotta go, goodnight! Don’t look for me!”

You give him no time to answer as you sprint into the wilderness. Your heart is hammering and your pulse quickening. You feel you only have a few more minutes until…

A scream escapes you before you can stop it, your skin is starting to bulge and split, revealing [colour] fur beneath it. No— not now, you’re still too close to camp— just hold on a little longer.

You gather all the strength you have, which is more than usual with the wolf so near, and run.

You’re deep in the wild now. Your screams are more frequent, your body produces sickening crunching sounds as the wolf starts its escape. You collapse to the forest floor, writhing in abject agony as your body tears itself apart. Transforming like this only ever takes a few minutes, but it always feels so infinitely long.

Soon your cries morph into a pained howl, and the birthing process is complete. Your mind has now been banished to the darkest recesses of you, and in its place is a beast.

It’s a blur each time you’re turned like this. When it’s of your own volition the process is simpler, quicker— though no less painful. You can maintain control if you focus hard enough. But the forced transformations are a different experience entirely. There is no control, only hunger. Only fangs, claws, and a deep, insatiable yearning for prey.

Astarion did as you asked. He didn’t search for you, not even when he heard that first scream. The thought of walking in on you… projectile excreting was enough of a deterrent to stay his curiosity.

But hours have passed since then. He couldn’t hear you, there was only quiet. When Gale asked where you were, he simply said you had taken ill. But now Astarion was the only one left awake, and there was still no sign of you.

You had been acting off all day. He didn’t believe it was simply a hangover, he’d seen many in his lifetime but they never caused anyone to disappear into the woods. As far as he knew.

But then… what was this odd subtle tightness settling in his chest? The thought that maybe something had happened to you, and you were no longer safe?

Could it possibly be that he was… worried about you?

He shakes his head. No, of course not. You’re nothing more than a target, a meat shield for if and when things go wrong. He didn’t have any feelings towards you, and certainly not enough to worry.

Astarion stays awake. Not for you, of course— perish the thought— he just wanted to get more reading done. Obviously.

Another hour passes.

Then one more.

Still nothing.

He’s coursing with anxious energy now and gets to his feet. What if you’d been turned into a mindflayer? What would that mean for the rest of them? Because of course it was his own well-being he was concerned for— definitely not yours!

He goes to the tent nearest to him, Lae’zel’s, and shakes her awake.

She grunts and sits up. “Chk, what is it Astarion? Why have you disturbed me?”

“[Name] still hasn’t returned, and dawn’s almost here,” he answers. His voice is a little shaky, but it’s probably because he’s a bit cold. “We should try to find them.”

Lae’zel nods curtly and begins to rise. She slings her sword over her back and says to Astarion, “Wake the others. If [Name] has become ghaik, we will need to put them down.”

A knot forms in his stomach as he turns to rouse the others. He finds himself hoping you haven’t been transformed— then quickly catches himself and buries the feeling.

He wakes them and explains the situation, and the group splits off into pairs to search for you; Wyll and Karlach, Shadowheart and Gale, Lae’zel and Astarion.

One would think someone with your supposed illness would be leaving… traces. But there’s nothing. It was almost like you’d just vanished— until Karlach had found your clothes. There was no blood on them, no damage, no filth (at least no more than usual).

The search continues.

Dawn isn’t far. Just a little longer.

As Astarion and Lae’zel scout together, he catches a whiff of blood in the distance. Animal blood, certainly. But it seems like… a lot. He notifies Lae’zel and they follow the scent, only to come across a mauled boar carcass. It’s practically been reduced to a puddle with how much carnage was heaved upon it, and what’s more…

There’s massive paw prints in the dirt. Soaked in the blood of the boar. Could this creature have hunted you? Is that why you never returned?

They alert the others and follow the tracks, along the way finding great claw marks in the trunks of the trees, various piles of viscera from unfortunate beasts, and small patches of fur. Fur the exact same colour as your hair…

The tracks lead to a small clearing in the forest, and in the middle of said clearing is… you.

Well, not you-you, but the hunkering direwolf-humanoid you turned into.

You’re crouched down, curled into a ball as your mind rends itself in twain. As dawn approaches, so too do your senses begin to return, but the wolf is not ready to relinquish control — it never is. The two of you battle for dominance in a silent struggle, ignorant to the group surrounding you from the trees.

Your werewolf self is a grotesque, fearsome thing, even as you’re lurching in pain. Your fur is an exact match of your natural hair colour, as are your eyes, even though in this form they’re clouded in rage and hunger. If you were stood upright, they’d see how you reached just over nine feet tall, how your hands and paws were lined with razor-sharp claws. Even as pathetic as you are in your current state, you’re still no creature to be trifled with.

Shadowheart steels herself as Lae’zel raises her sword high, prepared to strike you while you’re distracted.

“Abomination,” she spits, venom heavy on her tongue. “Lurk in these woods no longer, you die by my hand.”

She brings the blade down in a wide crescent motion, and you barely move out of the way in time. She’s managed to cut you, but you’re lucky to have missed the brunt of the attack.

You leap away from Lae’zel only to move into Karlach’s range of attack. She strikes you with her battleaxe and you roar as it slices into the skin of your back. Your wound quickly heals, and you spin around to swing a clawed hand in her direction. Your fist meets her side, and she’s flung feet away.

The group— your group— begins their surprisingly well-orchestrated assault, and it becomes clear that, as strong as you are, you cannot hold out for long. Not against all of them. Probably not even against half of them.

But the gods sometimes grant small mercies. The sun finally breaks, the Dawnlord’s radiance has weakened the wolf’s chokehold on you, and you stumble backwards. Your body begins to rapidly decay and break apart, and the others step back and watch the spectacle cautiously.

In less than a minute, the vicious wolf you were has become naught but gore, and underneath is your naked body, soaked in blood.

“What the fuck— [Name]?! I’m not seeing things am I? Tell me I’m not seeing things!” Karlach exclaims, suddenly overcome with guilt at having tried to kill you.

Gale watches in resignation as you limp, holding your beaten and broken body. “You’re not. That’s our [Name], alright. A lycanthrope... What a shock.” Because of course the group can’t have one normal person, can it?

Astarion is simultaneously the most and least surprised at this revelation. “So you’re telling me this entire time I’ve been sleeping with a werewolf? Ugh, there’s a joke about giving a dog a bone in there somewhere, but I’m too tired to think of it.”

You collapse, exhaustion claiming your mind after a long, blood-filled night.

When you awake a couple hours later, you find you’re tucked in your bedroll, wounds tended to and dressed once again. How did you get here, you wonder? You leave your tent to find your friends waiting around in a circle by the long-dead fire.

Astarion’s the first to notice you. “Ah, darling, you’re finally awake! I don’t suppose you’d be up for a little chat, would you? I believe we’re owed an explanation.”

You freeze. An explanation for what? Did they find you and take you back here? Do they know what you are?

You don’t have to wait long for an answer.

“After everything we’ve been through, travelling together these last few weeks, I’d have thought we developed enough trust between us. But apparently not.” Gale pauses, then looks you in the eyes. “Why did you hide what you are from us?”

“This fuckin’ world is so fucked up,” you say, folding your arms and scrunching your face. “We got two people with bombs in their chests and a guy who drinks blood but because I turn into a rabid dog once a month I’m the bad guy, really?”

“We’re not saying you’re a bad guy, we’re wondering why you didn’t trust us!” Karlach protests. “We’re supposed to be friends aren’t we?”

You frown a little and slump your shoulders. “We are friends. But we’re already dealing with sooo much bullshit I just thought it’d be better if I dealt with it myself, y’know. I mean it’s not like you can help me with it anyway, cures are hard to find and lycanthropy isn’t as bad as tadpoles and orbs and devils.”

“I’m fine with your condition [Name], so long as you don’t transform in front of me, that is,” Shadowheart chimes. “But aside from that… that wolf form seemed quite formidable. Perhaps we can make use of it, now that we know.”

Astarion claps his hands excitedly. “Oh yes! I’d love to see that! Werewolves can be quite vicious you know, always good fun to see the hounds on a hunt.”

Shadowheart turns to him. “You’re not mad that your lover’s a werewolf, Astarion? I’d have thought you’d be more upset, as a vampire and all.”

He rests a hand on his hip and half heartedly inspects his nails. “Oh please, werewolves and vampires are just as likely to be allies as they are to be enemies. Cazador has had so many wolf pets over the years, I suppose it was only a matter of time until I got my own.”

“You’ve got it ass-backwards Astarion, if anything you’re my pet vampire,” you tease.

“How dare you! Here I thought puppies were supposed to be cute and obedient,” he cries in mock offence.

“Says the one who gets on all fours for a dog—”

Gale clears his throat loudly and claps his hands. “Ahem! Alright, now that that’s settled, I hope there won’t be anymore surprise revelations about the members of our group. Gods know we have more than enough of them to last a lifetime. Shall we get on? We have a long day ahead.”

It’s of a great relief to you that they didn’t ask too many questions, though you somehow suspect you’ll be telling them the humiliating story of your infection someday soon. In such a short time, you’ve grown fond of your new friends, and even fonder for a certain vampire…

And you’re sure you have a long, long road ahead of you yet.

#my posts #reader insert #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate iii fanfic #astarion x mc #astarion x you #one shot #baldurs gate iii oneshot #gender neutral reader #werewolf x vampire #vampire x werewolf #METAL AGAINST METAL #can u guys tell how much i love bg3 and these lil goofballs?

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