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themadlu · 25 days

Note

I absolutely love Zelie!

Could you write something set right after the game ends? She is tired as hell and overstressed and Astarion tries to make her feel better?

Thanks for the ask @spacebarbarianweird! I'm so happy you like her, as I love Tiriel! Wonder if they'd get along, uh.

Premise, I have never done asks (unless it's for a writing exercise) nor I am good (capable?) of writing fluff. So beware, there's as much fluff I can muster here, with a smidge of angst.

TW: none.

Tags: end-of-game spoilers (I haven't finished it yet, so if something is incorrect sorry!), fluff (kinda?), these two love in quality time and acts of service.

Hope you like it!

The charred edges of a frayed shirt stare at Astarion from the floor. He glares at them, at what they represent, in contempt: his return to the shadows. All that unprecedented (and mostly unwilling) heroism he displayed in fighting the Netherbrain served him nothing. Nothing. Not even saving Baldur’s Gate makes him worthy of a life in the sun, it seems, because, as soon as that jiggly monstrosity fell to its death, Astarion began to burn and the hunger tore at his insides.

On the run, again, nothing more than a ravenous monster lurking in the shadows.

(Somewhere, his conscience reminds him that real monsters don’t have impossible little heroes shielding them from the harming light with their own broken bodies.)

The elf laughs bitterly at that, hissing when his grimace irritates the still-healing skin around his mouth.

And yet…

Steps resonate further down the hallway with a familiarity that makes his ears twitch in recognition and his body tense in eagerness.

…she’s here.

Zélie opens the door of their shared bedroom (Only theirs, finally.), closing it promptly behind her to block the stray sun rays from the corridor’s windows. A funereal darkness, one that Astarion is all too well-acquainted with, shrouds the room in a still embrace.

Astarion is almost glad that his Zélie is human when surrounded by shadows. Back then, before the blooming trust, the tense friendship, the impossible devotion, he despised the maddening woman (He was terrified of her, so inconceivably real.) The darkness was the only time he had the advantage when her pale eyes would squint in temporary blindness and not witness the violence her stern kindness did to him. How it undid the tenets of the world, one by one.

You ruined me, darling. Look at me, a fool in a doomed love. What a ridiculous joke of a vampire you made me!

He should be prowling for blood and cursing the sun, yet here he is, smiling, trying his damn hardest not to rush into his woman’s embrace. You will return to me begging when she’s gone, what’s left of his spite whispers. He ignores it, because that part of him has never known what it means to be cherished simply for existing (It knows all about being wanted, although comparing that with whatever stolen miracle he and Zélie have makes Astarion gag.)

“Finally, darling! Here I thought I’d seen the last of you, lost among all that dreadful politicking—” his snarky quips (They are part of him and Zélie loves them, so he’s decided he’ll greet her with one every single day.) die in his throat when he properly looks at her.

Hells, he had gotten into the habit of scanning her for possible injuries during their travels, but now the fight is over, without visible wounds or bruises, Astarion can fully see the toll their adventure has taken on her. Her eyes are tired and bruised from lack of sleep (Of course, she’s been foregoing sleep to spend time with him at night.), her face tauter than ever, skin so sallow she looks sick. Astarion presses himself against her and bristles when he feels her ribs poking his body through their clothes.

Worry, guilt, anger grip him. His brave, little saviour looks so unlike herself. So fragile and exhausted that he fears she’ll crumble to dust should he touch her. He forgets she’s human and not a divine being sometimes, with all that practicality and stony attitude of hers. Never complaining, never relenting (He knows it well.)

You moronic creature! How dare you reduce yourself in this state.

“Darling, what—”

“Oh, hello, Astarion,” Zélie seems to take notice of him only when he’s practically caging her against the door. She’s making an effort not to slide to the floor, he can tell.

Fucking idiot.

“Are you well? I hope the room is comfortable enough?” she nearly slurs.

“Am I well?” Oh, now he’s angry, “Love, what the fuck—”

“Language! No need to be rude,” Astarion feels some relief when Zélie’s irises spark with that annoyed light he coaxes out of her oh-so-well. She inhales deeply, continuing “I came to tell you that I will be late tonight, so you could come and meet me near the main city gate? There’s barely any Fists left, and lots of properties have been robbed or vandalised since there are no guards so Wyll asked me—what’s with that look now?”

The pale elf stares at her perplexed face down his nose, nostrils flaring. “Do you hear yourself, you wretch?!” Her eyes are reduced to judging slits and she’s about to chastise him, but Astarion is undeterred. “No, rather, have you looked at yourself recently? Literal corpses have a healthier…flair than you do now, darling. Myself included.”

Zélie scoffs (Scoffs!), “Oh Astarion, I admire how far you’ve come with showing concern, really, but,” she tries to push past him, but even her martial art is worthless against his full vampiric strength, “there are things, oh you vexing elf! Things that need tending to even if I’d much rather spend the foreseeable future here with you–hey!”

Astarion feels somewhat proud of the shout she lets out when he picks her up with ease (Not so puny, after all.) She is so light something lodges in his throat (Frustration at his inability to keep her safe.) and he hopes that his renewed strength is what makes his gesture so effortless.

No one should be this light.

She used to weigh almost the same as him, all muscle and sinew from her training and a life of comfortable abundance; now, her shirt hangs loosely around her frame.

Fuck. Why in the nine hells haven’t I noticed before?!

He realises he voiced his thoughts when the woman in his arms replies, “Because critical stab wounds take precedence over hunger, Astarion."

"No need to blame anyone,” Zélie says as he unceremoniously throws her on the bed. She fights not to melt into the mattress. “Astarion,” his infuriating lover speaks slower, as if he were a child, “I need to go. We didn’t save this city only to let it implode in chaos. It needs me; Wyll needs me.”

Jealousy (Unfounded but very much present.) soars in Astarion’s chest. “Well, darling, our selfless Wyll can kindly go fuck himself and find his own lover and stop pestering mine. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of offers now he’s back in line at the next Archduke. Those horns also add a certain ragged flair that many sheltered young nobles will find irresistible.”

Zélie rolls her eyes so much only her sclera is visible. She makes to stand up, but Astarion holds her by the shoulders with one hand, pointing an accusing finger at her with the other, “Hush, you. Is that how it’ll be for the rest of time? I am tired of seeing you hurt.” That makes her expression twitch with guilt.

Good.

He glares at her, “Now, you stay here as the good girl I know you can be and I’ll go to the kitchens to see if anything edible is left. Hopefully, it’ll be better than whatever the wizard cooked.” Astarion forces himself to tear away from Zélie’s inviting body (He did miss her all day.), but she catches his wrist before he can step away.

“What now?!” he snarls. “You’ve driven mad for days with your ‘Respect others’ and ‘We are a group, Astarion!’ and ‘You can’t be that selfish’, and you won’t let me—”

“The sun,” she simply says, defeated.

Oh.

How quickly Astarion has forgotten his pathetic limitations. On a quest for tavern food, defeated by the light of day. He can’t even venture outside their room. Zélie is the only person he wants to protect and can’t even feed her when she’s fed him countless times before. He snarls loudly, balling his fists, “Fuck!”

“It’s all right,” Zélie pulls him to her, unfazed by his temperamental mood, and he lets himself fall on top of her on the bed, his mortification soothed by her closeness.

“Tell you what,” she says, breath tickling his face. Astarion holds her cheeks, sharpened by tiredness and hunger, in his hands. He rubs his thumbs over them in small circles, as if he could make them meatier, healthier, by force of will alone. “I will go downstairs, where a Fist captain is waiting for me. I will tell her to ask Wyll if the issue can wait until tomorrow or if Jaheira or Minsc,” she grimaces in worry at the idea, “can take over for the evening. Then, I’ll see if the cook has something prepared. If not, I’ll make do with some cheese and bread.”

Astarion feels a soft dizziness spreading through him. She is talking with that calm and collected voice of hers as if nothing could ever shake or hurt them when she knows what it does to him. He tangles his fingers in her curls, messing them up (An arduous task when they already look like a harpy’s.), before cradling her face into the base of his neck.

“Then,” his little hero wraps her arms around him, under his shirt and on his scarred back. Astarion is still unused to how careful her hands are on him, like a gentle breeze. She looks at him in search of discomfort, but she finds none. The elf hopes Zélie knows that nothing she does will be the cause of any uneasiness he may show in the future (Even she can’t shield him from all his memories.)

“I will come back here, to this bed. We’ll eat and rest and when the sun sets, we’ll go to the rooftop to see the stars and enjoy the summer air. How does that sound?” She boops his nose with hers.

Astarion swallows loudly, “It sounds perfect, love,” he concedes. That’s as close as anyone has ever come to convincing Zélie to drop her duties and rest. Small victories. He is sure he’ll persuade her to live a life of rest and luxury, one day. If everything goes as he desperately hopes.

He is rewarded with a content smile he does not deserve, so he kisses her soundly instead.

____________________________________________

The night is warm, comforting even. How strange; Astarion can’t remember darkness in Baldur’s Gate ever being so welcoming. A loud munching resonates on his left, and the pale elf has to keep himself from grinning too overtly at his precious woman digging into a simple beef stew as if it were the nectar of the gods. Her cheeks puff out as she takes another mouthful, her usual composure nowhere to be seen in what Astarion hopes is another first.

(He wishes he could have been her first at everything, just as she was his.)

Midnight strikes. He would have been in some dirty tavern or dingy brothel by now if the mind flayers hadn’t mercifully kidnapped him. He would have been truly dead if the impossible creature next to him hadn’t insisted he was worth saving.

Zélie looks at him as if he performed a miracle, “This, munch, is, chomp, utterly amazing. The best thing I’ve eaten in a long, long while.”

“Tut, love, I resent that. And here I thought I was special,” he purrs it in offended seduction just to witness his lover’s cheeks and forehead flush in embarrassment. She looks healthier already.

Good.

“Oh, you, sassy, snarky…ugh,” Zélie narrows her eyes at him, then immediately composes herself. “Let me specify, the best thing I’ve eaten of any nutritional value in a long, long time.”

Astarion laughs so loud that a few pigeons fly away in fear. “Touché, love. Well played.”

“Where did you even find this? When I checked the kitchen—”

When she checked the kitchen, the useless cook was not meant to start his shift for another couple of hours, which left her with two slices of bread and a portion of cheese so small even a rat would have ignored it. So Astarion, spurred on by his newly-uncovered protectiveness, waited for his Zélie to be busy with the Fists captain before putting his daggers to good use. It was convenient that the cook had no will to test out the elf’s gutting technique.

“Oh, darling, I am extremely resourceful. You should know this by now,” he says with a telling smirk.

“Right. That means I don’t want to know. Though I wouldn’t be against getting more of this,” she points at the bowl of stew in admiration, “from time to time. It reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking.”

Astarion tenses a bit at the mention of the family she left behind for him; he waits for (No, expects.) Zélie to eventually consider the whole thing as the massive mistake it is and…leave him. Hate him. Become another person he cheated not of her life (At the very least.) but of her future.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, dear?” She asks, head tilted. She can see him even without the tadpoles, and it unsettles him in a good way.

It feels right, to be known by her. To know her in return.

He doesn’t want to lie to her now (She’s rubbing her annoying righteousness all over him.), so he opens his arms and she scoots against him, full belly and satisfied gaze.

Lovely.

Astarion gently guides them to the mattress he brought up from the bedroom and curls up around Zélie. He could laugh. He despised heroes for so long and here he was, lulling one to sleep. But she was his hero, which makes all the difference; he still doesn’t believe in the natural goodness of others, but he believes in hers, and that’s all he needs.

And she fits against him, around his jagged edges so perfectly, Astarion would believe she was made for him if he were a religious man.

“Sleep darling,” he coos into her ear.

She’s already halfway to the dream realm after, but she’s ever the stubborn woman. “But the sun—”

“I don’t need sleep, love; I’ll move us downstairs when dawn comes. I’ve wasted the day in bed already,” he plants little kisses on her hair, her face, her hands. Worships her as much as he can without waking her up.

“But that’s the issue…want to…spend time with you,” why must she make it so impossible for him not to fall for her?

Every time the elf is sure he hit the bottom of the devotion he is capable of, she pushes him further down. And she doesn’t try that hard, his pesky love.

“Hush,” he murmurs, wrapping them in a thick blanket to keep his undead chill at bay. “Rest, idiot. I’m here. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Astarion tightens his grip on her sleeping form. “We’ll take all the time we need, love. I promise.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!oc #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #bg3 requests #oc: zélie #bg3 #female tav #bg3 fanfiction #spawn astarion #human tav #tav oc

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loviatarsluv · 2 months

Text

An Acquired Taste (3)

"Things we buried low

Coming to the surface now, my love

You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game”

gif by @cheekylittlepupp ♡︎

Astarion x AFAB f!tav oc (Aelia) [third person]

rating: mature

CW: injury, hurt/comfort (sort of), blood drinking, angst, mentions of death

a/n: listen I know sucking the poison out of someone’s blood doesn’t actually work but let’s just pretend it does for the sake of astarion doing something he thinks is helpful it’s such a rare occurance as it is!!! also next chapter is gonna be the grove party!!! things are happening!!!!

in summary: aelia gets injured during a skirmish with some gnolls and astarion feels conflicted aka these two need to just actually communicate for once for christs sake !!!

word count: 7.4K

Fighting a group of gnolls toward the end of a long and draining day of exploring perhaps wasn’t the most brilliant idea any of them ever had.

Not that it was really optional regardless— once a gnoll picks up your scent, there’s only one way to get them off your tail. Nasty creatures.

Aelia was struggling to keep up with one of the smaller and faster gnolls, her usually agile feet betraying her as she stumbled over the charred corpse of the gnoll that Karlach had just decimated. The smaller gnoll takes advantage of her lapse in focus and her slowed movements due to her burning and exhausted muscles and lunges toward her, grabbing her by the throat and raising her into the air, looking into her eyes with cloudy and bloodshot eyes as it unleashes a guttural roar.

She claws at the creature's grasp, then reaches for her dagger at her hip— and much to her horror, finds it missing. She tries to scream out to anyone in earshot, only for a weak and strangled noise to leave her lips instead. Just as the gnoll brings its other paw up to finish her off, an arrow pierces through the arm that had been holding her, her body dropping to the ground in a limp heap as its grip releases.

The gnoll stumbles backward howling in pain, then begins to search the area for the source of the arrow, turning frantically and seeking out whomever it now directed its rage at.

Aelia gasps in short bursts, her breath struggling to return to her. Her chest feels heavy and she feels her vision beginning to black out, her left arm feeling as though it had been lit on fire. She grunts in anger as the gnoll’s focus returns to her, letting out another rageful roar as it yanks the arrow out of its forearm.

Just as the beast begins to charge toward her once again, she hears the sound of metal scraping across the cobblestone, then sees the flash of a dagger being slid toward her— her lost dagger. Before she can determine from whom, she grabs it with just enough time to leap up and plunge it into the neck of the charging gnoll, but not before it gets a good swipe at her with its razor sharp claws across her chest. She cries in agony, then unsheaths the knife from the beast’s flesh but only to plunge it once more, this time through its skull.

The creature’s limp body drops to the ground with a loud thud that echoes against the large rocks and boulders that surround them, her own body falling to the pavement along with it. She quickly rolls away from it, her head accidentally hitting the stone a little too hard and her vision blurs and loses focus for a moment.

She lay there motionless while the chaos that was the majority of the party still finishing off the rest of the gnolls rages on— beginning to wonder if this would be what finally did it. A fight with a simple gnoll would be her end. After having fought cambions in the hells, mindflayers aboard an illithid vessel, fuck, even a beholder once before all of this— Tsk. Pathetic.

Just as her eyes flutter closed and she feels herself beginning to fade, she hears heavy footsteps running toward her, the sound of metal gear clunking and people murmuring as they approach her.

“Shit, she’s fading fast. Does anyone have a healing potion?” A male voice says frantically— one that if she had been more than slightly conscious would have both irritated her and made her stomach flip and churn with a thousand different emotions that she’d rather not attempt to dissect, even in this state of potential death.

“We used the last one earlier today,” a female voice replies forlornly— likely Shadowheart.

“You are a cleric, surely there’s something you can do about this.” He growls, irritation and… something else in his voice, something she chooses to ignore.

She feels a gloved hand grab her arm and manipulate it gently to inspect it, a fiery and searing pain tearing through her from the slightest of movement. She hisses and her body begins to writhe weakly, the pain gripping her and dragging her further and further away from consciousness.

“Shit,” Shadowheart whispers, gently dropping Aelia’s arm back to her side. “Poison.”

Another loud set of footsteps clambers over to them— Karlach.

“What the fuck happened?!” She shouts, worry evident in her booming voice.

“We need to get her back to camp, or—”

“Grove.” She weakly interrupts, her throat feeling dry as a bone in contrast to the thin layer of sweat coating her body as a fever sets in.

The three of them exchange glances between each other, Shadowheart giving a tight nod to Karlach before her loud footfalls disappear once again. Sounds were no longer clear, they were muffled and faint unless they were very loud, and she felt herself slowly drifting off.

“Darling…not a good place… nap,” She hears, losing a few of the words in the inky abyss that was her brain right now. She wants to respond with a snarky remark, only because she knows that it was Astarion that said it due to the use of his favorite pet name.

She isn’t sure if it’s the delirium or maybe the poison in her veins, but something in her wants to reach out for him. To touch him. Just to ground herself, maybe. He was solid, he was something tangible and real, despite his looks betraying that fact— half of the time she swore maybe he was just a beautiful tadpole induced hallucination.

So she does. She can’t see him clearly, but she finds him based on his presence and blurry visage, her hand weakly gripping onto his arm. She sighs when she feels his cool skin against her palm.

“So…cold,” she whines, taking a shallow breath between words, and the effort of uttering just two words felt as if she’d fought off another gnoll.

She doesn’t hear it, not well at least, but he chuckles softly. He places his other hand over hers, something in him stirring that feels entirely alien and strange. He didn’t even have a word for it. But it was there, and it was gnawing at his insides in a way that made him feel sick.

“Ast—”

“Stop. Talking,” He shushes her, his tone sharp but not cruel. “You’ll tire yourself out. I need you to stay awake for just a few more minutes, can you do that?”

She tries to respond wordlessly, attempting to nod her head, or shake it, or something— but any and all movement felt as if she had restraints covering every inch of her body and holding her firmly in place, each and every one of her limbs feeling as though they weighed a million pounds. She goes limp, her hand slipping off of his and falling onto the rough cobblestone.

She sinks into the abyss, exhaustion finally winning over her attempts to remain conscious. Everything disappears into the void, except one last hardly audible word from Astarion that she couldn't even comprehend.

“Aelia,” he prods her, hoping the sound of her name would keep the attention of her brain for just a bit longer, only to receive no response.

His entire body freezes— he could still hear her heartbeat, despite how meager and slow it was, he could see her chest still rising and falling, and yet…

Fear. That’s what it was.

He felt fear. An emotion he was not at all unfamiliar with, but one that usually only extended to his own wellbeing. And yet, as he sits beside her— this beautiful and now broken creature that he found so immensely fascinating— and watches her grip on her own mortality beginning to slip and falter, he feels terrified.

She was the group leader, after all. She was the face of this entire endeavor, the voice and the charge. Where would that leave him and the other five of their companions if she were to…? He sighs deeply, the breath coming out ragged and shakily. No, that won’t happen, he won’t let it.

Suddenly, his shoulders straighten and his mind races with a potentially very stupid idea.

He looks down at her, her already pale and bluish tinted skin an unusually sickly shade, her face glistening with a sparkly sheen from sweat and her dark hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Her dry and cracked lips are parted as she takes very shallow and pathetic breaths. His eyes darted to the gash in her arm— he could smell the poison. A putrid and rotten smell that he was certain was a poison even he was unfamiliar with— surely something exclusive to gnolls. He takes a deep breath, then very gently and carefully moves her arm, leaning over her body.

“Aelia,” he whispers, placing a hand on her clammy cheek, trying to get any sort of response from her. He shakes her face just a little, and her eyelids make a feeble attempt at opening. His shoulders sink. “Shit.” He breathes. Time was running out.

Where the hells did everyone go and what was taking them so long?!

He glances around, searching for any sign of any familiar movements or footsteps, only hearing the breeze whistling through the trees and the melodic calls of the local birds and various other animals. He could still hear her heartbeat. Faintly, but just barely audible to him nonetheless.

There was no more time to waste. He had to do this now or not at all. Before he can stop himself, he quickly presses his lips to the jagged wound in her arm and begins to suck.

The taste is terrible— a vast contrast to her untainted blood that she so graciously allowed him to taste a few nights prior— it was sour and absolutely vile, yet somehow still a step above the dead rats he was used to feeding on for the last couple of centuries. He suckled at the wound for a few more short moments, before finally pulling away and quickly spitting the polluted liquid out beside him, trying not to heave along with it.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then wipes it off on his pants and quickly presses two fingers to her pulse point, sighing when he notices no change in her heart rate.

He knows that simply sucking the poison out of one of her various wounds wouldn’t miraculously bring her back to her full and lively self—and damn the part of him that wishes it would, so she'd sit up and say something snarky or cruel to him, like she often did. He wants to scoop her up and carry her back to camp and tuck her away in the safest corner of the small piece of land they’d claimed as their own— the group, he means, of course— but he knew if he tried to move her it would be clumsy and painful for her. It would hurt more than it would help.

Gods, he hated this feeling. This stupid, idiotic feeling in his chest.

He reminds himself that this simply a survival response— she was crucial to his survival. He’d already made such progress on his original plan, and if she were to die, he’d be right back at square one. That thought alone was agonizing. And not to mention, he knew for a fact that no one else in the group would possibly feed into his bullshit— she was his one shot.

It was entirely selfish. He was selfish.

But he repeats to himself what had been somewhat of a mantra to him for the past two centuries— I did what I had to do. I do what I have to do.

No matter the way it causes bile to rise in his throat at the thought of it all.

At long last, he hears footsteps approaching behind him long before they ever come into view, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t take his eyes off of her. Even when Wyll and Karlach approach them, he watches Wyll scoop her body up with ease, essentially ignoring the vampire crouched beside her. He follows them with his eyes as he slowly stands and trails after them.

“Can you at least attempt to be subtle about your bloodlust?” Shadowheart seethes, gripping his arm and yanking him back. He reacts lightning quick, flinging her hand off of him and reaching for his dagger.

“What are you talking about?” He barks back, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, hand hovering over his blade.

“She’s on the brink of death and you just couldn’t control yourself,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “There’s blood on your mouth.”

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’d likely be dead right now if I hadn’t— I-I sucked the poison out of her blood. You and that oaf were taking your sweet time getting back here, so I figured something was better than nothing.”

The half-elf eyes him up and down, a deep scowl on her features. She can tell he’s being truthful, yet she just cannot let go of the boiling feeling of distrust in her gut. “I don’t trust your intentions. Not with her, and frankly, not with anything. Watch yourself, spawn.”

Astarion chuckles humorlessly, offering her a challenging smirk. “What, are you jealous? Darling, if you want something, do not be afraid to ask.”

She scoffs. “I would sooner kiss the gith on the mouth.”

“Ooh, please do let me know before you attempt— I’ve no doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to behead you for even trying. Might make for an entertaining evening.” He teases, nonchalantly checking his nails. They were filthy. Ugh.

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and turns to trail after Wyll and Karlach, Aelia dangling lifelessly in the warlock’s arms.

Astarion watches them for a moment before finally following, the weight of not knowing whether she would wake again settling back into his chest and gripping at his undead heart as if it were in a vice.

It had to work. Something had to work.

She wakes slowly, the harsh sunlight peeking in through the flap to whatever tent she was currently in— she assumed it was her own, but with how blurry her vision still was and how blinding the morning… afternoon? Whatever time it was— the sun was bright as all hells.

She shifts, making a bold attempt to sit up, only to cry out in pain as she is reminded of the giant wounds still on her chest. They’d clearly been cleaned and dressed while she was unconscious, and she can’t help but wonder who had done it. She figured Shadowheart was a safe bet as the group’s only cleric, and smiled to herself. As much as they butted heads, she knew above all, Shadowheart seemed to truly care for her, in a way that she wasn’t entirely sure she deserved.

She hears a couple different sets of hurried footsteps outside her tent before the shadow of someone peeking their head in her tent blocks her from the sun. She silently thanks whatever god for it as she becomes aware of the incessant pounding in her head.

“I heard shouting, are you alright?” Shadowheart asks, concern laced in her tone. She offers her a tight lipped smile.

“I’m alive, if that counts for anything.” She half jokes, an unenthusiastic chuckle escaping her as she tries to ease the tension.

She didn’t want anyone fussing over her, she didn’t need it. She didn’t need to be coddled— she survived this long without anyone giving her a second thought, so she’d continue to do so— despite her appreciation for any efforts on her companions’ parts and the lengths that were clearly gone to to ensure her survival, otherwise she would’ve been gnoll chow.

Ugh. She really fucking hates gnolls.

Shadowheart heaves a sigh of relief, then grimaces as a red and fiery hand pushes against her thankfully armored shoulder and shoves her aside. Karlach peeks her head in, her longer and still intact horn catching clumsily on the tent. Aelia giggles, then grimaces from the pain in her chest once again.

“There you are, soldier! Fuck, I was starting to get worried!” The tiefling chirps, her eyes wide and filled with delight. Aelia thinks how she wishes she could give her the biggest hug in the world, and how she certainly gives incredible hugs when she’s not literally burning to the touch.

“Takes— ah — lot more than a measly gnoll to take me out,” she grunts, once again attempting to shift her body as she feels the intense stiffness in her neck. How long had she been out? “How long was I asleep?”

Shadowheart peeks her head back in, forcing Karlach to shove aside once again. “About a day, none of us wanted to wake you. Figured you needed as much rest as possible.”

Her head falls back, anxiety gripping her as she realizes she’d lost so much time. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry, nothing spectacular happened while you were out. We did go to the grove and raid the healer’s stash and nearly got caught, thanks to the only other rogue aside from you refusing to leave camp.” The half-elf groans, rolling her eyes.

Oh.

Why is her heart beating so much faster now? Surely an after effect of whatever healing potions they gave her while she was out, right?

“S-sounds like him,” she unconvincingly jokes. “Always leaving the dirty work up to someone else.”

Shadowheart narrows her eyes at her companion, then sighs. “I suppose I should tell you that you may not still be here without him. That poison—” she points to her left arm which was snugly wrapped in blood soaked bandages. “Well, let’s say his vampirism came in handy for once.”

Aelia swallows hard, her throat sore and feeling as if she’d swallowed a dozen daggers. A pit forms in her stomach, and she wishes it would just swallow the rest of her whole.

“Oh.”

Shadowheart gives her a strangely sympathetic look in contrast to the previously sour expression on her face. As if she understands the turmoil boiling in Aelia’s gut— as if she’d experienced it herself before.

“Do you need anything right now? Hungry? I’m sure Gale would be happy to warm up some breakfast for you.” She shifts the conversation, and Aelia is thankful. More thankful than she could ever tell her.

“Um— no, no. I’m okay. Thank you.” She offers, despite the rumbling in her gut. She fears if she attempted to put anything in her stomach that it would only come back up, and figures hunger would be a safer bet.

Shadowheart nods in affirmation, then without another word retreats back to her own tent, leaving Aelia in silence with only her own hurricane of thoughts and questions brewing in her head to keep her company.

Why would Astarion do that? Why would he risk himself for her, when she was sure he didn’t even actually like her? He just liked to torture her, to mess with her. She was easy entertainment for him. Nothing more.

Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly the save you from dying at the last second type— generally speaking, he was usually more than willing to leave people to their peril, no matter what or whom it was.

She shakes her head, dismissing whatever stupid ship of thought her mind had begun to sail on. She knew trying to understand him was a futile task— he was generally unreadable behind his perfectly poised and practiced persona. He could say one thing, then do something that completely contradicts his own words the next second and vice versa. It was pointless to dwell, as she was certain she’d likely never receive an answer to any of her questions.

Which was fine. Completely fine.

She was absolutely going to drop it.

The sun had already begun to set before she finally (and very clumsily) made her way out of her tent, cursing quietly.

She glances around, seeing each of her companions meandering and tending to their usual nightly activities and feeling strangely thankful for it. Strangely thankful that she gets another night with this very strange group of people that she had begun to feel an unfamiliar fondness for. She wasn’t used to feeling comfortable or even accepted in any sort of community— she’d always been more solitary. It was easier that way. Less to keep up with, less to worry about. Less chance of getting anyone mixed up in her tumultuous life. Less chance of her getting hurt in ways that actually mattered.

She catches a flash of silver hair out of the corner of her eye, and turns to catch sight of Astarion just as he ducks into his own tent.

She sighs. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more— to pretend that Shadowheart had never told her what he’d done for her and feign ignorance, or ask him why. And depending on his answer, possibly even thank him. If she felt generous enough by the time the conversation concluded, that is.

Without her brain commanding her legs to do so, she’s walking in the direction of his blood red tent just a few paces away from hers, stopping just outside of the closed and sealed flap.

She debates for a moment. Perhaps the closed tent was a sign that maybe now wasn’t a good time, maybe it was a bad idea to even come over here, gods why did she ever come over here?

“I can hear you out there,” his voice calls to her from inside his tent with a huff, almost as if her mere presence was already exasperating for him.

Her face falls to a frown, and the urge to turn and walk away is strong. Very strong. In fact, maybe she should just—

“Is everything alright?” He asks, his voice softer in contrast with his previous tone. It’s enough to stop her in her tracks.

Her shoulders sink and she turns around to find him now outside of his tent, staring down at her intently, a nearly imperceptible amount of concern in his ruby irises.

She pauses, suddenly even more unsure of why she ever left the comfort of her tent to begin with.

“Um— I just… Shadowheart told me. What you did.”

Stupid.

He looks at her, his expression shifting from an earnest and concerned expression to a grimace that almost seemed pained. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and averts his gaze from her.

“And?” He asks, his tone sounding as if he were offended by the mere mention of his good deed.

She blinks at him, confused by his strange back and forth between care and irritation.

“Why?” The only word that had been playing in her head over and over since this morning.

He sighs, his impeccable posture faltering for less than the blink of an eye before he corrects himself and shrugs. “You’re no good to anyone dead.”

That wasn’t the answer she hoped for. What answer was she even hoping for? Whatever it was, it wasn’t that.

“Why would you risk yourself like that for me, you could’ve waited for everyone to get back, I’m sure I—“

“I’m undead, darling. It’ll take more than a lick of poison to finish me off. Besides, I spit it out. While I’d hate to waste a drop of your blood, it was tainted. For more reasons than one.” He explains, the last sentence more so under his breath than completely audible.

“Well… just…” she sighs for what felt like the millionth time since being in his presence, despite how much it made her still wounded chest ache. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

His nonchalance was beginning to piss her off. He looked as if this conversation were the most dull and unnecessary thing in the world. He looked bored.

“We're even now.” He says simply, his gaze settling on something behind her, then flicking back to her face. “A simple thank you wouldn’t go amiss, though.”

A flash of a memory from a few nights ago when she’d allowed him to drink from her when he was starving presents itself to the forefront of her mind. Somehow she’d almost forgotten, and hadn’t even considered that as a reason for him to do something like this. Then a wave of guilt washes over her.

“I didn’t do that for you with the expectation of reciprocation on your end. You never owed me.” She says, and hearing the words coming from her own mouth makes her heart ache knowing they were words she’d never been told herself. There was always a catch, in her experience. There was always an expectation of repayment. Nothing was ever free.

His face is unreadable. Somewhere between thankful and rageful, but it’s impossible to determine whether it was more one or the other, no explanation for either within reach.

“Well, you are welcome nevertheless. Goodnight.” He says, his tone sharp but deadpanned, as if he had to physically restrain himself from saying anything more before retreating back into his tent and closing it off, his impenetrable walls now sixty stories high.

The night feels several degrees colder after their icy exchange. She stands there for a few more minutes as she attempts to recover mentally— she rarely ever left an interaction with Astarion feeling anything less than lost, but this was something else entirely. They still didn’t particularly get along, despite the strange and physically intimate side of their… acquaintance may be the best word for whatever it was. But prior to this conversation, things had almost begun to feel lighter. More akin to a friendly rivalry, versus bitter resentment.

The lightness had now subsided— a dark fog of dread now loomed over the tiny red tent that he had retreated into and she stood outside, unsure whether to run away or try to make amends.

Gods, who was she kidding? Just because he saved her, she wanted to kiss and make up with him? He said it himself— it was nothing more than an act out of obligation, nothing more and nothing less. It was not for her benefit, it was to clear his own selfish and arrogant conscience.

Old habits truly do die hard.

She begins to back away slowly, watching his shadow disappear as he blows out the candle inside his tent, plunging it into darkness and effectively serving as a not so polite fuck off from him to her. Duly noted. Message received.

She grumbles a curse under her breath that she’s certain he heard, with his stupid freaky vampire hearing, and turns to amble away and back to her own tent and perhaps stay there for the rest of eternity.

The prospect of permanent solitude would certainly be far preferable to having to face him again in the morning.

Just as she reaches the threshold of the comfort of her tent that was just screaming her name, she hears another voice calling to her from a short distance behind her. She turns cautiously, afraid perhaps her confrontation with the vampire spawn that was the subject of her current ire would come to pass all too soon. She’s relieved when she realizes it’s only Gale.

He tentatively approaches her, his gaze soft and sympathetic as he looks at her. “How are you feeling?”

She freezes, unsure how to answer that question. She was breathing, surely feeling physically better than she had when she woke this morning— mentally, though? She was a little worse for wear.

“Alive,” She shrugs, unable to feign an ounce of optimism. She was bone weary and she knew it was more than obvious. “Are you well?”

Gale shakes his head, smiling wearily at her redirection. “As well as a potential illithid thrall can be. Though I’m quite happy to see you up and about once again. You gave us all quite the scare.”

She offers him a halfhearted smile, shifting her weight awkwardly at his earnestness. “Thank you, Gale. Hopefully I can actually be useful once again by morning.”

He takes a careful step closer, placing a hand ever so gingerly on her shoulder. “Your presence still gracing this camp is more than any one of us could possibly ask for. Go get some rest.”

Her eyes widened, her heart twinging at his words and his kind outreach of comfort toward her— it felt so alien, to have this group of strangers give a damn whether she drew breath or not. She wasn’t quite sure how to accept such an outpouring of appreciation toward her very being, so she offers him another smile, this one reaching her eyes, and nods.

“Goodnight, Gale. Thank you.” She utters as she watches the kind-hearted wizard retreat to his tent on the opposite side of the camp, returning the smile she’d given him just before ducking into his tent for the night.

A long breath releases from her, her entire body shifting with the effort it takes, pain shooting through her still at the motion. She groans, hoping to any and all gods that Shadowheart will be able to properly heal her tomorrow morning, if only to spare her from the unnecessary kindness and concerned looks from her companions.

Albeit, not all of them.

A full day had passed with little to no interaction between Aelia and Astarion.

She didn’t mind it, frankly. The more space between the two of them, the better, she thought. The more distance between them, the more she could ignore the pull she felt towards him. The less she saw his face, heard his voice, looked into those damned stupid ruby colored eyes— the better off she was.

His presence was scarce, sticking to himself even during a small skirmish with a rogue band of goblins on the risen road where he found a high vantage point and picked them off from there, watching his companions from above. She would risk brief glances at the vampire spawn, and their eyes would meet for an instant before she would direct her gaze almost anywhere else other than within reach of his piercing one.

Despite her best effort, their last conversation lingered in her mind, replaying over and over to a point of insanity. The way his silky voice started off so soft and saccharine as he regarded her, only to harden and turn sour by the end of the encounter. She couldn’t for the life of her connect the dots to determine what had him tilted so instantly— had she really said something so egregiously offensive to him?

Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter.

The group was en route toward the goblin village in hopes to find either the Priestess Gut or the druid, Halsin, and likely tear through the entire camp for the sake of the grove and the tieflings’ safe departure. Now was no time to lose focus. Anything other than the goal at hand could be saved for another time. Providing they survived this encounter, if they could ever be so lucky.

If they were really lucky, they’d even come out the other end tadpole-less.

Though, she had little reason to believe Lady Tymora was often gracious enough to extend blessings her way. She never had before, why would she now?

The group finally finds the dilapidated and hardly trustworthy bridge that led to the ruined temple of Selune, stopping just before it and exchanging wary glances. Before they can argue about who will go first, Aelia pushes past the rest of the group and steps onto the bridge with one foot, testing it with her weight before stepping carefully across, stopping midway to glance back at her counterparts who watched her with bated breaths.

“Well?” She challenges them, nodding toward the other side of the bridge expectantly. When no one moves for a few breaths, she rolls her eyes and turns to continue the trek across, the bridge slightly swaying and creaking under her weight. “We’ve come all this way, fought monstrosities— and a flimsy bridge is what gives you lot pause? Tsk.”��

The group is silent apart from a sudden chortle from Astarion as he pushes through the group and follows suit. “Let's get this bloodbath over with, shall we?”

He joins her at her side, giving her a sidelong glance and a smirk. She’s unable to entirely hide the shock in her face toward him acknowledging her after an entire day of blatant ignorance.

“The sooner the better, eh, darling?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, offering no response.

He sighs, his face softening slightly as he turns to face her fully. “The silent treatment? Really?”

“A taste of your own poison. Ha, ironic.” She deadpans, in spite of the glossiness of her eyes as water starts to pool in them. Astarion opens his mouth to speak, but it snaps shut as quickly as it opened. She huffs, her shoulder colliding into his as she pushes past him.

He stands still as a stone for a moment as he watches her trudge forward, an unnamed emotion roiling in his chest. Before he can take a step to chase after her, a hand is clapping against his back, then an arm is slung over his shoulder.

Astarion breathes deeply, closing his eyes in annoyance. Wyll.

“What have you done this time, vamp?” He jokes, his jovial tone grating to Astarion’s already pounding brain like the sound of metal scraping stone as Lae’zel sharpened her sword. Every. Night.

Astarion slips from the Blade’s grip, entirely disregarding his presence and continuing forth, careful to stay a safe distance from their leader as the rest of the companions follow suit.

Wyll exchanges a glance with the rest of the group, receiving either shrugs or eye rolls as they watch the two push forward, their bodies near each other as they walk, but their minds and souls could not be further apart.

Once inside the goblin camp, the group splits off into different directions, breaking into pairs, aside from Aelia and Astarion, who each opt to go solo, and Wyll, who joins Shadowheart and Karlach. They planned to reconverge within the hour near the entrance to the temple, each group going their own way to eavesdrop on the goblins’ conversations as they meandered, in an attempt to gather any information they could and also find any weaknesses or vantage points for the battle that was sure to ensue.

Aelia watches her companions depart, taking note of what direction each of them went in so she’d have an idea of what areas were being covered so she could determine where she should focus her efforts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of Astarion climbing a ladder that led to the top of what appeared to be a watchtower. Naturally, he chooses the lazy route of it all, opting to observe from above rather than do any actual leg work. Typical.

She wanders through the crowd of drunken goblin patrons, hardly hearing a coherent word being expressed in between hiccups and belches— until she comes across a strange and somewhat secluded alcove with a large statue of Selunè in the center of it. It’s oddly quiet in this smaller section of the ruins, and strangely unpopulated. It’s littered with random barrels and crates scattered and stacked in complete disarray— even their supplies reflected the chaotic nature of the little beasts.

Though, with no goblins around to interrupt, there was little stopping her from indulging a bit and helping herself to any useful supplies she could pilfer from the stash. She does a quick sweeping glance to ensure she truly was alone and out of sight of any guards before ducking behind a large haphazardly stacked pile of crates.

She doesn’t find much, but whatever she deems useful she quietly stashes away in her pack, hoping she won’t regret adding any extra weight to herself in the process. She stands and dusts herself off, wiping her hands on her trousers then pulling her pack back onto her shoulders as her eyes do another sweep of the area for any prying eyes.

Just as she’s about to move on, she senses a looming presence, watching her, and not from a comfortable distance. The feeling of eyes on her back is as clear as it would be if someone were literally holding a knife to it, and she quickly moves to retrieve both of the daggers attached to each of her hips. She moves deliberately but scarcely so as to not give away her position after she hides behind a large stack of barrels and crates.

Just as she moves to peek her head out, an arrow soars past her face, missing her just enough to seem intentional. Her brows knit together and she looks in the direction she presumes the arrow came from, just barely catching a glimpse of silver tresses as they duck into the shadows. Her body relaxes slightly, but not entirely as she steps out from the pile.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” She hisses, annoyance evident in her tone.

There’s a decently lengthy pause before he appears again, as he gracefully scales down the side of a wall covered in ivy and vines.

“Don’t you? Shouldn’t our fearless leader be cavorting with goblins and squeezing any bits of useless drivel about this cult that she can wrench out of them?” He retorts, stalking toward her in slow and mocking steps, a smirk on his face.

She rolls her eyes. “As if you weren’t thinking of doing exactly as I was doing.”

He chuckles, stepping toward her, then circling her as if he were a bird of prey circling its rodentia feast. “Great minds think alike, darling.”

“Oh, now you’re trying to flatter me? Your rotten streak knows no bounds, truly,” she grimaces, anger bubbling within her, her face starting to feel hot and her body stiffening. “As if you don’t regret saving me the other day.”

He stops mid step, his entire body stilling as if he’d been petrified. He stays that way for a moment, contemplating his next words.

“I’ll take your silence and lack of response as confirmation. And honestly, maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll get bested by a worg or a bugbear and you’ll be rid of me at last.” She seethes, turning on her heel and beginning to march away, a hand on her wrist being the only thing that stops her from going any further.

The hand is cold and tense, the grip on her wrist unyielding. His hand trembles slightly, and she can feel it. Her eyes find his face— a pained expression painted on his alabaster features. Something between anger and confusion, but it truly seemed as if it physically hurt him.

“You think I regret saving you?” He asks incredulously, his brows low and his eyes piercing.

She wrenches her wrist from his deft fingers, her eyes narrowing and her face scrunching into a glare.

“You’ve done nothing to make me think otherwise.”

She wasn’t sure why she had been longing for him to just talk to her since that night— even if it was just their usual bickering and witty jabs at each other. She wasn’t sure why she felt a sharpness in her gut every time she’d catch him peering at her only for his face to turn away the second she returned his gaze. She wasn’t sure why his uncharacteristic silence was so deafening.

And yet, now that he’s here, and she can hear his velveteen voice and see the red blooms of his steely irises, she almost preferred his pointed reticence. If only to spare herself another second of this idiotic aching in her chest.

His face softens, his feline-esque eyes rounding and his brows relaxing. He runs a hand through his ivory curls, taking deep breaths that they both know he doesn’t need.

“Do you regret being saved?”

A loaded question. One she’s not sure she should answer terribly honestly, otherwise she’d stand here talking for hours rather than doing what needed to be done.

“No. I only regret that you felt obligated to do so.”

Somehow, her answer was still too honest. Too revealing. But honest, nonetheless.

The vampire is unable to conceal the storm of turmoil raging in his ruby eyes. It’s evident, clear as crystal. His jaw flexes and tightens as he looks at her, hoping somehow that she could just read his mind. He knew she could if he allowed her to, with the shared connection via tadpole— but he was afraid of what she may actually see. Things that he would never wish for anyone to see or experience, not even his worst enemies, and especially not her.

“I may be a monster, but I’m not the kind of monster that leaves a fr— an acquaintance… to die in the street. I know all too well what it’s like to be left to rot on cobblestone without a second thought.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before ultimately silence wins over any other response she could possibly offer him. This unusual moment of vulnerability from him gives her pause. It’s a far cry from his typical sycophantic behavior, and she feels the urge to reach out to him despite her better judgment. To comfort him. She assumes he probably hadn’t been comforted in quite some time— much like she hadn’t been, prior to this adventure of theirs.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “For saving me. I never…thanked you. For it.”

Gods, how did he manage to siphon every bit of charisma out of her every time they spoke?

“Don’t thank me. Just help me eviscerate some goblins, squeeze some information out of the slimy bastards, and we can call it even.” He smirks that damned smirk that makes the tip of one fang peek over his rosy bottom lip, and her stomach flutters.

“You flirt,” she mirrors his smirk, though she knows it doesn’t quite have the same effect that his does. “You’re speaking my language now.”

“As I’ve told you, you and I are cut from the same cloth. Kindred spirits, right from the start. For better or worse.” He muses, his face turning more earnest, his eyes softening just slightly, just enough for her to notice the strange warmth in them when she had been so used to everything about him being cold. His stare, his skin, his breath, his demeanor.

“I’ve yet to see the ‘better’ side of that deal.” She teases.

As much as she hated admitting it, he was right— their origins had correlating themes that neither of them could deny. They had this strange understanding of each other despite their bickering that in moments like this, their strange friendship— if you could call it that— made perfect sense.

“Oh, I think you have,” he purrs, seduction dripping from his lips like well aged brandy. “I’m more than willing to jog your memory, if you’d like.”

He stalks toward her, all heavily lidded eyes and temptation, until their bodies are nearly pressed flush against each other. He taps her chin with a finger to tilt her head back so that their eyes meet. The magnetic pull between their lips is undeniable as their faces hover all too closely to each other.

“I don’t know, perhaps I could wrestle a bugbear or a drow for the same amount of entertainment.” She whispers, attempting to goad him, her voice ultimately unconvincing. Astarion grins cheekily, as he’s caught her out.

“You and I both know that isn’t true. But perhaps we can continue this conversation later, hm? You know, post goblin bloodbath.” He offers, his tone cool and collected but she perceives the slight desperation in his words— the hope in his eyes. It sends a shiver through her.

“Perhaps. I’ll consider it,” she places a hand on his jaw, cupping it and tapping his cheek with her fingers playfully. “Under one condition.”

He cocks a brow, savoring the way her warm hand feels against his undead skin. “And what might that condition be?”

She smirks, standing on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You put everything back where you found it.”

He smirks sheepishly, reaching in his pocket and retrieving the bits and bobs he’d nicked from her bag while they were speaking. “See? Cut from the same cloth.”

She rolls her eyes, pushing away from him and patting his shoulder. “Let’s go hurt someone, you fool.”

part one - ♡︎

part two- ♡︎

#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #aat #my fics

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vixstarria · 6 days

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Bloodbang Chronicles - Masterlist

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut, with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

This is a post-game continuation of my bardlock series, which was mostly written in 2nd person POV, with the OC referred to as “Tav” where they had to be named. Rest assured it’s been about Asmodea all along. You can consider the oneshots a prequel.

Read on AO3

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Thank you @brabblesblog for the header! ♥

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x f!oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles #asmodea

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kittenintheden · 2 days

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Not Your Sweetheart Ch 37 - Woke Up in Love

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 37 - Woke Up in Love

Once, there was a haunted bluegrass-playing half-elf bard with a dark past who met a charmingly cringefail elven vampire with a dark past and they flirted one another into oblivion until they fell in love. They collect a group of delightful chucklefucks on the road and they all banter their way through the darkness to face their demons and save the world together.

A retelling of the campaign written with sitcom-level dialogue and tons of found family and healing from trauma tropes. Very Schitt's Creek but with more violence.

AKA 18 Charisma bard sees through 10 Charisma vamp-boy's bullshit and falls for him anyway. But he falls first.

---

They fuck again immediately because of course they do, and then some plot may occur. They are very stupid for each other. Read on AO3. Also I'm on Twitter now.

Commissioned piece of the dorks by the fantastically talented @hamrikaa (see the full thing in Ch 10).

---

When they come sauntering back to their companions’ camp just after midday, they’re greeted with what amounts to a 60-40 split of knowing smirks versus rolling eyes. They’re okay with it.

“Thanks for rejoining us,” Shadowheart snarks as she folds up the last sheet of fabric from her tent. “We thought you might be gone a tenday.”

Astarion puts his weight on his back foot and gives her a perplexed look. With an incredulous smile, he says, “What the fuck have you done to your hair?”

Shadowheart’s smirk vanishes instantly and she flushes pink. Her once-black hair now shines a shimmering, starlit white, her fringe swept to either side instead of hanging over her forehead. She reaches a hand up to run over her braid.

“Isobel helped me with it,” she mumbles.

Ori bounds over and gives her a solid hug and peck on the forehead. “I think it looks lovely.”

“She and Dame Aylin set up camp nearby,” Shadowheart tries to explain. “I thought it might…”

“Honestly, it’s pretty,” Ori says with another squeeze. “I like it.”

Lae’zel passes them by and says, “It is functional.”

“Whoof,” Ori says, watching the githyanki walk on. “You picked a sweet-talker.”

#astarion smut #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x female oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!oc #bg3 #kitten writes #not your sweetheart

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wolfywolfy · 23 days

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Chapter 7 is posted!

In this chapter, the group has delved deep under the surface to explore the Underdark. Astarion attempts to find some form of entertainment to distract from the sense of impending doom surrounding them all.

Here's a summary for Your Ruination:

Primrose is a druid, tree-hugger, and the de facto leader of their merry little band of tadpooled misfits. She's been completely isolated from society, living alone in the woods for who knows how long, and given her naivety, Astarion figured she was raised by wolves. Regardless, being a leader means she is a sturdy foundation for himself to latch on to, if he can manipulate her to care for him. She's prone to waxing poetics and altruistic to a fault, the perfect victim for his ministrations – so imagine his surprise when she turns out to be more complex than he gave her credit for. Why, exactly, has she been hiding from society? Prim carries herself as if she would never do any wrong, but when provoked, she's shockingly deadly. The more time he spends with her, the more he has a suspicion that there's something dark lurking beneath the surface…. Perhaps it's time to find out.

You can read on AO3 below! Hope you enjoy!!

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fangswbenefits · 3 months

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Comfortable

Summary: Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Fluff. Aftercare. Oral sex. Pillow humping. Innuendo. Mentions of masturbation.

Word count: 3.3k

It's a wavering sequence of whimpers that catches Astarion's attention just as he arrives at camp after a late night hunt.

The blood on non thinking creatures seldom presents itself as a decent meal, but he finds it unfair to depend exclusively on you.

The boars in the outskirts of Baldur's Gate are delectable enough to blind his hunger for a few hours – maybe a full day, if need be.

The camp seems peaceful and quiet with everyone still catching some rest after in their respective tents, and as the pale moon glows up high in the dark blue sky, he notices the dawn isn't breaking for at least a few more hours.

Maybe he can indulge in a trance to ease his mind and body after feeding, even though it's not a dire necessity.

But it seems that the night has other plans reserved for him.

His steps are light and sure, following the crescendo of sounds that seems to come from near his tent.

He would recognise that voice anywhere.

You.

As he draws near, trying to make out the origin of said whimpers, he vaguely wonders if you're having a dream.

That is the most reasonable explanation.

But then he hears what resembles a muffled groan.

A nightmare?

Instinctively, an eyebrow quirks as he approaches your tent.

And then he freezes.

Even through the obvious failed attempt at reining yourself in, he knows exactly what he heard.

His name. Muffled and barely intelligible, but his name, nonetheless.

An amused smile tugs at his lips as it dawns on him that you are indeed pleasuring yourself. Risky and unexpected, but beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Cheeky…

He could simply entertain this, and leave it to you to reach your peak on your own.

Unfortunately for him, he has just fed.

And unfortunately for you, he has every intention of interrupting your solo endeavour.

His usual cool body now flooded with the warmth and vigour that make it extremely easy not to succumb to your sweet and melodic whimpers.

As such, he tugs at the strings that hold both flaps together, successfully drawing a surprised gasp from you.

“You scared me!”

He finds you propped up on one elbow before rushing to sit and pulling a blanket to cover yourself, a mortified look splattered across your face.

The sight in front of him is enough for the recently drunk blood to rush downwards at record speed.

Predictable, but such is the nature of his body when it comes to you.

Flustered and quickened breaths. His senses are so sharp from the recent blood intake, that he can hear your heartbeat drumming fast in your chest.

By now, he knows you well enough.

So well, that he's sure he has just interrupted your climax.

The confirmation comes in the form of a low growl of frustration.

He almost feels sorry for you, but what crosses his mind is the offer of a moment of pleasure so great only he can provide.

“You were close.”

It isn't a question and he doesn't expect an answer.

But you're so visibly irritated that you scowl deeply. “Yes! Yes, I was. Thank you so much for interrupting.”

“My pleasure,” he retorts, knowing fully well he's about to set off a bomb if he doesn't choose his words carefully.

You have a temper he adores to test. He's used to dancing to your tune and knows exactly which strings to pull to get you riled up in ways that often lead to very enjoyable outcomes.

His cock welcomes your huff of annoyance with a faint twitch.

“Why didn’t you just… wait…” you almost cry out in sheer frustration.

He lets out a taunting laugh. “What, and miss out on all of the fun, darling?”

A dramatic pout settles your lips and it takes all of his self-control not to wipe it off your face with a kiss in an instant.

“How many did you take this time?”

It is a glaring taunt.

And your mouth drops open.

Maybe he should have eased his way in, considering the current predicament.

But the way your body is all flustered and heated from your own touch is enough to flare desire inside him. And whenever desire begins to swell inside him, the fine line between reason and pleasure begins to blur.

Mostly because he knows he was the one on your mind when you had your fingers deep inside you.

Your eyes widen slowly, and you clutch the blanket closer to your lower half, still hiding the proof of your arousal from his prying eyes.

You don't reply at first, your pride keeping you silent.

But Astarion doesn't mind. In fact, he enjoys your resistance at first. Makes it all the more enjoyable when you finally give in.

“How many, darling?”

You frown, averting your eyes.

So stubborn…

His cock adores it.

“How many?” his tone is firmer this time and you slowly meet his eyes again.

“... two.”

He clicks his tongue, crouching before you. “Oh, darling…”

Two fingers are not nearly enough to provide the fullness and stretch that only his cock can. But he appreciates your effort nonetheless.

It's quite adorable and enough to have his cock hardening even more.

Your fingers still glisten in the faint candlelight and he feels the sudden urge to have them in his mouth. He never tires of tasting you in more ways than one.

“You do not need to hide from me,” he says tenderly, but still not moving an inch. He wants you to feel comfortable enough under his gaze. “You've bared yourself to me many times, love.”

Still, you don't let go of the fabric, a slash of defiance crossing your face. “You took too long.”

Ah. “Did you miss me?”

You bite your lip, face softening as you nod twice.

And you were so desperate for him that you just couldn't wait?

Gods.

His cock stirs even more against his trousers at the silent realisation.

“And I am here now,” he says, dropping to his knees, as a wicked smile turns his lips. “So, allow me.”

He reaches out with his hand to tug at the fabric, silently looking for your permission.

A shaky sigh parts your lips and he spots a shiver as he pulls the blanket that keeps you from him.

His eyes drop to the sweet spot between your legs and he almost regrets having interrupted you.

Almost.

Your clit is so swollen it deliciously peeks from between your folds, parting them gently. It throbs faintly as he catches your clenching a few times, wetness dripping out.

After a moment, he manages to tear his gaze away, ignoring the twitches of protest from his cock.

He finds your half-hooded eyes. “May I?”

You hesitate at first, nearly pressing your thighs together, but he stops you with both hands on your knees, a reassuring grip that has you slowly but surely loosen up under his touch.

“You don't have to…”

No, he doesn't.

But he wants to.

In fact, he thinks he needs to.

He rubs circles along your flushed skin, wanting your full attention on him before he speaks, “I appreciate the concern, darling, but I'm impossibly hard and you look incredibly delectable.”

It's more than enough to have you yearning for more, as a surprise gasp parts your lips.

You finally nod, spreading your legs and leaning back as you settle on your elbows.

He offers a sly grin, lowering and positioning himself right where he craves to be.

But not before he eases some of the growing tension on his lower half. The blood coursing through his body is more of an inconvenience for now, and he's sure, under different circumstances, he'd have better control over this.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you're just that good for him.

You jerk slightly when his mouth draws near your slick folds.

“Wait.”

And he does, his concentration slightly shaken as he promptly scans your face for any cause for alarm.

“Just… don't leave afterwards.”

Don't leave–

Astarion's lips are so close to your clit, he has to pull back slightly so he can have a proper look at you, his hardened cock still straining against his undergarments.

“What do you mean?” he asks, perplexed.

There is hesitance in your eyes. “You tend to leave after… like you don't want to be here with me.”

That sounds like a whiplash to him, because it is not true at all.

Your words take him by surprise and he immediately worries he may have said or done something that could be interpreted as mixed signals.

“Darling, I–”

But you immediately shake your head. “If you can stay after… I'd appreciate it. Only you want to, of course,” you quickly add. “It doesn't feel right otherwise…”

It isn't a request. Nor a plea.

It's just what feels right.

He's done this many times to the point of instinct. It comes natural to him to please others. The aftermath, though, is something that he's also used to forgoing. The mess, the sweat, the fluids… the unnecessary and forced talk…

But you are different, aren't you?

You are not… the others.

And after all you've been through, he feels his mind nearly snap in half as he realises just how much he's still holding back with you.

Even something as simple as just staying still felt… tainted.

Slowly, he nods.

And slowly, your lips turn into a tender smile that he's grown to adore beyond comprehension.

“I'll stay.”

You heave a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Astarion counters the impromptu detour with unmatched expertise, lowering his head and admiring just how eager your body is for him.

Before he drags his tongue along your folds, he slithers his hand down to reach for the front of his trousers, hurriedly undoing them.

It's his turn to sigh in relief as his cock is set free.

But now he misses the friction and the carpeted floor of your tent feels too rough.

His eyes roam around in search of something – anything – more comfortable.

And then he's caught off guard by your offer.

“Maybe this will help.”

A pillow.

He chuckles deviously, appreciating your creativity in moments such as these. Promptly, he takes it in his hand and positions it under him, his cock welcoming the soft surface.

“I adore that mind of yours,” he says cheekily.

You are about to voice a reply, but no word comes out when his tongue hits your entrance.

Immediately, your hips buck and his smile never wavers.

He knows what you crave, but he will take his time even if you're already close to the edge.

After all, he's addicted to his devotion to you even if he never utters it out loud. He prefers his actions speak for themselves. Words are treacherous and deceiving. Actions speak louder.

And so he indulges in you. He indulges you, because that is what keeps him from reaching the frayed ends of his mind.

You're what grounds him these days.

And he will ground you with him.

As such, he drags the tip along your folds, collecting your wetness and he only stops once it finds your clit.

A soft moan escapes your lips and he hopes you have it in you to keep it down so as to not wake the others.

He locks eyes with you one last time. “Are you ready, darling?”

Your hips roll twice, but he knows you're not ready. You never are for the pleasure he offers to you so passionately.

Another roll and he knows you're growing impatient, so he gives your clit a quick swipe of his tongue before he latches.

He doesn't begin suckling hard right away, as he needs to ensure he can steady you for what's to come. Both arms loop around your thighs and he allows his eyes to flutter shut, losing himself in you.

It amazes him how your body responds to him, and your hips try to find a desperate rhythm as if you're riding his cock.

The pillow under him provides enough friction for him to roll his own hips, eager to match your tempo.

He could feel the wetness drenching the fabric, but he can't bring himself to care.

Your hand finds his curls and he growls against your clit as you tug gently, but evidently craving more.

And more he gives you.

He's sucking more fiercely this time, taking his time to savour the swell in between his teeth. From this angle, he can feel your wetness coating his chin. He can't directly feel it, but he just knows you're clenching desperately around nothing.

Maybe he should take it slower.

Maybe he should pry you open with two of his fingers, even though you're wet enough to take a third one.

But the unexpected friction caused by the pillow is begging to edge him beyond belief.

Is it from the blood he drank? Is he just so ridiculously aroused? Why is your clit so swollen this time? Is it from his incessant suckles?

His mind turns into haze and he decides he's not looking for any logical answers.

He simply allows his hips to move on their own accord, matching the face with each suckle.

“Astarion… Gods…”

You're fortunate his mouth is kept busy, or he'd hurl a snarky reply. Gods have no place here. The delicacies of carnal bliss are reserved for those who tread the earth.

He's the only one who'd ever worship you, and you'd worship him right back, because that's how it's meant to be.

Precum drips from his tip at an alarming rate. He's too hard. He's too aroused. His body is seeking to be inside yours.

But he decided against it.

No.

He wants to see you unravel for him and in front of him.

His eyes open once again and he takes in the sight of your body undulating. Skin all flushed and eyes read to drop close as you near the precipice.

As always, his latch is impeccable. He never lets go and takes pride in leaving you dripping for him.

A few droplets run down his chin and dangle from it, bestowing upon him the most enticing silent praise he could ask for.

He knows you're close when your fingers close around his curls, desperately rocking your hips against him.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his chest and he's starting to struggle to keep his pace.

He has to find a way to still his hips before you reach your climax in fear you'll drag him along with you far too soon.

And so he does.

This time, he wants to see it.

He wants to see you as you come for him.

He's mostly perplexed that you found a way to muffle your moans, your shirt rolled up and captured in between your teeth, granting him the privileged view of your heaving breasts and hardened nipples.

Momentarily, his hips threaten to buck driven by pure instinct.

But he manages to hold back.

And when he's sure you're too far gone, head tilting back and legs shaking ever so slightly, does he unlatch from your clit.

He pulls back enough to witness the first sets of contractions course through your body.

Wetness drips from his chin, and he can't tear his gaze from the mesmerising way your entrance clenches rhythmically before him.

He's felt those contractions many times. He is well aware of just how vicious and relentless they can be around his cock, never failing to draw every last drop of his cum deep inside you.

Your muffled cries and the way your hips still momentarily, are all he needs to get lost in his own pleasure again.

He props himself high enough to place his hips at the right angle, rolling them urgently against the soft fabric of the pillow.

He's so close… so deliciously close.

Your taste lingers on his tongue and the vision of you still writhing under him holds his gaze almost painfully.

Your fingers ease on his curls and he feels the familiar tightening of his balls warning him that he's about to reach the point of no return.

It comes and overtakes his body so violently his mind blanks for a brief moment, as his mouth drops open.

He wants to groan and growl and hiss, but no sound comes out.

The friction is so overwhelming, he can't help but to lose balance, his lips finding your swollen clit once again.

And just like before, he latches instinctively and you try to jerk away from him, definitely being hit with a sting of oversensitivity.

He comes undone, suckling on you harder than ever before.

Ropes of cum spill from him rhythmically, his own contractions taking over. He can feel the fabric underneath him drench with each thrust, and he vaguely wonders how much of it he still has left in him.

Your clit is now the only thing grounding him as he rides out his climax and, in the far corner of his hazy mind, he's thankful that you eased into him once again, granting him the solace he is seeking so desperately.

There's only so much he can withstand as his senses are flooded with overwhelming pleasure, and he finds himself unlatching and almost slumping against your lower abdomen.

He's spent.

Utterly spent.

He thinks he hears a tender giggle, but maybe it's simply his mind playing tricks on him.

With effort, he hoists himself along your body, collapsing, the side of his face resting against your stomach.

He wants to say something, but he's rendered silent by the aftershock of his climax.

And that's when he feels your fingers again, raking along his scalp and through unruly curls.

“Are you leaving?”

He says nothing.

Your fingertips work their magic along his skin and he's sure you can lull him into a trance if you so wished.

You're too powerful and he's too in love with you to care.

“Astarion.”

Your voice is low and sweet and he hums in return, arm wrapped around your waist.

“Can we stay like this for a while?”

Who's he to deny you of it? Or himself?

He's sweaty and his cock drenched in cum and precum and you're a mess yourself. Hardly the epitome of romance.

Or maybe he's wrong because when you bring a soft piece of cloth to his temple and drag it along his face, he suddenly gets it.

He finally understands why you want him to stay.

Why it makes sense.

His eyes flutter shut as he basks in your tenderness and adoration.

You hum a soft tune under your breath, cleaning him up.

Face and neck first.

“Can you shift higher?” you ask.

He realises your intentions and lifts his head to stare at you.

“You don't have to.”

All you do is offer him a smile. Your smile. “I want to. Allow me, lover.”

No one has ever taken care of him. No one has ever bothered to. Not until you.

He silently does what you asked, too stunned to come up with a clever tease.

His eyes flutter shut in what comes close to embarrassment. For some reason, he feels more exposed than ever when you wrap the cloth around his cock.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” you say, your voice but a whisper.

He immediately shakes his head. “Not with you.”

A hiss parts his lips as you tenderly take care of him.

Astarion rests his head just above your breast and

“Do you wish to talk?” he asks.

Your lips find their way through his damp curls, placing a kiss atop his head.

“Do you want to?”

He chuckles, feeling his cock soften in your hand – definitely a first. “I fear I'm too drained to do so.”

“Silence it is,” you say and he feels your warm breath against his skin.

Not just any silence.

Comfortable silence.

The rare type old romance books mention in passing and that many seek to no avail.

But he's found it because he's found you.

Masterlist

#astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion x f!reader

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dark-tides-in-faerun · 5 months

Text

Boiling Point (1/2)

Astarion x You!

Your party stumble across a hot spring in the wilds and agree to take turns bathing. It turns out, Astarion isn’t very good at taking turns but is more than happy to share…

🌶️mature🌶️ (fair warning that this chapter is just a little steamy but the next one will be very nsfw!)

You lay on your back in the recently discovered hot spring, eyes closed, basking in the delicious warmth. If this wasn't heaven, you weren't sure what was. The moon lights up the little clearing you’re in, giving everything that it touches a lovely, silvery sheen, and you close your eyes and relax into it, feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Well, hello.”

You almost jump out of your skin.

“Astarion.” You gasp, spluttering up a lungful of water as you quickly sink lower beneath the surface, arms crossing against your chest in a bid to protect your modesty as you twist toward him. The water’s cloudy enough that he wouldn’t be able to see anything, but that knowledge does very little to make you feel less exposed. “What in the nine hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing that a little dip couldn’t fix.” He quips, lounging against a rock, his face the picture of innocence and your eyes narrow as you notice he’s clutching a crimson towel in one pale hand.

“It’s not your turn.” You warn, narrow eyes meeting his as his carefully blank face looks back at you. You’d all agreed on a schedule for hot spring use and given that he’d already talked you into letting him steal all of your allocated time, it definitely wasn’t his turn.

“Oh, I know that.” He replies, the picture of unaffected grace as he looks at his nails and then back at you. “I just think it’s a little selfish of you to be… indulging yourself with so little regard for other people’s feelings.”

“Is it?” You say, slowly, and his lips quirk up in response. “Or is it a ‘little selfish’ to interrupt someone during the only time they’ve had to themselves in days. Especially when that person in question has already given up every other opportunity to bathe in the hot spring for you.”

“Yes, yes, that was very generous of you darling, but try to look at it from my perspective. You generate your own heat, but what about me? Do you know what it feels like to spend night after night in this frozen and miserable, knowing that there’s something warm and wet that I could sink myself into just meters away?”

His voice is innocent, but as his eyes drop to where your skin disappears beneath the water, the smile he gives you is anything but. It's obvious he’s trying to use your physical response to him to manipulate you, because he's always trying to do that and you flush, desire flooding to your core just as he intends it. But you're not just flushing because of the obscene way he's looking at you. It's because that smile has reminded you of how he looked when he returned from the springs last night. All pink skin and delighted exuberance. He’d been light, playful, exhilarated... Happy. And you knew enough about his past to know that happiness wasn’t something he’d known much of in his long life.

“Why can't you just go and bother someone else for a change.” You grumble, but the delighted shine in his eyes shows you that he knows he's getting his way and you scowl at him. “Gods give me strength. Turn around.”

“Why?” he asks, mouth blooming into a full smile and you can’t help the extra little flip your stomach gives at the sight of it.

“Because I’m naked and I’m not getting out with you staring at me. Turn around.”

“Darling, I’m hurt. Are you really suggesting we can’t share? There’s more than enough room for two.” He pouts, eyes shining as he stares down at you, sparkling with mischief and butterflies flutter to life in your stomach at the suggestion. You know he’s only trying to get a rise out of you but damn it, if it isn’t working. "Besides, I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

You choke back a strangled laugh because it really wasn’t him you were worried about. The butterflies have gone into overdrive just from the suggestion, and you can feel the heat staining your cheeks a darker pink than the warmth of the hot spring. You stare up at him, eyes a little too wide, and he gives you a self-satisfied smile. You can see in his gaze that he expects you to balk. Expects you to surrender the hot spring and slink away with your pink cheeks and pounding heart.

Well fuck him.

You force a sweet smile, feeling a thrum of satisfaction at the slight widening of his eyes as instead of moving toward him you wade to the far edge and turn around. For a long moment there’s nothing and you wonder if he’s even still there.

“Well? Are you getting in or not?” You demand, proud that your voice is only a little shaky, and he lets out a laugh. You swallow, focusing on trying to keep your heart rate level as you hear the sound of rustling fabric and then the water ripples around you as he slips in behind you.

“You can look now, darling, I assure you I’m quite decent.”

You turn around and immediately regret not getting out when you had the chance.

There is nothing decent about the way he looks right now.

The moonlight floods the broad expanse of his naked chest, staining it an ethereal, shining white, and he looks like he was carved from marble. The steam from the water has already tightened the hair at the nape of his neck into little curls. He’s stark and beautiful in the silver moonlight, but it’s not even that, that’s most striking.

It’s his expression.

His eyes are closed, head resting against the grassy bank behind him and the little smile that plays at the edges of his lips is a million miles away from his usual shit-eating grin. It’s small and soft and decidedly content and you swallow. It’s the full force of the little smile you’d seen at camp. It’s true happiness, you realize and it makes your heart pound and ache in equal measure to acknowledge that you’ve never seen that particular smile before.

He shifts, lifting his arms from the water and resting them against the rocky edge of the pool, blinking up at you and that little smile dissolves into something darker. Water streams from his skin, running between the dips and crevices of his muscular biceps and you shrink into yourself a little, sinking into the water until just your chin hovers above it. There’s nothing you can do about your heart now, it’s pounding against your ribs like it wants to escape from your chest and his crimson eyes are fixed on you as you try your best to keep yourself in check.

“Happy now?” you ask, and though your voice is a little breathy you feel like the fact that you’ve even gotten the words out is a feat of heroic proportions.

“Very.” He replies closing his eyes, and you can’t help but smile at that. He looks more content than you’ve ever seen him and that thought triggers a reaction in you that’s so strong that you suddenly realize that you can’t stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be ogled like this, when he’s just trying to relax. From the little snippets he’s given you from his past he’s had enough of that to last several lifetimes.

You clear your throat and he opens his eyes again, one eyebrow raised questioningly you swallow, gesturing at him to swap places with you. He sits up at that, a surprised smile on his lips and you shake your head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea about your intentions.

“I’m going to leave you to it.” You say, your words only catching a little in your throat as he cocks his head to the side, looking at you thoughtfully.

“Leave me to what, exactly?” He asks, voice low and teasing, and heat rises beneath your cheeks as steam curls up in silvery tendrils around his chest.

“This. Warming up.” You manage, trying not to look at him as you edge your way around the to the other side of the spring, nearer to the grassy knoll, but you really need him to move out of the way if you want to make a graceful exit. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

“I can think of better ways to warm up.” He says, voice a little too innocent, and your gaze flicks to him before you can stop yourself. His eyes are fixed on you and the look in them is dark and predatory and you falter, heart in your throat. You’ve seen that look before, and you swallow as his gaze slips to your neck, the hunger in it apparent.

“I-I-“ you start, but your words die in your throat. The way he’s looking at you has melted your insides into a puddle of lust and your really, really need to get yourself under control. You take a breath. Blood. He means blood. You try to distract your pounding heart by thinking through the implications of what he’s asking. You’re no cleric, but surely bloodletting in hot water wasn’t the best of ideas... “Is it safe?”

He frowns at that, cocking his head to the side as if trying to work out your meaning and you swallow and touch your neck.

“Is it safe to feed in the water?” You say, again. He freezes for a second, and then some unreadable expression passes over his face before he quickly looks away. If you didn’t know him better, you’d have said it was disappointment.

“Of course.” He says, seemingly to himself, and when he looks up the expression has been swallowed up by his usual confidence. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ll take very good care of you.”

He holds out his hand and you bite your lip, hesitating for a moment. It’s not that you don’t trust him. If he says it’s safe you believe him, but you’re just suddenly very aware of your lack of clothes. You shift uncertainly, edging a tiny bit closer to him and a slow smile spread over his lips.

“I think you’ll find you need to be a little closer than that.” He says in a voice that spreads beneath your skin like treacle, and for the second time in one night you regret not leaving when you had the chance.

You shiver despite the heat as you place your hand in his and he wraps his pale fingers around yours, tugging you gently towards him. For one panicked second you think he's going to pull you onto his lap, but he stops when you're a few inches apart. You put your free hand on the grassy bank to steady yourself as he lifts your hand to his mouth, rotating it so that the soft skin of your wrist presses gently against his lips. He's fed from you before but, other than the very first time when he almost lost himself, he’s been almost clinical in his approach. Careful to only touch as much as he needs to.

This is not that.

You watch, dumbstruck, as his pink tongue slips out from between his lips to swipe a cool stripe across the overheated plane of your wrist. Your breath catches, a small hitch at the back of your throat, but he catches it and drowning crimson orbs flick up to meet your startled gaze. He does it again, staring at you darkly from beneath his eyelashes and licks another tortuously slow line across your aching skin.

You try not to, but you can't help but gasp, hand gripping tightly into the grass, and his pupils dilate with bloodlust as his fingers tighten against your skin. Gods.

“A-Astarion.” Your voice is breathy and tight, barely audible and you feel almost drunk from just this small amount of contact. He closes his eyes at the sound, a pained expression passing over his face as a shudder runs through his body, and then, before you can say anything else, his fangs sink into your wrist.

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dragonsholygrail · 2 months

Text

In The Wind

Astarion Ancunin X Reader

a/n: This came to mind specifically because of the scene in 2005 Pride and Prejudice where Bingley is trailing after Jane and touching the ribbon on her dress. So keep that in mind bc it haunts me in the best way

summary: After your tunic gets torn in battle, you and Astarion head to a shop to get materials to get it fixed. Astarion, trapped in thoughts surrounding you, decides to do something to properly show his appreciation

word count: 2k

The day was cool, the breeze blowing through the opened door of the fabric store you and Astarion currently walked through. The others were Gods knew where but Astarion didn’t particularly care where they were. His thoughts were on you. More and more he found that his thoughts always came back to you.

Baldur’s Gate was loud. It has always been loud. Something Astarion remembered specifically. But he found the sound drained out as he stared down at a beautiful ribbon. At first he couldn’t exactly say what about it had caught his attention. What kept it. But upon reflection he noted how it reminded him of your eyes.

Cursing himself under his breath, Astarion threw down the ribbon and glanced away from the pile of fabrics. But just as his eyes lifted from the box, they fell right onto you. You who stood right in the sunlight, whose hair flowed through the wind that passed through the store.

He couldn’t look away from you, once again not really believing that you somehow cared about him. You were so… good. It was honestly almost nauseating. But it was also something he admired about you. It made him want to be better. To be better than what he was before. Most importantly for him. But he couldn’t deny he also wanted to be better for you. To be someone you could be proud to love.

Astarion walked around one of the makeshift aisles of the store. You were busy as you looked over some of the patches of fabric while Astarion was busy as he watched you. He didn’t blame you for not having noticed his stare. You were on a mission after all. Your tunic had been badly torn in your party’s last battle. The tear could easily be mended by you and the enchantments on it could be replaced by Gale if he was going to actually be helpful today.

But Astarion knew you weren’t the most gifted tailor. At least, not better than him. He could do a fine job, he’d been doing it with his own clothing for longer than he’d care to admit. A rare warmth spread through his chest as the idea came to him. When you least expected it, he’d take the fabric from you and fix your tunic before you even noticed it would be missing.

Something in him told him he just had to do this. To show you he cared, at least enough to do something as little at this… and to show you that you weren’t making a mistake as you stuck by him. Astarion closed his eyes as he shook out those unwanted thoughts. Not wanting to think about any of that or what it meant.

When Astarion opened his eyes he’s met with you walking away, a long piece of fabric hanging from your belt. A brief shot of panic ran through Astarion as you walked away, only deeper into the store to pay for fabric. Yet that didn’t shake away the fear. Astarion cleared his throat in order to push down the panic and put it with the rest of his emotions he was ignoring before he headed after you.

He doesn’t say anything, knowing he doesn’t need to. He knows you know he’s there. The wind blew through the store once again and your scent wafted straight into Astarion’s nose. He closed his eyes as he continued to follow you. He relished in the way you smelled. Focused and memorized it, knowing he could pick it out of an entire crowd of people. Aware of the fact that he could find you in an instant if needed. But still he preferred to remain close. Have you stay in his sights.

As he opened his eyes and looked back upon you, his eyes moved down your form. Not stopping until they halt at the fabric on your belt. He hand reached out and lightly fiddled with the end of it that flowed in the air after you. Neither of you have stopped walking, Astarion not thinking as he walked behind you. His attention completely focused on the fabric and the way it hung off of you. On how beautiful it would look on you.

He then noted how soft the fabric was. How easy or difficult it could possibly be to work with. A plan already had formed in his head at how he’d stitch it into your tunic. It would be flawless, just as all his other work had been prior. Just as his thoughts shifted into imagining your reaction, your voice broke him out of it.

“Are you trying to pickpocket me?” You ask softly, not having bothered to check back and glance at him. Astarion blinked back, hand still gripped onto the fabric, though his eyes found their way to the back of your head. Before he realized what he’s done, an easy grin was on his face and a joke had slipped from his lips.

“You, my darling? Never,” Astarion jested, both of them keenly aware of the fact. He gave a little tug on the fabric for good measure and was rewarded with the sweet melody of your laugh. You shook your head as you both turned a corner, seemingly in search of an attendant.

“Oh, don’t give me that. No one is safe,” you teased right back but for some reason Astarion felt his grin drop a little. His brows furrowed as he quickly thought over your response. The word ‘safe’ having run repeatedly in his ear. He wanted you to feel safe. With him. He wanted you to know that you were safe from him. Whatever that meant he didn’t exactly know but it was what he felt. From what he could pin point.

He debated even telling you all this. To have allowed himself to randomly unleash his soul to you in the middle of a random shop in a city that held so many memories for him. But then he started to think about what you’d say in response. How you would react. Emotion begun to rise within him at the idea of admitting any of that to do. So instead he simply continued the light and fun banter.

“Well now I suppose I must for fear that I have something to prove.” Astarion gave another tug to the fabric, though this time a little bit lighter in order to have kept up the playful atmosphere. As your laughter echoed throughout the store due to his actions, all those pesky emotions subsided.

You lightheartedly pranced forward a few steps in a weak attempt to get your fabric out of his reach but Astarion followed right on your tail. Both to stop you from getting away and to stop any other displaced emotions from coming forth from your distance.

“Or you could simply not steal my fabric from my person,” you responded with laughter still in your tone. Astarion tsked as he shook his head at you. He picked up his pace, walking closer to you now. He adjusted his grip on the fabric, getting ready for his next move.

“No, darling, I’m afraid that doesn’t seem to be an option,” he said smoothly before he harshly tugged on the fabric for the third time. It slipped from your belt with ease and curled right around Astarion’s hand. You immediately felt it and a gasp ripped from your throat.

You turned around, finally facing Astarion since you both walked in here. You looked breathtaking. Astarion could marvel at your beauty for hours. At times he’d almost swear it’s greater than his own. Almost. But he especially thought your beauty shined most spectacularly in the sun, and it had hit you just right in this moment.

“Ah, Astarion! Why must you do this?” You asked with a light grin on your face. Astarion mirrored it, holding the piece of fabric slightly above his head as he knew you wouldn’t be able to reach it. That didn’t stop you from trying as you stepped up to him to try and reach for it. Your body pressed against his and instead of feeling like he needed to back away, not wanting to be touched, Astarion found himself leaning into you.

“I believe you practically asked me to do this, love. Begged me to almost as much as you beg for my attention,” he boasted, his expression smug as you continued to try and grab at the fabric. He’d lower it briefly just as you’d reached for it but then quickly bring it back up. You laughed again, shaking your head at him. Astarion didn’t realize until that moment that he had been counting the number of times he had made you laugh. The revelation sent a tremor through his chest that he’d rather just ignore.

“My dear Astarion, I think that tadpole in your mind has finally driven you to insanity,” you said with a light scoff. Astarion’s face dropped into a deadpan at that, though he couldn’t help the quirk of his lips still present.

“Dear me, how humorous you are, darling,” he responded back flatly, though a teasing note was still clear through his tone. His attention zeroed in on you once again as you snickered back at him. Astarion fell deeper into his focus, his ears ringing till he felt a deep pounding surrounding him. He didn’t realize before it was too late that he had focused on your heartbeat. It sounded light. Happy. Because of him.

While he remained distracted, his body sagged in place, not paying attention to his momentary lack of posture. You don’t hesitate to use that to your advantage as with it he had lowered his arm that held the fabric. You reached up, your arm having stretched as far as it could go before you swiped up the fabric right from his grip. A noise of victory left your lips and it effectively alerted Astarion. He blinked back, breaking out of his thoughts. It only took a couple of seconds for him to realize he didn’t have the fabric anymore. He met your smug look with a bit of disbelief as his eyes connected back to yours.

“I try,” you replied playfully to his previous comment as you winked at him. Astarion stood there frozen for a moment before he added another mental tally as you laughed once more. You strode off to barter with the owner as Astarion stood off to the side while he waited for you.

He couldn’t understand how easy this all was for you. How open with yourself you had always been. Especially toward him. He… didn’t know how to do stuff like that. To let you in so easily. But stitching this for you, even without your initial knowledge, that he could do. It was the only way he knew how to express what you meant to him. It was all he was ready to do. For now anyway.

So as you walked past him after you purchased the fabric, Astarion stayed particularly close. As you both entered the hustle and bustle of Baldur’s Gate’s streets, there were a lot of things around you both that served as proper distraction. Astarion struck when the time was right, just as another vendor started a loud argument with a customer, you looked over and that’s when Astarion reached out and slipped the fabric off of you with the lightest touch he could have managed.

He gazed down at it with a smile on his face and a sense of victory in his heart, his thumb brushed over it lightly as he reminded himself of its softness. But when you started to turn your head back to him, his eyes jerked up and the fabric disappeared within the confines of his inventory. You snorted as ruckus that continued off to the side and as you looked at him, Astarion plastered on another one of his signature grins.

It was only after you chuckled at him and looked back forward that Astarion found his grin had softened. He looked toward the streets just as you had as he counted down the minutes till you both got back to camp and he could get started. He wondered if you’d like it and what you’d say when you found out. Most of all though he wondered if you’d know what it meant. If you’d see through him as you always seemed to. Strangely, this time around he kind of liked that thought.

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brabblesblog · 5 months

Text

Read everything on AO3.

My socials and fanart gallery: Carrd

AO3

A series revolving around the life of one Vampire Ascendant and his consort. The road to hell is paved with good intentions; the road to heaven is paved with bullshit and busy work. Astarion and Ban navigate the world post-ascension. The journey to healing is never linear, and this series chronicles moments in their life eternal. My ascendant Astarion fics are a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. The series includes full length fics and oneshots.

Tumblr | AO3

Oneshots that exist within the "If I ascend" series.

Astarion (Spawn/Pre-Cazador Mission) x Tav

Older works, written in second person.

Massive, super big kissy thank you to @bhaalism for the headers and dividers!

Cover art by Leira Art

Banner art by Emy San Arts

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ancuninfiles · 21 days

Text

Comfort pt. 3

Screenshot by @astarionposting

3.5k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Tav - Gale x F! Tav - 18+

Thank you To @gelican-gelicant Gelican AO3 for beta-reading and tbh teaching me how to be a better writer. I wouldn't be able to do this without you. Please check out their works!

Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: Gale realizes how Nym (Previously Tav) makes him feel, and figures out what to do about it. Astarion wants Nym all to himself, and drama at the grove ensues.

Tags: smut, consensual groping, masturbation (penis), spanking, blood loss, possessive Astarion, obsession, Bloodweave (if you squint), dry humping, sexual fantasies

MASTERLIST (The other chapters and other works)

Read on AO3 (Recommended)

Gale lay on his back as he watched the rain patting on the roof of his violet tent. He had been eager to start the day until the teeming rain had paused their journey to find a healer.

It was day two of their adventure, and the companions were turning out to be interesting. The pale elf and the leader, Nym, had coupled fairly quickly, and their noises kept Gale awake for a portion of the night. He knew that elves did not need to sleep as humans did, but he would have expected them to at least have some semblance of respect for their campmates.

Nym's noises were particularly distracting, not only because they were the loudest, but also because of how they caused Gale's mind to race and his blood to pump.

How long had it been since Mystra shared a bed with him? He was sequestered to his tower for at least one year with only his tressym and a hand to keep him company. To say he was pent-up would be an understatement to the intoxicating storm within him.

The way that Nym crawled over to him like a tiger - and her suggestion that he could join the two elves of otherworldly beauty in bed at the same time was causing a rush of blood to flow into his groin.

He wondered how long it would take for the rain to let up, and if he would have time to get some relief before setting off on their adventure.

He closed his eyes and pictured Nym's naked body, and her screams of pleasure while he touched her cunt with his hand; the same hand that was creeping below his pants and slowly reaching for his painfully hard member.

He pictured the pale elf's lips and tongue swirling around his girth, and the feeling of his cock at the back of his throat, his own length growing larger and leaking seed.

Gale grasped his cock and pulled his trousers down with his free hand, just enough to free it from the strangling chastity.

He began stroking his cock vehemently, thrusting up into his hand, and thumbing his precum and spreading its wetness down his shaft.

He pictured Nym's swollen cunt being filled by the pale elf, while he positioned his own girth at the entrance of her pert asshole before sinking himself into her slowly, stroking what he couldn't fit inside yet.

He would grab her ass and spit on her holes, now stuffed, leaving only her mouth empty and wanting.

He would reach around to stick his fingers in her mouth, or he could watch the two seductive elves locking lips and listen to her muffled moans on his tongue as they fucked her.

He wanted to feel Astarion's cock on the underside of his own through the wall that connects Nym's tight asshole to her soaking pussy, and he revelled in the thought of feeling his balls grazing against the gorgeous elf's shaft as he fucked into Nym's perfect hole.

He was so close - he wanted to cum inside her and see his hot juice leak onto Astarion's cock as he fucked it into her.

Times like these made him grateful for an elf's lack of fertility. He couldn't imagine raising a child with a mind-flayer parasite in his brain; but his cock was inside his hand, not Nym, and not between Astarion's lips either.

He had been so distracted by his reverie that he failed to notice that the rain had let up completely.

"Wizard! - Are you coming?" yelled Astarion.

No, I won't be coming.

He pulled up his pants and tucked his cock into his waistband before throwing on his robes in an effort to hide his shameful attempt at release.

Mystra, forgive me.

He stumbled out of his tent to where Nym, Astarion, and Shadowheart were all standing and discussing their mission for the day.

“Considering that we are near a body of fresh water, I have no doubts that there’s a settlement nearby,” Nym pressed.

“Right - we best get going,” Gale chimed in, body taut with tension and wanting to forget everything that happened within the past five minutes.

__________

The crew journeyed towards the sounds of shouting while in search of a healer, which led them to a skirmish between a group of goblins versus druids and tiefling refugees.

Nym cast entangle, and then Astarion shot with his crossbow, and snuck up with his daggers to slash the enemy's throats.

Astarion favoured Nym's side, as they synergized in battle with seamless coordination, as though they were seasoned comrades.

Gale used long-range attacks, staying behind everyone and casting spells from afar. He occasionally glanced at the two elves as they danced their way through the battle together, causing his cheeks to flush as he remembered his shallowly suppressed fantasies.

The battle swiftly concluded with goblin corpses decorating the path toward a grove, which would hopefully lead them to a druidic healer who could take care of their tadpole problem.

They made their way to the shops where Nym sold their wares. Astarion pulled out a parchment which seemed to have a list of items they wanted to purchase, and then he helped Nym with the transaction before placing everything in his pack.

“That halfling is stingy. Next time I’m just going to steal my arrows from the little gremlin,” Astarion stated with a mischievous grin.

“Shh - stop it!” Nym poked Astarion’s arm roughly. “What if someone hears you? We’re already the outsiders, and I’ve picked up that the druids here are a distrustful lot.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure to keep quiet the next time I’m discussing my cunning schemes,” Astarion hunched his back and positioned his hands up as if he were drawing non-existent claws before whispering just loud enough for the four to hear.

Nym's face reddened at his words.

Could she truly be interested in someone who is willing to steal from these poor druids? Gale had already begun disapproving of Astarion’s impulsive and murderous attitude, since the previous day’s interaction with the looters in the nearby ruins.

___________

They were doing reconnaissance when they overheard the group of bandits talking about the nautiloid, and how they wanted to search it for valuables. They clustered together to deliberate on how best to address the situation.

“I say we put the bastards out of their misery, then rob them for all they’re worth,” Astarion keenly suggested.

Nym paused, eyes widening and glaring at Astarion. “Wha- really?”

Gale’s brows canted downwards in a frown. “Surely we don’t need to immediately resort to violence. I could speak to them; maybe they won't be hostile.”

Nym hung her head and ran her fingers through her scalp, gripping her hair with both hands before sighing. “I don’t know - they seem pretty hostile to me already.” She released her hair and tucked it behind her ears. “Shadowheart?”

“We need supplies, and they have supplies. Let’s just get this over with and call it a day,” Shadowheart sighed.

The consensus was to attack the bandits; Gale, knowing that sticking together was their best bet to be un-tadpoled, put his differences aside for the sake of their group.

___________

Astarion was pushing the boundaries of acceptable mischief; it soured Gale's desire to engage in the wanton activities he had fantasized about earlier this morning.

Gale admitted to himself that Astarion was very handsome, but charming in the same way a lion might be before it mauls one to death.

There is also the concern of Mystra watching over everything I do. Should the orb even slightly destabilize, Mystra will know; and she will know what the cause is while it is happening.

The last thing Gale wanted was for Mystra to see him making love to another - but she had abandoned him.

He pushed the thought from his mind for the time being, knowing there were bigger problems to worry about.

__________

Astarion and the team navigated through the grove to where two tieflings argued with some druids about their daughter being taken into questioning by someone named Kagha. The argument halted and Nym approached them, sweaty and trembling like a newborn doe.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and planted her hands on her hips, hunching her shoulders and squinting away the sunlight. “We’ve come looking for a healer.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a druid reining from the High Forest and I’d like to speak to your archdruid,” she breathed, her mouth opening in a grimace.

Astarion noted that Nym looked ill. Perhaps the health potions I gave her weren’t enough to salve the blood loss.

“Outsiders have no business here, druid or not. We’ve enough strays already.”

Nym clenched her fists and teeth, her mouth tightening into a pursed expression, and her long nails digging into her palms. “Okay, well we just saved your asses from a hoard of bloodthirsty goblins, so the least you could do is just let us speak to whoever’s in charge here,” she asserted.

Oh, she is feisty today, Astarion thought.

“She’s right,” perked one of the druids.

“Alright, but we’ll have our eyes on you.”

“Great.” Nym forced a smile. “We’ll be off, then.”

They walked into a clearing where a misty green ritual was taking place. The sun was hot and beating down on all of them, which seemed to rouse Nym more than anyone.

“I just need a minute,” she panted as they approached a cliff on the side of the ritual where two ruined pillars had fallen, leading towards a small beach. She began to fan herself with her hand and sat down to dangle her feet off the ledge, dirt and sand sticking to her exposed thighs.

Nym sat back, resting her weight on one hand, fanning herself with the other and playfully swinging her legs off the cliff in tandem.

She is not doing okay.

“How about Astarion and I go look for that healer?” Shadowheart suggested.

“Yeahyeahfinewhatever.” Nym closed her eyes and scrunched her features.

What? And leave her with him? Astarion thought.

Astarion’s eyes widened as he glanced toward Gale, who began to kneel beside Nym.

I should be the one to stay with Nym, making sure she’s okay; not the idiot wizard.

He looked back to Shadowheart, who had already begun walking towards the entrance to the archdruid’s quarters, and decided to hold his tongue lest he seem too needy, or jealous.

Which I’m not, of course.

Astarion quickly caught up to Shadowheart, glancing back at Nym and Gale before the door to the den closed behind him.

__________

“You don’t look like you’re feeling too well,” Gale pointed out.

“Hmph - yeah, I’m just sick, I think, or something. Sorry.” She stood up and balanced on the ruined pillars, making her way down to the beach.

Gale clumsily followed behind her. “Oh dear, hopefully not a case of ceramorphosis; although I believe that we should have turned already if that were the case. Still, it’s very puzzling. I’ve done a lot of research on this topic, and I mean a lot. One might call me an expert on it. I -” he paused.

Nym was not paying attention at all, instead, she was hunched over, squatting, sorting through rocks on the beach and stacking them vertically.

“Oh! What’s this?” Nym squealed excitedly, holding up a gold amulet that had the words “Te Absolvo” engraved on the back. “No fucking way!”

She put the amulet on herself hurriedly before chanting the same words that were inscribed on the amulet. A glowing blue aura surrounded her, and the sound of wind chimes momentarily filled the air surrounding her.

She exhaled deeply with her eyes closed and a smile planted on her face. Nym sat back on her bottom and crossed her legs, looking at the amulet inquisitively.

A magical item, good to note. Gale thought.

This was the first time that Gale had Nym alone, and the beach they were at was surprisingly secluded, especially around the bend.

He wondered, She wanted me.

The memories of his fantasy flooded his mind. Perhaps if I just-

His hands came to reach for Nym's shoulders. “You’re slouching - it’s not good for your back.”

Nym straightened and pressed up into his touch, rolling her head to the side and closing her eyes with a smile.

That’s a good sign.

Gale came down on his knees and began to massage her shoulders, applying pressure with his thumbs and squeezing her trapezoids with his palm.

Nym lolled her head forward and groaned. “Ahh - so nice.”

Gale experimentally trailed his palms lower towards her uncovered midriff, and then snaked his fingers up to fuss under the bottom of her shirt, causing a gasp to escape her lips

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Is this okay?”

“Mhm,” she assured him quietly.

He lifted her tight, thin, leather shirt to rest above her breasts, exposing them to the soothing air that was being carried ashore by the water. He sat back on his heels and groped Nym's fleshy mounds while his lips grazed her ear.

“Still okay?” He whispered, his cock now straining against his pants as it had this morning.

She let out a needy sigh, “Huh - yeah.” Her head lolled back as she affirmed again.

He pinched her nipples in sync, causing Nym to yelp quietly. He pushed her hair to the side with his right hand and began placing wet kisses on her neck while toying with her tender peaks.

Nym groaned and Gale crept his right hand down,

Down,

Down . . .

until he reached Nym's waistband, where he snuck the tips of his fingers beneath to insinuate his request; all the while, continuing his work on her left breast.

Yet, his head jerked backward as his hair was gripped, and he sensed the cold, sharp sting of metal against his throat. His eyes widened as he froze.

“Let - her - go.” A deep and fearsome voice spoke, the low tenor sending vibrations through his head. “Now,” he growled, pressing the blade to Gale’s throat and creating a shallow but stinging crimson line to form beside his Adam's apple.

Gale released Nym, and she spun around on her knees to face the scene.

“Astarion! What are you doing?” Nym yelled, breasts still exposed.

Astarion cocked his head up to Nym. His eyes were bulging and his teeth were bared.

In one quick movement, Gale reached up to grasp Astarion’s wrist.

“Fulgor!” Gale chanted, sending an electrical shockwave through Astarion.

Astarion groaned loudly through gritted teeth, his body convulsing uncontrollably causing him to stumble back on his ass.

Gale stood and turned to Astarion while feeling his own neck and then examining the blood that stained his fingers. He held his wound, applying pressure, his face screwing up.

“Use your words, dammit! You almost bloody killed me!” Gale protested.

Astarion got back on his feet and stood tall. “That was the point, you insufferable swine! Agh!” he groaned, holding the wrist that Gale had cast Shocking Grasp on.

Nym pulled her shirt down and stood up, beside the dueling pair. Her knuckles whitened as her nails dug into her palms. Her shoulders were tense and her torso leaned forward.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” she panted, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath, eyes welling up with tears as she held a deep frown and her eyes darted from one man to the other.

“Nothing - not anymore, since you’ve been freed from this gorilla’s grasp,” Astarion responded.

“She wanted me to touch her!” said Gale.

Astarion paused.

He then grunted and swung the pommel of his blade to smash into Gale’s orbital bone, causing him to lose his balance and hold his face with his bloodied hand.

“Stop it!” Nym cried. “Please!” She grabbed her head and toppled to her bottom. Her knees were lifted and her hands covered her eyes to palm her tears away. She sniffled and sobbed on the sandy beach as the soft waves kissed the shore.

Both men halted as they witnessed Nym's sorrowful display of emotion.

“I don’t know what’s going on -” She choked out a sob. “My friends are fighting and it’s scaring me,” she whined and sniffed up her cries.

Shadowheart, who had been snacking on an apple and watching everything unfold from the edge of the cliff, stepped down to the trio with haste and between Nym and the two men.

“Can’t you men see that your juvenile quarrel is upsetting Nym? You've all better find a way to discuss your feelings like adults later, and a way to can it for now; lest you want our leader to be obsolete.” Her brows knit in annoyance. “Now, I suggest you leave us for a few moments; considering you two were the ones to cause this problem in the first place.”

Gale held his eye behind Astarion who was still seething as they both faced Shadowheart.

Astarion grunted. “Agh - I am not leaving her again!”

Nym's head perked up at his words, face red and wet from tears. She gazed at Astarion, lips parted and eyes puffy from crying.

Shadowheart looked back at Nym to read her face for any signs of disapproval before looking back to Astarion and Gale. “Fine - Gale, you come with me. I have to heal you, anyway.”

“Yeah, no thanks to that incredulous elf,” Gale fumed, walking past Astarion, Shadowheart and Nym towards the clifftop.

Turning, Shadowheart addressed Nym with a quick “Hey, we'll talk later,” before swiftly departing from the beach to follow Gale.

__________

Astarion let out a breathy sigh before walking over to Nym and slumping to sit beside her on the ruined pillar. She held her knees and fell onto Astarion’s lap awkwardly.

Astarion reached out to tenderly caress her head, running his hand gently over her hair and sweeping it behind her ear. She closed her eyes at his touch and sighed into his lap.

Cute.

He then scooped her under her arms to come and sit on his lap, her legs dangling off of his left side and her face and arms pressing into his chest. He placed a firm smooch on her head and squeezed her tightly. Nym cozied into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

Astarion wanted to hold her and never let her go, which made him feel pathetic. He had only known Nym for a single day and was already becoming attached, as if she were a piece of him that would cause him immense pain upon its departure. Something about her had begun to grow roots into his soul.

“Did you want him to touch you?” He asked - because, of course, she would say no.

Please say no. That would make things so much easier. That way I can just kill him and be over with it.

At the same time, Astarion worried for her soul if she had truly been groped by the gorilla without consent. All the more reason to ring his neck. So a part of him hoped that she did want it, and that nobody would ever touch her like the way all of the monsters over the years had touched him.

“Yeah,” she replied.

An obscure and uncanny pain flowed through his veins at her words, causing his breath to stop and his chest to tighten. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer to his next question.

“Did you like it?”

Silence, But then,

“Mhm,” Nym sighed while rolling her hips on Astarion's lap and squeezing him tightly.

Shit, he thought, does she think I'm happy for her?

He wanted to take her to his tent, bend her over his knee and spank her bare bum until it was red and speckled with purple bruises - and until she apologized. I'm so sorry Astarion! I'm yours and only yours! I don't want Gale!

Only then would he seize his abuse, and then reward her with his fingers. . . and then, maybe, his cock - if she was a very good girl.

Blood began to rush to his groin just thinking about it.

Or, he could . . . Bite her throat and drink from her until she was within an inch of her life, and then offer to heal her - only after she apologizes.

He pictured it so clearly, her body weakening under him until she couldn’t move and could barely open her eyes. Her lips beautifully pale, and her hands pinned above her head.

“Please heal me, Astarion. I am so sorry! I won't think about Gale ever again!” she would cry; and he would make her promise.

Yeah.

He would lean Into her ear and say “Promise me, little love.” And then she would whine and say “I promise to be only yours, Astarion!” in her weak and melodic little voice.

His mouth watered at the thought of filling his belly with her blood again and again.

He pushed her hair to the side and began to graze his fangs against her neck. He licked, searching for her pulse. Nym, in response, shivered and relaxed her muscles in his grasp.

He was so close, he could feel the little patches of dry skin where he bit her last.

But instead, he kissed her flesh tenderly and held her tighter to his chest.

You will be mine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Read chapter 4 ->

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Says he's in love with my body, that's why he's fucking it up And then he says to me "Baby, if it feels good, then it can't be bad" Where I can be immoral in a stranger's lap Ethel Cain - Gibson Girl

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x original female character #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion x female tav #gale x f!tav #gale x female reader #gale x female tav #gale dekarios #gale fanfic #gale smut #bloodweave #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!oc

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lovelybluebirdie · 4 months

Text

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

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

Word Count: 1,7k

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

[ AO3 ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

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

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

Masterlist

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cursedhaglette · 4 months

Text

Thrice Before Dawn

She thought he was having a nightmare, so naturally, she thought she was helping. Opening the tent flap, she's surprised to find something entirely unexpected.

Rating: E Word Count: 2,900 Content: 18+, oral sex, PIV sex, male masturbation, squirting

[ao3 link]

Halia takes last watch, preparing to guard over the camp until dawn breaks over the horizon, sketchbook in hand. It’s been ages since she’d been able to take the time to draw or journal, either tied up in other things that needed doing while she kept watch or simply too exhausted to do anything but stare off into the darkness.

She opens the book to where she’d left off, finding the page she’d marked to be the one she’d filled with sketches of Astarion. She can’t help her cringe as she looks over her work. It’s not bad by any means, as far as her ruined mind can tell, but since they’d spent the night together out in the forest a tenday ago, things between them had grown strange and tense.

Gone was the playful flirtation, the long, charged stares, and the touches that lingered just a bit longer than could be called casual. She kept telling herself it was fine, he wasn’t obligated to want her just because they’d slept together. Though, truth be told, she very much wanted to repeat the experience - she wanted him to like her, to want her, more than she felt she should.

Blasted, handsome vampire.

Sighing to herself, she turns the page, trying to think if anything notable had occurred in the last couple days that might be worth jotting down. The same thing day after day, fights and hiking and threats of death or the end of the world. At least they were almost to the creche, which might prove interesting or different.

Across camp, she hears a muffled groan and she snaps up at the sound. Scanning the tents surrounding the dying embers of the campfire, she tries to make out if anything is out there - hunting them in the darkness..

There is…nothing to be seen though. Only darkness and then - a grunt followed by something almost like a muffled whimper.

Halia stands, tip-toeing across camp and approaching each tent, praying that without her usual armor and robes she can stay quiet enough to catch whatever had snuck up on them before it caught onto her. At least everyone was nearby to aid her, should it be something truly deadly.

She doesn’t hear anything again until she finds herself before the last tent - Astarion’s. Then there’s rustling sounds, and another groan almost like he might be…dreaming? Or rather, having a nightmare, she guessed. It wouldn’t be the first time hearing him toss and turn, tortured by the memories of his awful past even while trancing.

Is it appropriate to check on him? They’ve gotten to know each other well enough and she hardly wants him to suffer through whatever was going on in his trance, but she knows he can sensitive to such vulnerabilities.

Biting her lip and bouncing on her heels, she tries to decide what she ought to do, and then there’s another muffled groan and acts.

The tent flap swings wide, held open by her hand, and time seems to slow. It wasn’t what she’d expected to find - Astarion tortured by a nightmare, curled on his side and whimpering for her to wake him from the horrors.

He lays flat on his back, one hand pressing into his forehead and something in his mouth, an attempt to muffle the noise he was making, if Halia had to guess. His shirt was pulled up enough to reveal part of his chiseled torso, but her eyes didn’t linger there.

He was fucking up into his hand, his hips thrusting eagerly and cock weeping pre-cum that glistened in the low light creeping in through the open tent flap. She’s seen it before but like this, Gods, it was like a work of art.

He’s suckling on a rag, which Halia realizes quickly was bloody and - Gods, was that what she’d used to clean up her bloody wound from the fight earlier in the day? How had he…?

She can't move - entirely transfixed as she watches his muscles flexing into another hip thrust, the curve of his glutes visibly working even in the low light. Her breath catches in her throat and she’s trying to process the immediate want that heats her blood at the sight before her, catches his attention and finally, Astarion turns to look.

His ruby eyes widen as he looks over his favorite warlock, and then he smirks, studying how she blushes while he lazily strokes his cock once more - holding her gaze as he works his precum around his shaft.

“Fuck, oh Gods, I’m so sorry,” Halia mumbles, finally turning away before she can stare any longer, and manages to shut the tent flap with all the urgency she could muster before hurrying away. She wants to stay, of course she does. She wants to watch and taste and touch and moan with him. But if he wants that, she knows she would have been invited.

“Leaving so soon?”

Halia half turns at the question, already several paces from his tent and thinking of a million ways to apologize for her intrusion but coming up short. He catches her quickly and holds his loose trousers up in one hand, the other snaking around her middle and holding her fast against him. His cold hand sends a chill through her skin, still warm from the fire and encouraging that blazing want that’s settled in her core at the sight of him so unguarded - alone, whimpering, eager.

“Didn’t enjoy the show, darling?” The question is pressed into her neck, and she knows he delights in the goosebumps that immediately appear under his cool breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers without turning to face him. “I thought you might be having a nightmare or…I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And you didn’t think to wait and make sure I was alright?” He tuts in her ear, his mouth so close she can feel the way it curls into a smile. “So cruel.”

She took in a deep inhale of breath, unsure of what to do with herself as his hand tightened around her waist, tugging her closer to him. He’s still hard, despite his cock being stowed in his trousers, and Halia has to resist the wanton urge to grind against him in the middle of the still sleeping camp.

“Perhaps you’d like to come help me…get back to sleep,” he murmurs before taking one earlobe between his teeth and nipping gently. His hand crests lower, teasing the waistline of her loose camp pants and moving so slowly towards where he knows she wants him.

“Only -” she pauses as he kisses her neck, humming in approval as his hand dips lower, finally touching at her core. She knows she’s already soaked, the sight of him fucking into his own hand, cock glistening with precum, had immediately drenched her. Now Astarion knows it too.

“Only if you want me,” Halia stammers, biting her lip as a single, cold finger dances across her clit.

“Oh my dear, I believe you’ve already seen how badly I want you tonight,” a second finger joins the first, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against her. Astarion huffs a smug laugh as she bites her lip, holding back a whimper of desperation and pleasure. “Come with me.”

And then, Astarion’s hands are gone - a hollow ache left where he’d been. She can’t help but follow him back to his tent, called by the pleasure she knows can be found within. The mess of blankets and open books welcome her, as does the smell of him - earth and spice and whatever perfumed oil he uses to make his skin smell like heaven made flesh.

The flap drops behind Astarion as he moves and kneels before her, and the space goes dark, but she doesn't need any light as his hands move to the laces of her pants. He makes quick work of them and then her legs are bare and he’s teasing, and Halia knows it - knows he wants her to beg for more, for his touch or his tongue.

“My golden, little bird,” he purrs as he nears her center, finally calling out how soaked she’s been for him since the first touch. “Look at you, such a mess. Is this all for me? All from your spying?”

Halia has to force herself not to give in to her nerves, not to wrap her arms around her waist or cover her face to hide her slowly growing blush - knowing it will only make him more smug. He likes her shameless, knowing he can pull that side of her out with each touch as she grows more desperate.

“I wasn’t -” he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, humming in approval when she gasps in response, her argument lost at the feeling of his lips drifting higher and higher.

He pulls her panties down finally, one swift movement freeing her pussy for him, but he continues teasing along the edge of where real pleasure would be found and Gods if he doesn’t touch her again soon, she’s going to be reduced to begging.

And she really doesn’t want to have to beg, it will only mean far too much smugness to deal with tomorrow if she does.

“Lay down,” he commands. When Halia does, he finally descends upon her, ready to feast.

Astarion draws the flat his tongue up her core slowly at first, and once he reaches her clit, he pauses to softly suck and kiss at the swollen bud before licking up her again. It’s simultaneously everything and not enough, her hips rolling up as she seeks more from his practiced, wicked mouth. Each soft kiss has her whimpering, and finally he indulges her fully, sucking herr pulsing, ready clit into his mouth and plunging two fingers inside, spreading and filling her.

She desperately wants to fuck herself on his fingers, but his other hand holds fast to her hips to keep her in place while his hand continues slowly, testing how she stretches around him while his tongue dances up and down along her folds.

“If I’d known how greedy you’d be for me, I’d have you like this every night,” Halia hears in her mind, his voice echoing through the tadpole so he can taunt and tease without removing his mouth from her cunt. “I’m going to have you begging for more before I finally take you.”

“Oh Gods,” she moans, his words adding to the intensity building in her core. She can feel it building, his tongue the spark to the kindling of her want.

Astarion huffs a laugh against her soaked cunt as he curls his fingers inside her, finding a spot she’s never had stroked before and immediately makes her squirm. Halia’s legs twitch, wanting to close at the intensity of the sensation, but Astarion’s broad shoulders keep her from moving too far.

“Keep these spread,” he chides, picking up speed. And then she’s lost in her release, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle the primal, desperate moan that tears through her chest as her body clenches around his hand. A gush comes as she rides out her climax, soaking his wicked mouth and the blankets below her.

She’s never experienced such intense pleasure, never been so wet, but cumming so hard for him only leaves her mindless and unable to be bashful about what’s just happened. Her body just wants more, aching for the stretch of his cock and to feel the heat of his pleasure inside her.

“Good girl,” he tells her, pulling his mouth away. He wipes away the shine of her squirting release with one hand, the other firmly in place as his thumb circles her sensitive clit and fingers continue to work inside. “Can you give me a little more? Can you soak my hand again before I fuck you?”

“I want you to fuck me now,” Halia pleads, her voice thick with want and almost whining for him, every trace of resolve not to act desperate for him gone in the wake of her climax.

“Then cum for me again, sweet thing, and you can have your fill of me.”

His thumb presses into her harder and she sees stars, the intensity of the feeling earning him a deep, guttural moan that he chuckles at. His fingers keep working inside her, and Halia can only watch as he reaches for the rag he’d used to muffle his moans and presses it into her mouth.

“Bite down on this, love, we don’t want you waking up the whole camp, do we? I don’t intend to share your pleasure with anyone else.”

Before Halia can protest, his fingers find the rhythm she needs and her body crashes again, soaking him just as he’d asked while he continues to finger her through the peak of her pleasure. He only pulls his hand away once she’s finished clenching around him, trying to catch her breath and watching as he lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth.

He sucks her cum off himself as he undoes his pants with his other hand, groaning around the taste of her while his cock springs free. It’s still desperately hard, soaked in precum and actively leaking more. Any other night, she might have asked to taste it - to lick every drop of his precum clean and have him fuck into her mouth with abandon.She wants his hips rolling into her throat just like she’d seen him fucking into his hand.

“Now, what was it you wanted?” he asks smugly, nudging her legs apart further and smiling at the mess he’s made. He rolls the sheath of his cock, smearing the precum as he prepared himself to fuck her.

“I warn you, darling, I was close before you showed up the first time so I don’t know how long I’ll -” his words are quickly cut off by his own groan as the head of his heavy cock finally begins to stretch her, and Halia’s warmth welcomes him wholly.

They whimper together as he finally pushes inside, and she watches as his eyes close in pleasure, her body working to take him while he slowly presses into her. He pulls away once, twice, and then slides home, burying himself to the hilt - both of them gasping in unison at the feeling.

Lewd, soaked sounds filled the tent with each thrust of his cock within her warm walls, hands roughly guiding her hips and core along his cock. He rips the rag from between her teeth, replacing it with a deep, bruising kiss before taking her tongue in his mouth and sucking on it.

“Fuck, Halia, it’s like you were made to take me,” Astarion says, pulling away from her lips but reaching forward to take one nipple between his fingers and twisting enough to make her clench around him, earning her a satisfied huff.

“Please,” she whines, closer to oblivion with every passing moment that he spends inside her, “please, more, more -”

His hips roll harder, each slam driving deeper into her and she sees stars, unsure if she’ll be able to walk again after he’s done with her. She knows she isn’t technically his, but if he asked her in that moment, she’d give him everything - entirely undone by the pleasure he’s offered her.

“So greedy for me,” he repeats with a moan, still trying to play the rake though so close to the edge himself. “My good girl, my sweet Halia, my -”

He spills inside her with a grunt before he can finish his last thought, and the abrupt warmth of him filling her is enough to send her shuddering into one final, blissful climax - milking the last few seconds of his spend deeper within her.

She pants for a moment and he nearly collapses on her, shifting to one side before reaching for the rag. He doesn’t look as he wipes at what remains of their joining on his skin, and ruby eyes meet hers in a contended gaze she’s only seen a handful of times. If her heart weren’t already racing, it would be the moment he looked at her that way.

Dawn is on the horizon by the time Halia makes her way from the soaked bedroll and the perfect lover within, and she desperately works to calm her still thundering heart. Her knees wobble and she’s going to be sore all day, but by the Gods does she feel alive.

She’s going to fall for him if she’s not careful - throw herself headlong into something she knows he won’t want. Even still, she can’t bring herself to regret what they’d done. She’s going to fall into the trap that is Astarion and it’s going to tear her apart and then he’s going to have her begging for more, just because he can.

And then footsteps sound behind her and he’s there, kissing her cheek softly.

“Come on, we should clean up before anyone wakes up,” Astarion says quietly, and she spots his blanket under his arm.

“That was…nice,” Halia says simply, smiling at him. “Fun.”

“It’s hard not to have fun with you,” he says in return, and there’s no performance in his words. Just honesty.

It’s the first time Halia ends her watch feeling so content.

In fact, it might be one of the best mornings she can remember.

#astarion fic #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion smut #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #hagfics

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kittenintheden · 4 months

Text

music to my ears

just a little rainy day eargasm, as one does.

Rating: E Word Count: >1k Content: 18+, elf ears are erogenous zones, touchless orgasm, ear kissing, ASMR, cream dem jeans

---

Rain patters gently on the roof of the tent, the sound a soothing end to an arduous day. Astarion and Tav lounge together purely for the physical affection of it, her arms encircling his shoulders from behind as he sits between her legs, his back pressed up against her.

He still can't quite believe she's agreed to this. No sex? He's never lived in a world like that. But she not only seems willing, she seems eager to discover a dozen new kinds of intimacy.

As if she senses his train of thought, she puts her lips right up to his ear and says, “This okay?”

He hums and arches, feeling a pleasant tingle spread across his scalp and down the back of his neck.

“Is what okay?”

“Are ears okay?” she whispers.

Another wave of tingles passes over him and he grins lazily. “They’re above the waist, aren’t they?” he responds, leaning to the side to give her better access because hells, it really does feel good.

He can feel her mouth move as she hugs him tighter. “Remember you can always ask me to stop if it gets to be too much.”

He chuckles. “What could you possibly do that could be too-”

But then he’s arching again with a gasp as she runs the tip of her tongue up his antihelix all the way to the tip. The wet warmth sends a wash of pleasure straight through him, filling his chest like bath steam and continuing southward to pool behind his navel. His eyes go half-lidded and he swallows.

“Still okay?” she whispers.

Immediately he nods and says, “Yes. I like that. I like that very much.”

“Good.”

He feels her tongue draw over him again, this time behind his ear from base to tip. Then she uses the blunt edges of her teeth to softly scrape back down the outer ridge and he only barely holds back his whine. It’s soothing and erotic in the same moment, contentment and arousal rising in him like the tide.

Inside his trousers, he feels himself growing hard, and it’s not unwelcome. His feet dig into the ground beneath them as he pushes himself back into her, seeking more contact, pressing his back firmly into her chest, and he feels her grin as she places an open kiss to his ear lobe. Brings it into her mouth, gives it a gentle suck.

“Ah,” he breathes, squirming against her as his cock goes fully hard under her attention.

From her position, her own eyes go lustful and glazed as she looks down the length of his body and sees the ridge of him swell and strain against his clothes. Gently, she brings up one hand to play with his hair as she continues to tease his ear with tooth and tongue.

“Pretty,” she whispers in between. “How pretty you are, going weak under me. Who knew your ears were so sensitive.”

He grips her legs tight to either side of him and bites his lip, trying to clear his head enough to respond. “You’re half-elven,” he gasps. “You know exactly… hah… what you’re doing.”

“I do,” she laughs softly. “And you know I know.”

The stimulation continues to coax the flame in his gut, the tension coiling deliciously, making him shudder to the core. She flicks her tongue over his tragus and swirls it into the triangular dip near the pointed tip and he’s panting, panting, nearly writhing against her, using his heels for leverage to push back. His cock twitches, sensitive and untouched, but he feels a crest building nonetheless.

“Would you like to come, dearest?” she whispers right into the center of his mind and he squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers.

He nods, the movement jerky.

“Then come,” she breathes, giving him a hard nip and then a final soothing, firm lick.

His mouth falls open and he all but collapses against her as his hips arch up off the ground and he creams himself, his spend spilling from him in staccato bursts that feel like a brush on the underside of heaven with every pulse. When he’s done, his muscles go slack and he blinks, bleary-eyed, only mildly annoyed somewhere deep in the back of his brain that he needs to get down to the river in short order to wash the trousers he just soiled.

She squeezes him tightly from behind. “Still okay?” she says softly.

“Hnnnnngggggyeah,” he responds.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #kitten writes

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wolfywolfy · 23 hours

Text

Chapter 10 is posted!

I'm not lying when I say this is probably my favorite thing I have ever written. I know that's high praise, but I'm really proud of this chapter!! <3

Chapter Summary: Astarion has come up with a plan to seduce Prim into sleeping with him a second time after their row with the Duergar. Will it work out the way he's intended, or will he get swept up into something more?

Warnings: Nothing for this chapter!

Fic Summary:

Primrose is a druid, tree-hugger, and the de facto leader of their merry little band of tadpoled misfits. She's been completely isolated from society, living alone in the woods for who knows how long, and given her naivety, Astarion figured she was raised by wolves. Regardless, being a leader means she is a sturdy foundation for himself to latch on to, if he can manipulate her to care for him. She's prone to waxing poetics and altruistic to a fault, the perfect victim for his ministrations – so imagine his surprise when she turns out to be more complex than he gave her credit for. Why, exactly, has she been hiding from society? Prim carries herself as if she would never do any wrong, but when provoked, she's shockingly deadly. The more time he spends with her, the more he has a suspicion that there's something dark lurking beneath the surface…. Perhaps it's time to find out.

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fangswbenefits · 3 months

Text

Trance

Summary: Astarion is having a hard time trancing, and you offer to help him out in more ways than one.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Cockwarming. Body worship. Sub Astarion (if you squint). Breast play. Precum.

Word count: 2.1k

Astarion was restless.

You could see it clearly from the way he was pacing near his tent, not once stepping inside.

It was odd and unusual even though elves were known to only need a few hours of trancing to replenish their vigour.

Still, you figured maybe you should intervene.

“Astarion?”

You made sure your voice was loud enough for him to hear you from across the camp without sounding too alarm to wake the others.

It was enough to stir his attention, and he stopped in his tracks for a brief moment, before rounding the campfire, as he made his way towards you.

He looked positively drained when you crawled out through the opening of your tent, sitting on the carpeted floor.

“You look awful.”

He scoffed. “I'm quite sure I look far better than you, darling.”

You smiled warmly, knowing fully well it was just his automatic response to being teased.

“Well, what is it? Did you call me here to gawk?”

Astarion had this terrible habit of behaving like a temperamental cat that would make it everyone's problem if any minor inconvenience was thrown at them.

“You can't trace, can you?”

He crossed his arms. “I'm fine.”

Your smile parted your lips. “No need to get defensive, you big cat.”

That disarmed him only slightly.

He dropped his arms, but now held a deep scowl on his handsome face. “I fail to see how you can help out.”

The nature of your relationship with Astarion had longed moved from being merely a forced partnership between two strangers.

He had bedded you more than once and had poured his heart out even against his better judgement.

If there was someone who could help him out, it was you.

Lovers helped each other in various ways.

And he knew it, but his pride and reluctance to show vulnerability often got in the way.

Luckily for him, you had an idea of what could be useful in this case.

You stared down at your shirt and began to undo the top buttons in a very nonchalant way.

Astarion immediately rushed to you, crouching. “What are you doing?”

“This has helped before, right?”

His eyes widened at your silent proposal, but he didn't deny it. How could he? He adored your breasts way too much to turn away such an invitation.

“Are you offering to do it here, though?” he asked with an amused click of his tongue. “I didn't peg you for the exhibitionist type, darling.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks from his cheeky taunt, and you stopped halfway, realising it was enough to offer him a decent view of your chest.

And just like clockwork, Astarion's smugness began to slip as his lips parted in defeat.

It was rather easy to fully disarm him this way.

As such, you rose to your feet and walked back inside with him hurriedly following you, as you untied the strings that held the flaps apart.

You were covered when it came to visual privacy, but the two of you were known to get quite loud at times.

As you sat down on your bedroll, you tilted your head, gaze landing on his lower half.

“Maybe you should undo them.”

He glanced down. “Right.”

Honestly, he didn't have much of a choice. He always got too hard from this, and you wanted to pre-emptively ensure he was as comfortable as possible.

You watched as he tugged at the lacing of his trousers, making room for his cock to grow and thicken freely.

The entire act could be regarded as you merely taking care of him in time of need.

Its foundation wasn't inherently sexual.

However…

… it was rather difficult to ignore the rising throb in between your legs.

As much as he adored suckling on your nipples, your yearning for him nearly matched his adoration.

You moved to lay on your side, allowing your breasts to spill out from the shirt, nipples already hardening from the shift in temperature and state of arousal.

In the dark, you were able to spot his crimson eyes glinting briefly as he took the place next to you.

For a few seconds, you simply gaze into each other's eyes in silence.

He was visibly tired.

He needed to trance.

He needed to find comfort.

He needed you.

“Is there something troubling you?” you asked softly.

He snickered. “Besides the worm swimming about in my head?”

You nodded as he shifted closer to you, his cool hand at your hip.

You shivered.

But it was the good kind of shivers.

The type to swell your clit and quicken your heartbeat.

“Darling, we'd be up all night, and I really need the rest.”

Fair enough.

Some forms of distress were better handled this way.

You almost gasped as his hand moved to one breast, caressing the hardened nipple.

“Do you want me pressed up against you?”

Your heart skipped a beat and you pressed your thighs together in reflex.

Gods.

“Do you want to?” you retorted before your voice could crack under the weight of impeding lust.

He shifted even closer, as he squeezed your breast softly im a silent warning.

“I asked you a question.”

It wouldn't take long for you to soak through your undergarments and trousers.

Even though he was clearly exhausted, Astarion adored having you use your words to fuel his own arousal.

“Yes… I think I prefer it.”

This time, you did gasp when he began tracing circles around your nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“And why is that, my sweet?”

He was relentless and you were too transfixed to fight back.

“I enjoy how it feels…” you whispered.

His crotch was now too close to your own and you could feel your clit pulsing evenly from his taunting words.

“And what is it that you enjoy?”

You swallowed, pushing your hips into him. “I enjoy feeling you getting harder and harder…”

And Astarion groaned.

“You're too much of a tease,” he said before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You'd have me unravel with just words.”

You chuckled through the heavy haze of lust that pooled in your throat. “Likewise.”

He was already hardening against you. You could feel his cock twitch and you could tell he was fighting back the primal urge to roll his hips.

But now wasn't the time.

He needed something else.

His agile fingers kept teasing your nipple, drawing soft whimpers from you.

“I wonder how swollen your clit is for me,” he teased.

But before he could continue, you clicked your tongue. “You talk too much.”

And you moved until you were able to line your breast with his mouth.

His hand immediately dropped and you seized the moment to shove your nipple against his lips, which he promptly parted, welcoming it inside his mouth.

And then he latched beautifully around it..

The most effective way to silence Astarion was to keep his mouth busy.

Your back arched reflexively, as he began to suckle eagerly, hips still flushed against you.

It was hard to keep your thoughts straight from the sight of him hollowing his cheeks with each tug.

You raked your fingers along his soft curls, silently praising him.

His eyes fluttered shut and with an instinctive roll of his hips, you realised just how hard he already was.

It was almost embarrassing how soaked your were for him and how much your body yearned for his cock to be buried deep inside you.

“You're such a good boy…” you found yourself saying before you could think twice.

Astarion was addicted to praise, especially when it came from you.

So, naturally, he moaned in approval.

He looked positively ethereal from this position, completely drunk in you as comfort took over.

But he suddenly pulled away, half-hooded eyes meeting yours. “Call me that again. Please.”

He sounded… desperate.

Oh? This was new.

“And why is that?” you feigned ignorance, caressing his scalp.

He didn't enjoy having his own method of seduction being turned on him, but he was the needy one in this situation.

And so he begged.

“Please… it felt good.”

His twitching cock was proof enough of it.

You glanced at your nipple that was now swollen from his suckling.

“Come here,” you cooed, guiding it into his mouth once again, “and be a good boy.”

“Gods above…” he growled before latching, his hand snaking behing your back and pulling you harder against him.

At this point, you were beginning to wonder if his need to rest hadn't been shoved to the back of his mind.

He seemed way too alert for someone who intended on trancing.

But the answer came soon enough when he let go of your nipple once more.

“Turn around.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

There was hunger in his eyes. “I need to be inside you.”

It seemed that his submission had been short-lived, and he was once again taking control.

“Are you sure? You ought to rest,” you said, biting your lip and trying your best to ignore the gush of wetness that spilled from you as you clenched.

“I will rest once I'm inside you.”

He seemed determined enough with a sliver of despair dripping from his voice.

You weren't sure this would have the desired effect he sought, but you longed to be filled with him.

Dexterity was what he excelled at, and he swiftly helped you out of your trousers, baring you fully to his gaze.

You could feel your wetness coating your folds as your clit peeked between them, throbbing rhythmically.

A whimper escaped your throat.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers parted your folds, so he could stare in awe at how swollen your clit was.

He licked his lips.

“Turn around, darling. Allow me to feel just how warm and wet you are.”

You clenched before doing what you were told, rolling on your other side.

The cool tip of his cock nudged against your backside, smearing precum as he adjusted his position.

You arched into him, parting your legs just enough and bracing yourself for how you'd be struggling at first, even though you were drenched.

His hand you leg high enough for him to be able to angle himself at your entrance.

You bit your lip and fisted the blanket under you.

His lips were at your ear. “I'll go slow.”

Well, he had to.

There was no other–

He rolled his hips and the tip began to stretch you, causing any coherent thoughts to be put on hold.

Gods… why does he have to be so thick…

“Clenching won't help… you know this by now,” he groaned in your ear, struggling to push along your tightening walls.

You couldn't help but to clench.

It was your own body's way of setting the pace.

“Let me sink fully into you.”

You moaned as he went on, and you placed your hand in between your legs, fingers finding his cock just so you could feel how much it was left for him to slide inside.

He chuckled. “You adore doing that, don't you? Feeling how hard I am for you as you take me.”

You mewled a reply, keeping yourself from clenching as he sank until you felt his heavy balls against the tips of your fingers.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as stilled.

“Such a good girl.” he praised, planting a kiss below your ear.

You caressed his balls, the motion causing the heel of your hand to rub against your clit.

You shuddered as he growled.

The difference in temperature would soon be forgotten as your heat enveloped his cock.

But Astarion had seemingly stilled for good.

He let go of your leg, allowing you to press your thighs together, as he wrapped his arm around you, hand settling in between your heaving breasts.

“Are you sure you can trance like this?” you asked, removing your own hand from between your legs.

His lips moved to the side of your neck. “I've been meaning to try this for too long. You're so warm… so tight…”

You clenched involuntarily around him.

“I know you crave my seed, but we should rest,” he said, sounding quite drowsy.

You wanted nothing more than to be filled to the brim with his cum, but that would have to wait.

The clenches were now sparse and far in between as you got used to the prospect of falling asleep with his cock stuffed inside you.

He was probably leaking insane amounts of precum, and that did put a smile on your face.

His cock twitched a few times more, before fully stilling, but as hard as ever.

“Astarion?” you whispered.

His head had slumped behind yours, and he seemed to have drifted off into the early beginnings of his trance.

Your clit was still swollen and begging for attention, but you were willing to sacrifice that if it meant falling asleep this way.

Masterlist

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x oc #astarion x you

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