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ancuninfiles · 2 months

Text

Comfort Pt 1. (Revised)

Screenshot by @astarionposting

6.4k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Named Tav (Nym) - 18+

I have recently heavily revised this chapter. Since working with @gelican-gelicant, I've learned a lot about writing and I'm proud to share this with you. Still, this chapter has not been beta-read, but I don't think it's a requirement. I'm hoping that those who've been scared away from Comfort™ will give it a second chance, now that the first chapter has essentially been rewritten. Please, feel free to let me know what you think in the comments! :) Thanks!

Work summary: Nym, a wood-elf, finds herself thrust into leadership of a ragtag crew. From day one she is overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility. She seeks solace and unexpectedly finds herself drawn to the tent of a pale elf. In the intimacy of their encounter, they both ponder the potential for mutual comfort and connection amidst the chaos of their new journey.

Chapter summary: Nym the Wood Elf finds herself Wild-Shaped in the pale elf's tent, though he is unaware of the strange druid that he's accidentally invited into his dwelling. As they inadvertently share secrets, they discover solace and connection in each other's embrace.

Tags: Smut and Fluff, Druid Tav, Soft Astarion, P in V sex, Oral (female receiving), Wood elf Tav, Blood drinking, Vampire bites, Choking, Light BDSM, Soft dom Astarion, Tav is autism-coded, Creampie, Aftercare, Astarion is a dork

MASTERLIST (Other chapters and works)

Read on AO3 (recommended)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

˚��‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

It was a brisk night in Faerün, and the crisp gentle breeze that whisked through the camp caused the walls of Nym’s tent to expand and contract, almost as if it were alive.

She had gained allies, fellow victims of Mind Flayer parasites, and inexplicably, on the very first day of this ordeal, they had chosen her as their leader, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Nym was chronically indecisive, often unsure even about simple choices, such as which berry to use for jam. Consequently, every jam she made ended up as a mixed-berry concoction.

Over the day, a pounding headache had begun to possess her, and she did not know if this sudden affliction was caused by the unwanted parasite in her brain or the recent stress of her gratuitous position at the helm of her freshly instituted cohort.

"Silvanus, save me," she whispered to herself in quiet prayer as she sat in her tent with folded legs that teetered repetitively with pent-up nervousness.

Nym, ever avoidant, attempted to sort through the folds of her mind, searching for ways to quell her anxious streak.

Make tea? Read a book? Take a warm bath?

But they possessed no tea nor books, and certainly no hot spring.

Nym groaned, carding her fingers through her hair and tugging at her scalp. Whatelsewhatelsewhatelse? Come on, think, she pressed -

Although . . .

Nym was hit with a sudden recollection, one of when she was just a young girl seeking solace away from others.

My cat Wild Shape, she mused.

In the stream of her consciousness, Nym caught glimpses of memories where she pranced on four furry legs, finding solace within the hollows of rotten logs - far removed from the dramas of her people both physically and spiritually.

She doubted that if she were to Wild Shape into a cat and slip into the woods, her newfound acquaintances would even notice her absence; and if they did, she also doubted they would care.

Perfect, Nym thought.

She was resolute in her plan: Slink away for an hour or so. Nym felt confident that she’d be able to avoid any responsibilities, if only for a night.

Cautiously exiting her tent, she slid on her sandals and made her way into the woods, deliberately avoiding any twigs that might find their way between her toes, knowing that the sensation of such a mishap would surely trigger a paroxysm of discomfort within her.

"Argh," she fumed. As if the universe had read her mind and was out to get her, sap found its way into her sandals, and - like clockwork - was sending her teetering over the edge of sanity.

In a rage, Nym’s form became arcane, ripping and contracting violently to suit her new cat shape.

Settling into her brown fur-covered body, Nym’s ears twitched at the high-pitched sounds caused by the bristling branches and whistling wind. These sounds, which would normally calm her frayed nerves, now caused her to vehemently tense her muscles and clench her sharp-toothed maw, unbidden.

Stepping out of her clothes, which pooled at her feet on the dirt-covered forest floor, she gingerly trekked back toward camp.

Surely none of her companions would find it strange to see a cat wandering around the camp. In fact, they would probably just assume she was looking for scraps or hunting for fish down by the river.

As she reached the tree line, she observed that everyone was either gathered around the fire or nestled inside their tents. Grateful for the solitude, she made her way toward the flickering flames, her path taking her past the pale elf's opulent red tent.

She couldn't remember his name. Aster? Asherion? Hmm, she pondered.

He had an air of slight menace, yet his charm couldn't be denied, she reflected. With seemingly a repertoire of sardonic quips at his disposal, he was frequently armed and ready to defuse tension with a well-timed barb, a quality she found rather admirable.

Individuals like him were invaluable in social settings, Nym believed. Her own tendency to feel self-conscious often left her at a loss for words, making her grateful for those adept at breaking the silence and easing the tension.

Gods, it helps to have someone silly with a dark sense of humour to be idiots with.

She wondered if he felt the same way and envisioned them becoming friends, hoping that his presence could alleviate the weight of the horrors they were sure to face; courtesy of the tadpoles nestled happily within their craniums.

She was only mere steps from the crackling fire when she heard a mouse-like sound, summoning her to look back.

To her utter surprise, it was the white-haired elven man, holding his hand out, and rubbing his thumb on his fingers in offering. The look on his face was relaxed with eyes that were slightly widened, contrasting with his otherwise composed expression.

"Psspsspsspsspsssss," the pale elf made the one sound that Nym couldn't resist in her cat form.

Hypnotized by the gesture of his digits and the sound of his call, Nym's feline pupils blew wide, expanding to consume most of her golden irises. Bringing her body tight to the ground, she stalked towards the white-haired elf's tent.

Against her better judgment, she crawled closer to his hand, salivating as she sped up. Finally, she pounced on his hand and wrist, capturing it in a fighter’s hold, ferociously nibbling at his wrist and kicking his hand with her hind legs.

"Ah ah - we ask before we bite," he said, disarming her before gently scratching her soft, fluffy tummy.

Unlatching, she slumped into a purring puddle of fur and slowly closed her eyes as she leaned into the relaxing sensation of his touch.

The grinning elf scooped her onto his lap and into his tent. "You are a very cuddly kitty," he cooed.

He began to pet her, starting at her armpits and making his way up to her fuzzy onyx chin. He rubbed her belly when she rolled over, and even scratched and patted the base of her tail when she rolled back onto her tummy.

Periodically standing up on his lap, she would stretch her front paws up to his chest and nudge his chin with her head.

During her unexpected detour into the stranger’s tent, never once had it crossed her walnut-sized mind that it might be a poor decision, nor a lapse in judgment - no - her focus was solely on the way he tenderly caressed her; blessing her with the comfort that she had yearned for all night. The feeling enveloped her, possessing her mind as if she were a meagre thrall, obedient to its master's every command.

The cat-loving elf showered her with affection for several minutes before relenting; only then did Nym curl up into a ball on his hard, marble chest, peacefully trancing and purring.

She relaxed blissfully, slowly kneading at his chest with her toes and claws, thoughtlessly accepting all of the pets that the gentle pale elf offered.

"Oh kitty, I’ve had a terrible day, you wouldn't believe it,” he whispered, "your snuggles are the highlight of my evening."

He poked her wet nose with a precise, feather-light touch, causing her to twitch her head briefly before settling back comfortably on his chest.

"Do you think people will understand if I bite like you do?" He asked in his most hushed tone yet. "Will people think I'm cute if I bite like you? Gods I'm starving." He threw his unoccupied hand to his face, cupping his nose before dragging it down to his chin, stretching the skin in his wake.

The sound of his hand abruptly making contact with his face, and his odd question stirred Nym from her trance. If I bite like you do - okay? Odd. But then - Gods I'm starving? She pondered his words critically.

Still snuggled up on his chest, she tucked her paws under herself and purred a quiet rumble, contemplating with a person-like capacity for the first time since entering his vermillion candlelit tent.

What an odd thing for one to say. Is he a cannibal? Like the Bhaalspawn type?

She sniffed to test her theory, but his fresh scent of bergamot and rosemary led her to conclude that he was indeed not a Bhaalspawn. What she had read about Bhaalspawn had taught her that a lingering diluted stench of rot always accompanied them.

She quizzed herself, questioning what other creatures consumed the flesh or blood of humanoids, considering zombies or hags; however, upon examining the flawless complexion of the man beneath her, she realized that her hypotheses were impossible.

A vampire? No way. He was in the beating sun when we’d met, and he would’ve been ash before I even got there if that were the case; although . . .

She peered down at his face, looking for what she knew to be the tell-tale signs of a vampire: red eyes, pale skin, and sharp teeth.

Standing on his hard chest, she noticed his eyes were closed.

Despite his peaceful expression, she felt it necessary to disturb his rest - if not to confirm her suspicions, then to set her curious mind at ease.

Ghosting her whiskers over his lips, she successfully stirred him from his evanescent trance

"Oh, kitty - you are so sweet," he squeaked, blinking and sitting up before Nym could properly inspect his irises.

The handsome man set her down beside him and stretched his arms, first grasping one elbow and then the other, accompanied by a bend of his torso.

Standing in the pale elf’s blankets, she peered up to his candlelit face which, much to her dismay, bore two garnet-coloured eyes.

Well - if he doesn't have fangs, he could be part drow

Without missing a beat, he flashed her a toothy grin, revealing his long, sharp canine teeth.

The sudden realization caused panic to surge through her; if what she knew of the Vampyre held true, the beautiful elven man would surely make a meal of her.

Arching her back, Nym’s fur stuck straight out in all directions.

The stranger did not notice, for he was gazing in the other direction.

"Well kitty, time for me to start getting ready to rest," he said with a smile as he took off his night-shirt, exposing his toned muscles that rippled under lightly freckled ivory skin. His thumbs slid under the waistband of his breeches, making his next move all too clear: he was going to remove his trousers.

Nym wasn't the most socially aware, but she knew it was exceedingly inappropriate to gaze upon someone's nude form without their knowledge; an act known as peeping, she recalled, remembering a passage she’d read on the topic once before.

Just as he was readying himself to stand and pulling his pants past his hip bones, Nym panicked and, on impulse, arcanely ripped herself back into her regular humanoid self.

She had dismissed her Wild Shape, leaving her bare-bodied and trembling before the half-naked vampire.

They both screamed, their voices overlapping, before instinctively moving to cover each other's mouths with their hands. Then, a heavy silence descended as they locked eyes, both filled with terror.

"What was that? Is everyone okay?" Yelled the wizard from his tent.

The pale elf vehemently tore Nym’s hand from his mouth. "Yes, Just practicing for the opera!" He yelled while rolling his eyes before looking at her with downward-canting brows, a deep frown painting his face.

"I see. Maybe save it for tomorrow instead of waking everyone at camp, thank you," spoke the wizard once more.

Nym couldn't help but giggle under his palm; perhaps her worry was all for naught, as his playful fib toward the wizard had served to remind her of the lighthearted demeanour he'd shown all day.

Suddenly becoming too aware of her nudity, she pulled away from his palm, hugging her knees to her chest. She would have rather planned to be naked in front of him; instead, she’d transformed and had yet to learn how to do so while maintaining her clothed state.

"Can I - er - have that blanket for a moment, please," Nym asked, shyly.

The pale elf scoffed. "Fine, but only because I am such a gentleman - Godsdamned druids." He gave her the blanket and she prudently draped it over her shoulders and around her knees.

"I - um - I'm really sorry," she apologized, her gaze falling and her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.

The handsome elf pinched his brow ridge between his finger and thumb, closing his eyes and scrunching his face in a scowl. "Why did you let me go on for so long, believing you were a real cat?"

As he spoke, Nym looked at him, but when she began to ponder the answer to his question, her gaze fell once more.

"I guess it's just that when I Wild Shape, sometimes the instincts of whatever animal I turn into take over me; like I'm not in control," she explained, "You summoned me with your - bewitching gestures and sounds.” Her face screwed up as she recalled his actions.

The pale elf covered his face with both hands as if trying to hide his embarrassment. "Oh, Gods - save me for once. Please just this once."

Witnessing his expression, Nym felt a pang of guilt; nevertheless, as the leader, she knew she had to be open with him about her conclusions on his vampiric affliction. Still, her resolve warred with embarrassment, causing her already poor communication skills to fray ever so slightly.

"I - er - heard what you said about biting and what-not," Nym said, pushing past her nervousness, "And your eyes! Your teeth - well. . . Also, I forgot your name; what was it again? Asherton?"

He ran both hands through his hair, gripping his scalp as his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, fixed on the tent floor.

"This isn't happening," he said, voice cracking, "No - this isn't real. I must be having a nightmare or - something."

Nym internally scrutinized his frantic demeanour, her frustration mounting as she sensed her words falling on deaf ears. "Rah,” she groaned, “I said I'm sorry and it's okay that you're toothy and bitey," she snipped.

For some reason, she felt oddly comfortable around this man - this creature - who could easily rip her throat out.

He breathed deeply, sighing on the exhale. "Astarion."

"A'staring at what? I'm sorry - I'll look away," said Nym, turning her head sideways, hoping to make him feel more comfortable.

"No, you blubbering idiot. That's my name - my name's Astarion," he quipped.

"Oh - uh - so can I look at you or not?" She asked him in earnest.

"If a wall were nearby, I would smash my head against it," Astarion confided.

"Why would you do that?” Nym prodded, looking at him quizzically.

Astarion stared daggers at her, mouth agape and brows knitted together.

. . .

A pregnant silence blanketed the duo, stirring unease within Nym.

"I should go,” she professed, readying herself to stand and pinching his beige blanket together near her décolleté.

As she turned to his tent flap, she felt a cool hand grasp her arm, engendering her to look back.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

"Wait!" Astarion pleaded.

By the time the word left his mouth, it had been too late to mask the desperation in his tone.

Seeking reparation, Astarion intentionally lowered his volume. "Look - I just need more details on what you found out about me," he spoke with a serious intonation, tilting his head down and gazing up at her through his eyelashes.

Nym turned to face him, still draped in his taupe blanket like a cloak. "Oh - well... I might have concluded that you’re a vampire, but it confuses me that you can walk in the sun." Her words tumbled out quickly, driven more by her curiosity than by fear of the monster before her.

As Astarion forced a smile, he expelled a sigh tinged with frustration.

"Ah - okay, glad we've cleared that up. Now, is there any chance that you could keep those pretty little lips of yours shut about this specific topic with the others? I would much rather broach the topic myself," he said, letting go of her forearm.

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process his words, her expression shifting from confusion to mild offence.

"I wasn't planning on telling anyone,” she reassured, her voice softening with each word. “I have the feeling that you're not dangerous; well - not dangerous to us at least."

"What?" His eyes widened in mock horror. "I'll have you know I am very dangerous, actually." He smiled, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement.

"I know! That’s not what I mean, though. I’m realizing that I think you wouldn’t hurt me; am I correct?" Nym asked, only somewhat fearing what the answer might be.

Astarion pursed his lips to the side and held his chin in thought. "Hmm."

Releasing his chin, he scanned Nym’s form, his eyes roving up her body and then landing on her face. This could be an opportunity, he thought.

In an instant, he turned on his charm, honed over two hundred years of courting partners to bring back to his master in Bladur’s Gate.

Flashing her a roguish grin, he started, "Not unless you want me to," he said before leaning in close to Nym, his lips nearly brushing on her ear, "darling."

His last word was spoken like an enchantment, sending a pleasant chill down her spine and causing her to shiver, unbidden.

Nym froze in place, her face reddening deeply. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that," she exclaimed.

"I recall you biting me without asking, dear." He snaked his right hand to the back of her head, fingers gently running through her hair. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Nym gulped and gazed at his handsome, pale face, mere centimetres from hers - her heart beating quickly as if she were merely a rabbit in the jaws of a sly fox. Despite her increased heart rate, she instinctively held her breath as he toyed with her locs. "To ask before I bite," she said, unsure if she was about to become his meal or his lover.

"Good girl. Now - it would only be right of me to follow my own rules, correct?" Astarion’s voice resonated in a low tenor, his eyes fixed on her expression as he gingerly massaged the back of her scalp.

Relieved, Nym's head lolled back into his tender touch.

"Mmmyeah," the words spilled from her lips like a moan.

Astarion leaned in once again, this time ghosting his lips on her throat beneath her ear and bringing his unoccupied hand to the small of her back, nudging her closer. "So - what do you say? May I? I only need a taste - I swear," he purred into her neck.

"You can do whatever you want with me if you keep touching me like that." Entranced by his decadent ministrations, the pale elf had disarmed her yet again.

Whatever I want? He thought, pulling away and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Darling - are you sure about this? We might get carried away, and we've only just met."

Astarion thought that she might allow him to drink from her; his charm rarely failed him, but he didn’t expect her to offer her body as well. A pleasant surprise, considering that he’d fantasized about taking her on the cliffside when they’d just met. The way her bottom squirmed against his groin while he held a dagger to her throat, and the scent of her blood blooming beneath the surface of the skin on her neck was enough to cause his length to strain against his smallclothes.

“Among my people, such matters hold little importance,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll gladly partake if that’s what you desire; though I may still yearn for it even if you don’t, but that doesn’t mean that you must—” He silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips, and she gazed up at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?" He asked, aiming for straightforwardness.

Her speech was muffled by the digit pressed to her lips. "Yes, actually. Usually, they say that I talk too much, but—" Suddenly, Astarion’s lips met hers in a bruising kiss, silencing her once again. He seized the back of her neck and drew her close as he ascended to his knees, looming over her and dominating her mouth.

Nym whined small sounds of pleasure into his mouth as he pulled her taut to his chest, causing the blanket to fall from her shoulder ever so slightly.

With a pop, he broke the kiss, licking his lips as he studied her expression.

Her heavy-lidded eyes met his, and her lips were reddened from their kiss.

"You know. . . I rather like you, my dear," he said, holding her closely. "Now - how about we make ourselves comfortable."

Astarion released her and gestured to his bedroll.

"Oh - Yes," she answered, carelessly dropping the blanket covering her and crawling hastily to his suggested destination.

She hesitated. "Wait - how do you want me?"

He felt a rush in his lower abdomen that made his growing cock twitch."My sweet - if you wouldn't mind lying beneath me, I would be delighted. It will also help when I'm drinking from you; we wouldn't want you toppling over, would we?"

"Right." Nym nodded curtly and positioned herself on the bedroll, still sitting.

Astarion mounted her with a fervent kiss, coaxing her downwards and parting her thighs with his knee. Pushing her legs up to expose her core, he positioned himself fully between her legs, only breaking their kiss to sit back on his knees and take her in.

He stared at her with adoration as he appreciated the shape of her body.

Despite getting on his nerves earlier, he respected her openness and willingness to confess her discovery. Her promise to keep his secret was likely crucial to his survival, and he desired her loyalty, giving him another reason to seduce her and gain her support.

Additionally, he couldn't help but admit to himself that her playful demeanour was extremely endearing; it wasn't often that he would meet someone charming in the way that Nym was.

He desperately wanted her blood; not only because he craved it physically, but also because of the assurance it would provide that he was free from Cazador's compulsion at last.

But then, he yearned to make her come undone beneath him; to feel her quivering around his length and hear her whimper his name in ecstasy; surely for no other reason than to stroke his ego, he reflected as his member strained uncomfortably against his strays.

Nym lay comfortably exposed, her arms resting beside her head while her chest rose and fell with anticipation. Trusting him came intuitively, as she bared her most vulnerable parts to this man who, just moments ago, still felt like a stranger.

They had only met that day, and now, in the quiet of the night, while everyone else slept, they were about to become one.

Squeezing her thighs, Astarion placed his face at her core, his breath teasing her quim.

Reading her face, he witnessed her wet, pleading eyes.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he asserted.

"Of course," she managed to say despite her desirously clouded mind.

"Perfect," Astarion cooed.

He began his plot, licking a thick stripe through her folds and kissing her clit, causing Nym to throw her head back as she moaned.

Her sounds encouraged him to start toying with her clit with his tongue.

She arched her back and bucked wildly onto his tongue, but he held her down to regain control and she groaned through gritted teeth.

He removed his mouth, replacing his tongue with a digit as he stroked her inner walls languidly.

“Careful dear, I have sharp teeth," he warned. "Be a good girl and try to hold still."

"Mhm," was all she could manage to say as she clenched around his finger.

He continued his oral ministrations, groaning into her clit as he sucked on it mercilessly which sent waves of pleasure through her body; although not quite enough to fully satisfy her.

"I need more - please," she pleaded.

Needing no further invitation, he added a second finger to her hole, causing her pelvis to squirm and wanton sounds to spill from her lips.

Curling his fingers, he pumped into her at a consistent pace while lapping up her clit.

The tips of his digits stroked up into her sweet spot, sending her teetering over the edge.

Glancing down at Astarion, she carded her fingers through his moon-coloured curls.

The muscles in her legs tensed as she felt a rising energy in her core. "I'm cumming, Astarion!" She screamed as her orgasm crested, her voice echoing throughout the camp.

He continued fucking her with his hand and torturing her oversensitive nub as she rode out her climax.

Flooded with searing pleasure, she sought reprieve. "Ah - too much!" She hissed.

"Good girl, you are so good at following instructions," Astarion purred, crawling to meet her lips in a brief and tender kiss.

"I'm surprised you remembered my name, darling. I'm impressed," he jested before pushing down his pants just enough to free his large member which rested heavily on her soaking cunt.

She let out a huff of air as she felt his length weigh on her bud. “I certainly don't have the will to protest you right now," she retorted, lying breathless.

Astarion staggered his elbows on either side of her torso, studying her features again; this time, his gaze reflecting not just curiosity, but also a subtle hint of confusion, as if grappling with the capricious nature of his own actions rather than their usual conniving intent.

"Mm - you can stare if you want, but—" She wriggled her hips, teasing his cock.

He choked out a moan, his mouth forming an “O”.

"Oh, you cheeky little pup," he crooned.

"I remember you calling me 'kitty', actually," she teased, smirking.

"You’ll pay for that,” he growled as he reached for his shaft and aligned himself with her core, grinning whilst prodding at her tight entrance with the tip of his cock.

She expelled a high-pitched moan, her face twisting into a needy expression.

Slowly entering her while she twirled her hips sensually, he felt her wetness tightening around him.

Head lolling forward, he eased into her with little effort until he was fully buried to the hilt and his tip kissed her cervix snugly, causing him to choke out an undignified groan.

She enthusiastically shifted her legs up above his arms, her feet dangling in the air above him.

He began with a painfully languid pace, whining in tandem as their lips connected in a passionate, messy kiss.

Their tongues danced around each other's mouths, fighting for dominance as he unhooked one of her legs from his arm and grabbed her cheeks, roughly prying her mouth open further; consequently, her nethers contracted around him.

Ever perceptive, he recognized this before pulling his mouth from hers. "Does the little druid like it rough?" He teased.

"Uhuh," she whined. "Can you choke me - please?" She pleaded with moist, batting eyes, her upward-canted brows reading as desperation on her freckled face.

He groaned excitedly at her lewd suggestion, a sly grin painting his face.

Hearing her desire stirred something within him, prompting him to contemplate his incessant longing for control, freedom, and dominance; concepts that melded together in his mind as if it were a swirling brew - both saccharine and intoxicating.

"Deep breath, my dear," he instructed while thrusting into her consistently.

Nym took a deep breath, making her experience on the matter clear.

Astarion grasped the sides of her throat firmly, causing her quim to quiver violently around his cock.

"What a good little druid, you are," he purred.

He began to rut into her punishingly, using his grip on her throat to thrust with uninhibited force as he rhythmically pulled and pushed her on and off of his length.

He straightened the arm that was at her throat, parting his torso from hers and placing his unoccupied hand on her clit where he rubbed taut circles.

Nym's face became a darker red than her typical blush; evidence of the lack of oxygen reaching her brain.

Her leg muscles showed the impending signs of an orgasm while her back arched off the bedroll, but he slammed into her throbbing cunt and circled her bud remorselessly. He basked in the control that had been gifted to him; no - the control he took of his own volition.

She choked out his name, crying in pleasure as she came with his hand around her throat.

He continued toying with her clit as he removed his hand from her neck, the flush on her skin beginning to fade ever so slightly, being freed from his grasp.

While she rode out her climax, he hooked her right leg over his left shoulder, hovering closer to her throat and blithely pulling her head to the side with a strong grasp of her cheeks.

He sunk his fangs into her flesh, only removing his hand from her cheeks to cavalierly grab at the hair on the back of her head.

With a low tenor, he groaned deeply into her neck, fucking her with a faltering pace, signifying his escalating pleasure.

Her delectable blood pooled into his mouth, enrapturing him with its ambrosius flavours.

Whimpering softly, Nym wriggled on his growing cock in an attempt to escape the abuse on her clit. Thankfully, Astarion freed her bud from his tortuous touch - seemingly as a result of her body language.

Nym carded her fingers through his soft white curls encouragingly, relishing in its silken texture and herbaceous scent.

Sifting through her recollections, she recognized that the elven man whose fangs were piercing her flesh was undeniably the most beautiful she had ever bedded. This was no small feat, considering her many previous lovers, sometimes in pairs or more, all of whom had been remarkably attractive.

Although somewhat painful for a moment, letting him sup from her felt curiously wholesome, as if she were helping a dear friend in need.

She allowed him to imbibe as he soothingly rolled his tongue. He continuously impaled her with his expanding girth, sending her into a blissful stupor that she knew could only be enhanced by one gesture.

"Could you cum for me - please?" Nym slurred her words, hoping he was lucid enough to hear her request.

Within a few moments, Nym felt the tickle of his murmured agreement against her sensitive neck.

An escalating symphony of wet slapping noises and moans coursed through the camp before Astarion snapped his hips into Nym's core; bottoming out as he drank from her neck and overflowing her with his seed.

He shallowly thrust a few more times, thoroughly imbuing her with his jism; his latch on her throat, unrelenting.

Nym, although sated, began to feel herself weakening, as the corners of her vision grew spotty: the telltale signs of blood loss.

Knowing this, she resolved to withdraw her consent at last, and hoped that he would hear her soft voice.

"Astarion, please - stop,” she cooed, tugging gently at the curls on the nape of his neck.

At first, nothing. . .

But then - Astarion jostled as if gearing up to release her.

Taking one last gulp, he somehow found the will to tear himself from her - his fantasy of control coming to a not-unpleasant end.

Panting instinctively, he craned his head into her neck. With the flat of his trembling tongue, he cleaned her wounds, making sure to not waste even a drop of her precious ichor before kissing her chastely; a formality, surely, and not as a lover's gesture, he thought.

Nym hummed, rotating her hips around Astarion's still-hard cock which he had yet to remove.

Grunting, he lifted his head from her neck, grabbing her hips with both hands before thrusting into her once more - as a final treat; for himself or his lover, he did not know.

He placed his hand at the nape of her neck, pulling her into a sloppy, exhausted kiss. They moaned into one another before swiftly breaking away and sharing a seemingly deep, affectionate glance.

"As much as it’d be nice to continue, I fear I’ll be too sore tomorrow if we plan on doing this again," Nym confided, sighing.

"It seems you are as eager as I - you sweet thing," Astarion professed, finally pulling out of her body while they mutually sighed.

"Now - kitty - shall I grab your blankets and tuck you in to spend the rest of your night with me? After we clean you up, of course," he suggested, as it only made sense, of course.

Blushing, Nym fought back a precipitous grin. "I really fucking like you, you know. You're my favourite."

"The feeling is quite mutual, If you couldn't tell already,” he exclaimed, pecking her forehead before giving her head a condescending scratch. "Right then, I'll be right back."

Astarion swiftly tucked himself into his pants and nicked his best handkerchief before rising from his tent to find the kettle. Grateful that the water was still warm, he soaked his handkerchief before prudently ringing it out.

Bringing the soft, damp fabric back to his tent, he somehow felt whelmed, knowing that a beautiful woman was waiting for him; an abstract concept to him, considering he'd only been a means to an end for centuries.

He felt so very gracious for her generosity, but he knew that these things often come with a price. He was indebted, and he wanted to repay her for her favour, but perhaps sex was enough.

Of course, he enjoyed himself, certainly worlds more than he had during any of his previous trysts; Hells, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had an orgasm that torridly intense, or if he'd ever had one like that at all.

Crouching into his crimson tent, handkerchief in hand, he greeted Nym. "Hello, there." He forced a smile, as his mind still swam with anxiety.

"Hi, Astarion. Long time, no see,” she said, giggling at her own joke.

"You are quite the silly one. I'm becoming very fond of that laugh of yours." Astarion confessed.

"Hmm - well, you make me giggle a lot, too, if you haven't noticed." She winked cheekily as the corner of her lip pulled up.

"Oh, I cause you to make all sorts of noises, apparently,” he teased, "Now let me help you wash up."

She huffed a close-lipped laugh while a smile painted her lips.

A tender moment between two strangers who had sought comfort in the form of connection.

Nym believed that moments like these were just as nature intended, for those were the teachings of Silvanus.

Astarion wiped Nym down with his soft cloth, taking care to be both thorough and gentle.

Nym turned her bottom to him, so he used his free hand to briefly massage her backside; a gesture that felt more sensual rather than sexual. Nym hummed, leaning into his touch.

Astarion, feeling satisfied with his efforts, left the tent again to rinse his cloth in the river and hang it up outside his tent in a somewhat obscured location. He stalked over to Nym's tent to gather her belongings, which there were few of, managing to snag a couple of blankets, a pillow, and an unopened glass bottle of water.

He strode back to his tent, clumsily opening the flap with his hand that was also fisting the neck of the water bottle.

Upon entering, he saw Nym who was lying belly-down on his things. “I hoped that you’d had more blankets, but it seems as though we'll have to add it to our shopping list," he stated, mournfully.

"We? Oh - it’d be so pleasant to have assistance with that. I've been finding this whole ‘leader’ thing quite overwhelming." Nym confessed, laughing nervously.

"Well, apologies. I should’ve offered to help you sooner. I may be a monster but I'm not a bum. I can't say the same for our other ‘companions’, however,” he quipped.

Smiling brightly at Astarion, Nym rolled onto her back. "You're not a monster, you're just a bit toothy. I can be toothy sometimes, and I don't think I'm a monster."

"Hmm - well you are only slightly devious so I suppose they would make an exception in the famed Guide to Monsters." He joked.

Dropping the fixings, he began to undress himself, fully.

"Oh, stop. You love me." She jested with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Maybe a little. I do have an appreciation for pretty morsels with claws." He attentively and tactfully placed each blanket atop one another.

Kneeling beside her head, he gestured, "Up." She lifted her head slightly and he tucked her pillow under it with care.

Opening the blankets, he climbed in next to Nym, now lying on her back with her eyes closed while her hands rested lazily on her ribcage. He nudged and caressed her cheek with his knuckle before ghosting a thumb over her lips.

Languidly turning to face him, she opened her eyes, her gaze holding a gentle and weary look.

She snaked her hand up to his ear, caressing it affectionately, engendering him to close his eyes as he basked in her loving touch; a feeling that he hadn't had the opportunity to feel for as long as he could remember.

Unbidden tears formed behind his closed eyes as a fragment of his recent past surfaced in his memories; though he quickly pushed the thought aside, regaining his composure.

If Nym noticed his tearful display, she didn't press.

Maybe in time, as they grew more acquainted, he could open up about his past, and perhaps she, along with the rest of their cohort, could offer him support. But for now, he focused on cherishing this tender moment with his newfound friend.

They lay entwined with one another, trancing until the sun came up.

Despite their predicament, in a way, they both felt it a blessing that they had found one another. The bond that had begun forming between them felt promising, in a way that could make both of them stronger. This was a good thing.

Comfort can be a good thing.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤,

𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔲𝔯,

𝔞 𝔰𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢

𝔅𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢

𝔖𝔬 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

Read part 2

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #bg3 fanfic #astarion x druid tav #astarion x original female character #astarion headcanons #astarion fanfiction #astarion hurt/comfort

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astarionformayor · 2 months

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Astarion headcanon that is racking my brain:

Guys WHAT IF Astarion used to play piano? Like he used to be HELLA good at playing piano but then he never was able to after Cazador so he forgets that he even ever used to play, but then one day the team is strolling around, looting, maybe even in Cazador's palace, and he sits down at the piano and it all comes back to him. He can play like really fucking good, like muscle memory... and then he just starts SOBBING hysterically. Like he just can't help but let the mask fall off completely because he is enraptured. It's just a beautiful moment in my head

Edit: ok who is writing this in their fic? Because i am not a writer but this needs to be written, or drawn, or both. PLEASE. ALL HANDS ON DECK.

#astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion smut #ascended astarion #astarion spoilers #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #astarion fluff #astarion hurt/comfort #astarion fanfic #astarion headcanons #astarion headcanon #bg3 headcanon

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meggate3 · 25 days

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*astarion hug scene* this might be my favourite cutscene in the whole game

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tieflingsfingers · 11 days

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Studies of a Dead Language

What and who: Angst/Comfort/Hurt. The gang decompresses with books and tea. Astarion isolates himself after long day and Thomasin goes to console him. Summary: Astarion distances himself at camp to contend with Cazador sending the Gur after him. Wyll and Karlach spend the night settled in, while Thomasin checks on Astarion. It's not long until she realizes how dysregulated and dissociative he's become. Warning/Content: A lot about two elves trying to navigate their feelings and past traumas. Angst/comfort after last chapter with Gandrel's altercation. Minor bloodletting. Part of series. Word Count: 3,585 Ao3 Link

Long after the Gur's impromptu burial, the five descended upon the cave they'd pitched their tents in. An inconspicuous stone wall hallowed by nature and what they could only presume was a millennium of water erosion. Now, it sat empty and still, only to be eaten away by moisture sliding down stalactites. Tentative little drops of rain reminding you how they hid in shadow. As Karlach tugged loose branches to conceal the cave’s mouth, they all funneled inside with sighs they didn’t know they held.

It could be confusing on the body when social predicaments wore it thin. These weren’t the bruises of physical spats, in a typical sense, but ached in a similar way. A matter of self care often disregarded by the young. Urges for the next battle would only wear down spirits. In moments like this, Thomasin petitioned Wyll and Karlach to skip the sharpening of their weaponry for just a night.

Instead, a fire and dinner started once their gear had clunked onto the floor. Karlach prodded at kindling while the cub slept beside its warmth. Wyll pulled the box he stored rations and scraps in. Vegetable slivers, lemon peels, and miscellaneous leafy herbs stashed away for low effort broth. As they settled in, Thomasin walked back and forth to her tent to gather comforts and entertainment.

Tucked under her arm was a bestiary whose spine was bound by navy blue thread and a box of lavender kept for special occasions. Tea and the escapism of dry knowledge had been a constant placater in her life. One of the few practical luxuries she could still call her own.

So, as water boiled in an old kettle, its thin metal popping like aggravated cantrips, Wyll volunteered to read aloud. The book’s spine cracked and crinkled from age, but still managed to splay flat across his lap. With great stage presence, he narrated owlbear facts from the compendium. Sipped lavender tea as he found the cub's prey and workshopped the hypothetical ways it could hunt in adulthood. Silly scenarios, but nevertheless based on facts that made the tiefling ask for more.

Thomasin spread out cuttings of lavender she then sprinkled into small cups of steaming water. The half-elf’s mother had always preached patience with an old wives' tale about the watched cup of tea and how it never fully steeps. Even with its faults in logic, the saying had became an excuse to multi-task around their small settlement.

Passing by Astarion's tent, she considered whether his isolation was needed or insisted upon out of habit. He was a man all too open about his opinions, but rarely acknowledged the emotions behind them. Every issue was both vital and unimportant. Secondary bouts of anger were would be left to surface when he could no longer ignore their impact.

The elf always had an upper hand when stealth came into play. His pastime of startling Thomasin wavered, but there was always an opportunity to get her to screech for a laugh. And so, with her warmed cup clutched tight, she decided to peek into his quarters.

Astarion sat in near shadows and acclimated vision. Only the unfurled fabric acting as a door allowed light to creep in as he picked at something out her view. She jumped between possible greetings or immediate consolation, until she found an approachable middle ground. He often referred to her as a jester in prodding humor and so she’d open with diffusal.

“Do you think the monster hunters know you're embroidering flowers into my stockings when I’m not looking?” Thomasin said to alert him of her presence, her voice softened to a light down fluff.

Although he looked up, she noticed him registering her appearance. Who she was. The split second of a flicker in his eye assessed movement, but took its time to provide a hint of a smile. He leaned forward, parting the curtain to get a better look. "Pardon me, darling. Seems I was lost in thought," he offered as an explanation. Premeditated, it seemed. Not yet asked for, but wholly prepared. "Have a habit of drifting when least expected. I-uhm, did you want permission to enter?”

Astarion’s small abode was modest inside if not barren on nights where camp was a last minute affair. His clothing was folded in a tidy bundle in the corner with stray metal cups, found shoes, and trinket boxes that housed the beginnings of a collection. Keepsakes that reminded him of safety or beautiful pockets of nature unlike the wilds outside his city. Loose pendants, decorative buttons, and family heirlooms he'd dug up from abandoned homes. Anything that could be sewn on as accents or simply distract with their shining reflective surface.

Thomasin didn't pry into his space very often, opting to let him sleep in her tent if the thought arose. Part of her knew it tickled him to be chosen and given such attention. Whatever his unaccompanied hours held were his business. A complex rabbit hole he could let her into any time he wished.

Although she did require he obeyed one demand. While they weren’t working on the quilt they sewed as a joint effort, he was to keep it. At this point, the blanket was still the size of a child’s bed. The slow crawl of a collaboration where scrap fabric was cut into squares and stitched to keep idle hands busy. The sight of it wrapped around his waist eased her enough to crouch inside.

“Did you want any?" Thomasin tipped the mouth of her cup as she sat down in front of him. "It’s mostly lavender. A little fennel too, but I hear that’s only a repellent for werejackals ,” she said as a light tease.

The joke grazed his cheek, but his expression hadn’t changed. Instead, there was only a mild shake of his head. "No, thank you." Flattened and courteous. He spoke in formal script that clashed with the distance of his gaze.

Thomasin sighed and tucked her cup between her thighs to free her hands. The half-elf cradled his hands in hers and turned his palms upward to assess what nicks and scratches lived upon his skin. They were the last remaining evidence of a scuffle that would soon be smoothed to a fine polish. A rewritten history that consumed Gandrel’s mind, body, and soul in the name of nutrient dense soil.

She watched his body language for signs of longevity. Signs of drive, fight, or even blackened humor he used to absorb the shock of life’s tribulations. But his eyes simply wandered. It was the familiar face of one peering upon a foreign vessel. Uneasy as they realize they're unsure how they've come to inhabit it. The half-elf continued to hold him.

Her touch was calculated, tender, and she began to notice the speed which her teacup's warmth had siphoned from her skin to his. It still felt new to her. How his body was greedy in its grasp for mortal experiences. How it clung to comforts of the most mundane biology. Basic function she took for granted.

Giving what was left of her own vessel came naturally, at least, even if she disliked to admit it. Thomasin often refused to give the spectres of her past names to lessen their blows. Gods once worshiped, even when their plight was kind, felt like another authority to contend with. She still had to juggle her powers of healing and the ingrained dogma. If overwhelmed, caring for another brought forth metaphorical red twine that slipped between her fingers. Illmater had guided the youth during a short stint in her formative adult years, yet continued to sleep in the recesses of her mind. A period of generosity that still pined like unhealed bruises, its strings snaking into tightened knots around each joint.

Thomasin pivoted her thoughts to the mass of rings lining her fingers. The older she became, the more these tactics stayed filed away for emergencies. Most days in the city didn't leave her needing to circle each accent embedded in the silver bands. She hadn't thought about the crevices where stones met metal. But these were unusual circumstances.

Without fail, every therapeutic had been pulled from its backburner. Anything to push her to breath and exhale the cloister she hoped had long forgotten about her. It gnawed at her brain until Astarion’s voice evaporated the red corporal slithering.

“Even this far from the city, I don’t get to enjoy freedom,” he uttered, wiggling and stretching his fingers. “A puppet with its strings snipped is just limp and lifeless, is it not? I don’t know what I expected.”

Astarion seemed to stare in silence at the lazy circles Thomasin rubbed into his palms. His body moved very little, if at all, which wasn’t uncommon when his mind wandered. Still, the half-elf was figuring out ways to interpret and come to terms with his unnatural tendencies.

“You’ll keep snipping those strings,” she said. “The odd thing they don't tell you is that one day, you’ll realize you haven’t seen them in a long while. Only the faint sensation of where they were once bound the tightest.”

The half-elf transitioned into a subtle deepening pressure into his flesh until he lifted his head again. His acknowledgement was shaken at best, eye contact still darting about. They targeted her shoulder, hip, elbow, as if trying to fathom the lay of the land. Like his consciousness floated between the cavern walls and memories of oppressive architecture.

"But these don't feel like mine. I don't feel here.” His speech lessened, hesitant and atypical. Brittle in nature to keep confessions locked away.

“You’re going to be okay, my sweet. Cazador can’t hurt you here."

In an unexpected shift of demeanor, Astarion cut their intimate calm with a sharp inhale. He couldn’t explain how or why, but her phrasing made the fragile bottle of his psyche clatter. Its glass was thick, opaque, like artisanal wines he’d stared at through shop windows. It housed the thoughts that screamed and toiled, stuffed down by a thumb that jammed tattered cloth down its neck. Never touted as the strongest failsafe, but it prevented despair from leaking out day to day.

If only he knew the Gur would hold a match so close to its fibers. Gandrel had lit a flame and Astarion retreated to a tranced state to keep his thoughts from wobbling over. Now, however, a molotov cocktail cast its rage behind his eyes. His pupils were windows where flames danced behind layers of glass.

The elf locked his eyes on hers. “You think I’m safe here? Do you know the power a vampire lord possesses?” He began to unravel scrolls containing lists in his mind. Each organized and detailing his internal grievances, written in fine ephermal ink. His years of total isolation had granted him the time to run through it all. The lectures he’d give to empty rooms. Counterpoints that once accompanied snarled teeth, now only venom recited by muscle memory. Dried kindling that fanned the fire snapping and popping.

“Thomasin, the patriarch of a coven doesn’t just let go of his prized spawn that easily. There’s no reason why he couldn’t come to our camp tonight and murder was all in our sleep.”

“You’re sure the Gur are working with him?” She asked, searching for any semblance of calm in his eyes. Her grip loosened, but still held.

“Of course, I wouldn’t see why not? I thought the shadows were the only place I had to watch my back. But even this far out, he’s making an example of me." Astarion swallowed hard, leaving little pause into his next sentence. “Maybe he thinks death is too good for me.”

“The gods know we’re all running away from our demons- some more literally than others,” Thomasin chuckled, knowing it was unwelcome. Her whimsy sliced neatly, cut clean through as her teeth buried into her tongue. She sighed as the sting built up and subsided. “The nightmare of a rug being pulled from beneath you is terrifying, I know. I’m surprised I’m still alive. But I am, as are you.”

Thomasin was astonished at Astarion and how he still allowed her touch. Part of her hoped her fingertips pressing down his wrists and forearms would provide a speck of solace. His gaze wandered wherever her hands followed, their rhythmic motion leaving massaged indents into his flesh. One of the few methods that seemed to relieve him ever so slightly, even if his body still seethed and grimaced.

“The gods never cared for any of us, don’t give them credit for such sympathy. They're a pawn of their own. An audience watching Cazador torture his spawn. How he made us inflict it on each other, ourselves, by his hand. Physical, sexual, mental. Consent is nothing more than a dead language in his home.

His mouth jutted open and closed in short succession, finding the words and losing them posthaste. The act of withholding admission had grown roots within the walls of his throat, quieting secrets he was forced to keep. “He said my scream sounded the sweetest.”

The confession halted her ginger touch. As if shocked down to the tendons in her hands, they clamped into his pallid forearm for a second before springing back. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she whispered.

Thomasin discerned the boiling emotions inside her and sat back to allow them both to somewhat regulate. A humming tune, faint and honeyed, filled the four corners of his dim home. Her lips parted to let the tones flow, a song with no words that might remind him of nights where they talked under trees overlooking the coast. Taking caution, she leaned forward and pressed her thumb against the split in his lip. A partially healed wound that revealed to be refreshed as she cast a blue glow against its inflammation.

“You’re better than him, you know,” she whispered, sitting back with her hands in her lap. Her nails scratched idle marks into her cup’s ceramic surface. ” I know I can only empathize so much, but I hear you. We just have to stay vigilant.”

Astarion’s jaw flexed with the grit of his teeth. They grinded in confliction and contemplation. He knew exchanging the kindness he was dealt could be a misstep. Everything and everyone read as threats while simultaneously fading from existence. This was no more daunting then what he learned from his siblings and the company he kept.

When they bothered to pry, it was no more than to add insult to injury. The insistence on exhuming the past would be nothing more than fodder for judgment. Another way to point out how each decade failed, cementing it more loathsome than the last.

“Keep your pity to yourself. All your hopeful words and wistful prayers fall upon preoccupied ears, you know. I don’t need to hear about how I’ve wasted immortality.” He scoffed. “If no higher power could pluck me from disparity, what makes you think your little violin could solve this? An earworm of a tune won’t do when we’ve got real ones in our skulls.”

Astarion pressed two fingers to his temple, tapping as if the tadpole would recognize a knock at its door. “We can only hope the mind flayers continue their blessings upon us. Hells, I don’t even care what their doctrine may be at this point. If we’re lucky, our ceremorphosis will delay until we’ve fucked and feasted and cried all we want out here in the woods. Oblivious to the day those tentacled freaks need a meal and snatch us back up. At least that would save us from a prolonged death, just cracking and splitting our skulls like summer melons.”

Thomasin noted how her heartbeat’s faint thumping could be identified by Astarion with little effort. Even when he wasn’t searching for its call, her anxieties caused its background noise to heighten into a clamoring. She wondered if he noticed while so far gone. He must’ve. Speaking to her as if she were too naïve of life’s true horrors. And maybe he was right. Could her encounters with dashed morals compare to that of an immortal claw?

Like many conflicts before, Thomasin had to remind herself she wasn’t an enemy. As much as misdirected jabs from men ignited her need to please, the erosion of life experience roughened her edges. She’d been a woman used as an avatar for unresolved traumas and her boundaries found themselves chopping about with little direction. Any means of ensuring the perils of men were not solely hers to bear.

So, the half-elf had to acknowledge the obvious. Where Astarion toyed with her, even if she’d made a friend. One that may have used her body as many others had, but his greed could be overlooked when compared to the drastic measures of others. This was her newly knit family. Their woes were as complicated to maintain as any other.

Her waltz down the Chionthar River hadn’t spit her out only to admit defeat. Even if the elf’s desires and goals were hazy, he couldn’t become another abandonment in her travels. She saw where light wished to be fostered. She knew he wasn’t her responsibility, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t allow him the space to find his own way.

Thomasin started to tug at her skirt to access the garter at her thigh. The location of her self-defense weapon he had known all too well. Her movements were docile, but that didn’t make him feel any less wary as his focus lasered in. Panic couldn’t be categorized as fighting, flighting, or freezing, but perhaps an uneven mingling of all three. With the dull sheen of her blade unsheathed, his tone flipped into one of urgency.

“Wha-What’s that for? What are you doing?”

“I’m juicing a melon.”

Thomasin ensured she continued at a slow pace, grabbing her tea and setting it on the floor between them. The tip of her blade parted and bled the softened pad of her palm. Deep enough to create a wound to be exorcised. She pressed her fingertips against it and squeezed as if extracting the juice from a citrus fruit. Any inkling of pain internalized and ground itself into chewing upon her inner cheek, releasing between droplets landing in her cup.

Blood pooled into a thin stream that trickled down her freckled wrist. A sight that left them both in silence. Before the two was a series of psychedelic patterns created by each sacrificial bead. The cup’s contents alternated between pale herbal tones, lavender chunks, and rich burgundy that dispersed like the innards of geodes.

“You know of those I fear and I know yours. Cheers to their bodies drowning out at sea and rotting in their crypt. If we stay alive, no man will ever put their hands on us again." As she released the tension from her grip and the blood ceased, she pushed the tea toward him in offering. The liquid swirled and rocked before him. What once boiled was now warm, but graced with a gift. “There’s safety in our numbers. You watch our backs and we watch yours.”

Astarion stared down with a look of bewilderment. At least, what he could express in such a state of emotional petrification. He studied the colors sloshing around the cup as if peering through the smoke of his wildfire. Nothing of danger like he prepared himself lay it its wake. Rather he realized he witnessed her cut through the flames with gusts of wind and scarred hands.

Every line of dialogue he could fathom readied their defenses. All he could concoct were details and evidence to make her understand how he should be heard. But she hadn't fought back. And the elf began to wonder how long it’d been since one of them last spoke.

This concern washed away as he caught her smiling back at him. Her features were coming into frame. How, in his eyes, this woman’s beauty was eternal, odd, gracious, all against exhaustion embedding into her face. He watched her rise and crouch to leave his tent, signaling his brain to say something. Anything.

“I suppose that’s all I could ask for,” he said.

Thomasin’s eyes widened a bit at his placid response. It seemed her efforts were somewhat rewarded and she paused her departure to simply nod back. She tucked the fabric of his tent door aside to let the light of their campfire leak into his lonely domain. A simple gesture to include him as she left him to his own devices.

Astarion tilted his head back and let the tea soothe what was left of his burnt bones and frayed synapses. It wasn’t long before his tongue had licked the glazed surface clean and his body pulsed in a manner he could regulate. With their small quilt draped over his shoulders, he curled up in the darkness of his tent and let each muscle release. Any attempt to assuage the bizarre nagging in his chest. The discomfort with what was comfortable. A feeling that drowned a slow temporary death as her blood reached throughout his system.

The elf watched as his companions spent the rest of the night rifling through books and melting into cups of tea. How they laughed and grinned and rolled their eyes. He’d always considered the idea comradery and if it was merely a novelty. Only time would tell if this was genuine. If safety was honest. If any home was.

#bg3 astarion #bg3 karlach #bg3 wyll #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion fanfic #bg3 tav #bg3 half elf #half drow tav #half elf tav #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion comfort #astarion hurt/comfort #astarion angst

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mistiell · 8 months

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If you’re doing requests and it’s not too much trouble what about Astarion and getting patched up and taken care of by mc

Here you go babes <33 (Also, if he's a little out of character, I apoligize, I really did try my best lol) WC: 1k

---

“Ow! Gods, could you at least try to be gentle?” Astarion hisses at the sting of the salve you’ve concocted, startling you into jerking the cloth you’re using away.

You huff and drop your hands into your lap, brows furrowed in very clear annoyance, “I am trying. If you’d stop squirming, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“Well, if it didn’t hurt so much, I wouldn’t be squirming, would I?” He quips. You roll your eyes.

Taking his wrist ever so gently, you turn it so you can see the gash on his forearm, fingers deft and kind even despite his whining. He’s being difficult; unreasonable. You’d be justified in being cruel with him.

You’re careful not to press so hard as you swipe the cloth over the jagged edge of his wound, blood seeping into the fabric and staining the off-white linen a dark crimson. Mouth quirked down, your face is drawn tight with a frustration he’s never seen on you before.

He hates it.

The fabric catches with a jolt of pain and he flinches more than he would normally, startling you away again.

You tut at him, stern, “Astarion.”

Sighing, he returns his arm to you wordlessly and glances away with a small, “Sorry.”

“You should have been more careful.” You chastise as you press the cloth against his wound; firm, but not harsh. Never harsh.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes, “So you're saying this is my fault.”

He wasn’t being serious, but it seems you take it as such. Your nose scrunches, and for a split second, you look properly upset with him. He’s expecting you to snap at him, maybe shout and finally leave him to tend to his wounds alone as he usually would.

You don’t. Instead, you take a breath and sigh, looking rather disappointed.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Contrary to what you may believe, I do actually care about you and your wellbeing.” Your voice is void of any sort of humour as you look back at his arm. Swapping the soiled cloth for a smaller, cleaner one, you fold it in half and press it to his arm, not sparing him a glance as you instruct him, “Hold this.”

He does as you’ve asked, and a stifling silence engulfs his tent. As you rifle through some healing supplies, he tries to come up with a way to get you talking again.

“Why-,” His voice doesn’t come out right and he clears his throat to fix it. It comes out wrong anyway, “Why are you helping me? This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve dressed a wound on my own, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you should have to.” You reply as you begin securing the cloth to his arm with bandages, “No one deserves to suffer alone.”

The sentiment makes his stomach twist. “No one?” He huffs a wry puff of laughter, “Not even someone like Cazador?”

Your face contorts in abhorrence, “I meant good people don’t deserve to suffer alone. That bastard deserves every bit of suffering he has coming to him.”

He barely even registers the second part of what you’ve said, too busy reeling from the first.

Good people don’t deserve to suffer alone.

Good people.

“You... think I’m good?” He asks far too softly.

Finally looking back up at him, you look utterly confused as you nod, “Of course I do.”

He opens his mouth only to find he’s seemingly lost his voice. His gaze flits over just about every inch of your face, searching for any sign that you’re lying; a glance away, a twitch of your mouth. Anything.

He doesn’t find one. His heart sinks and sings simultaneously and suddenly, he can barely breathe.

“Why?” He murmurs. Part of him thinks he’s not equipped to cope with your answer.

There’s a moment where you just... look at him. He’d say staring, but he doesn’t think that’s quite what this is. What you’re doing would be better described as seeing him; all of him. His heart, his soul. Everything.

“Good people can do bad things and still be good, Astarion. And being good doesn’t always mean being a saint.” Your voice is kind; tender. Maybe a little joking towards the end. He guesses you’ve seen the apprehension on his face when your hands slide down his arm to cradle his own. Dipping to catch his gaze, your own is suddenly serious; unwavering, “What happened to you, the things you did. None of that was your fault. You told me what Cazador did to you when you disobeyed him. I’d be just as terrible to deem you a monster for going along with it knowing what would have happened to you if you didn’t.”

Your words strike him like a hard blow to the chest. Perhaps he’s not all that concerned with being a good person, but he’s never truly wanted to be evil, either.

Eyes stinging, he lets out a shaky breath through his nose as he cups the nape of your neck to guide your forehead to his lips. He lingers there for a moment before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight, mumbling against your hairline, “Thank you.”

Snaking your arms around his waist, you squeeze him just as fiercely, “Of course, my love.”

The laugh that escapes him comes out too watery for his liking, but he finds he doesn’t mind quite as much when its only you around to hear, “‘My love’? Isn’t that my line?”

You snort, and he feels you smile against his collar, “Perhaps.” “You do know that reusing material that isn’t yours is in poor taste, don’t you, darling?”

“Hush.” You pull back smiling, shaking your head as you ask in faux exasperation, “Now, will you please let me finish bandaging this?”

He follows your gaze to his arm and huffs dramatically, “I suppose.” “Oh, you suppose, do you?” You sass as you take hold of his wrist again, careful not to wrap the bandages too tight, “Do you also suppose you’ll sit still for me this time?”

“I do.” He grins.

And he does.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x mc #hurt/comfort

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abigailmoment · 7 months

Text

It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly.

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell.

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground.

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover.

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin.

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear.

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him.

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked.

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way.

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy.

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him.

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes.

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells.

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush.

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly.

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form.

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side.

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly.

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly.

And that was a precious thing.

****

Other stories like this.

****

#staeve #astarion #bg3 #Transformation #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #Cuddling #A Great Deal Of Cuddling #Implied Trauma #Very Brief Peril #taking care of astarion as a group project

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leighsartworks216 · 9 months

Text

You Hate Me

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Sooooo I wrote this one morning when even just laying down had my knees hurting and I was like,, well what if Tav had that too? Also inspired by the fact I get to campus an hour early and still try to rush to the (empty) classroom instead of, ya know, taking advantage of the huge time buffer I give myself

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of joint pain, insecurity, crying, possibly OOC, clown mention

Word Count: 1,545

Masterlist

AO3

Just a bit further. A little further and then you could rest. If you make it to that tree - make it to that tree and you can sit down. Just a bit left to go.

It started almost a week ago. Unable to cope with all the traveling, your right knee started bothering you. With every step you could feel your kneecap shifting back and forth with a dull click. Then, it started to hurt. Nothing serious. If you walked slow enough, you could avoid it. But now every step sent shocks of pain up your entire leg. Your left knee joined the party this morning, removing any sense of relief you had while walking. Even sitting down didn't remove the pain, but you couldn't afford a day off.

Your companions noticed the changes, despite your best effort not to show any outward discomfort. You moved slower, the occasional grimace slipped through, they weren't traveling quite as far. You consider asking Shadowheart for anything that could ease the pain, but you already knew there was little she could do to help. So you grit your teeth and kept going.

Your foot stepped on uneven ground and you nearly dropped from the agony that shot through your whole body. Karlach worried you might actually just collapse. But you kept going.

Astarion couldn't bear it. None of them could - they hated seeing their intrepid leader fight their own body just to go a few more feet - but your struggle settled like a boulder in his stomach. Every time your face scrunched up, every hiss of your sharp inhales, felt like someone had stabbed a knife in his chest and was twisting it ever deeper. He hated the feeling.

With only a few long strides, he slipped from the back of the group to the front, walking alongside you. He had to change his normal gait just so he didn't surpass you. "Darling," he hummed quietly, just loud enough to keep the conversation between you two, "you should rest."

You shook your head. You didn't even spare him a glance. Your eyes didn't shift from the tree. "We're almost there," you dismiss. It's slightly breathless. Despite needing to walk slow to avoid the pain, you were pushing to go faster.

He tsked. "And how far do we still have left to go?" He tilted his head as he looked at you, already knowing whatever distance you said would be too far.

You nodded to a tree dead ahead. "Once we reach that birch, we can rest."

"That birch?" He pointed. "The birch tree that's nearly half a mile away?"

He could feel you bristle with his incredulous tone, but you didn't say anything.

He scoffed. "My dear, I can be stubborn at the best of times, but this is ridiculous! You're barely staying upright as it is."

"I'm fine-"

"No, you're not," he sharply cuts you off. He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop, holding you there with enough force that you wouldn't slip out and keep going. You refuse to look at him even now. "You're wincing, your hands have been clenched for the last mile, and you keep stumbling. The tree will still be there if you just sit down for a minute."

The rest of the party watches from a distance. Far enough away they can just make out what Astarion's saying, especially as his voice rises in pitch the more frustrated he gets.

Standing still hurts. It's hard to say if it hurts more or less than walking; it just hurts. Your face is pinched as sharp jolts run up through your joints, like someone is poking you with a sewing needle. Walking, you decide, must be better than this.

"It's not that far," you insist, voice low. "And when we get there, we can-"

"Gods above, you're impossible! Fine. Fine! You want to get to that tree, fine." He lets go of your arm.

Before you can even take a step, he's sweeping you into his arms, supporting you with one arm under your back and the other hooked under your knees. The pressure hurts for a moment, but it quickly fades away. The lingering aches are from pushing yourself too hard. He begins marching once more toward your end goal.

You want to shout, to demand he put you down. But when you look up at his face, his eyes are sharper than usual, lips pulled into a tight frown and crease forming between his eyebrows. He's angry.

He's angry with you.

The words die in your throat. You hate being so dependent. You were the leader - you needed to be strong and fearless and without weakness. To receive help feels like someone plunging their hand between your ribs and stealing away a chunk of your worth. But seeing Astarion upset, upset with you, that stings far worse.

You avoid looking over his shoulder. You could just imagine their faces. How Lae'zel would scowl at you for being weak. How Gale's face would turn somber when he realizes you're not as capable as he thought. You couldn't bear it. So you press your forehead to Astarion's neck and stare at your lap.

There's an unwelcome burn at the back of your eyes. Shame floods your chest and crawls up your throat until it chokes you. Water pools along your lower lids and blurs your vision. You can't walk and now you're going to cry. Just how fucking pathetic can you be?

Astarion's head shifts and you can tell he's trying to look down at you. He's trying to see your face. Because he can feel you shaking in his arms. He can hear your lungs quivering as your breaths become uneven and choppy. You press your closed eyes against his throat and he can feel the hot tears against his skin.

His frown softens, though you can't see it. He slows down to a stop and tells the others to go on ahead, to the birch tree just there, and start working on setting up camp, but all you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. Their faces become fraught with worry; Karlach is the last to go. She still looks back once or twice. Astarion finds a suitable rock and he sits.

"Shh, sweet thing," he cooes, voice no louder than a whisper. His arm around your back pulls you into his shoulder, hand tangling in your hair as he cradles you. His other hand rubs soothing circles along your thigh. You gasp around a sob, body curling further into itself, into him, as you release your emotions. "It's alright."

You strangle out an apology. It's wet and croaky and painful.

"Whatever for?" he asks.

"You're mad at me," you whimper.

He huffs. The frustration from before rises in him again just thinking about it. "Yes, I am."

He feels your breath catch in your throat, and the heaving breath you take after. "You hate me."

Astarion laughs, short and sharp. "Why would I hate you, dear? Because you're too stubborn for your own good?" You don't have a response for him. He kisses your head, wherever he can reach. "I'm mad because you put yourself out trying to solve all of our issues, but the moment you have one of your own, you refuse any help. You're going to tear yourself apart."

He sighs and rests his cheek atop your head. His fingers rub the nape of your neck, gently tugging at the hair there. You carry so much tension, it's a wonder your muscles haven't locked up from the stress.

Time passes slowly in his arms. It seems to take forever before you start to calm down, and even longer before your eyes have dried. He does nothing to speed the process aside from gently hush you when you try to choke out apologies.

You sniffle quietly. Your eyes are raw, and you're all too aware of the stain of water you've left on the vampire's neck. When you speak, it's a painful creak in your vocal chords. "You don't hate me?"

He presses another kiss to your head. "No, love, I don't hate you. Not unless you've done something truly horrific, like invite a clown to show up at camp in the middle of the night." You chuckle weakly. It's such sweet music. "Gods forbid you start donating to charity." You laugh this time, and Astarion's chuckle vibrates against your ear.

His fingers detangle themselves from your hair with one last gentle tug, and his arm wraps around your back once more. As though you weigh no more than one of his pillows, he stands once more with you in his safe grasp, and begins heading for camp. He can see Karlach up ahead light up when she sees you're finally on your way.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I just feel so... useless, like this."

"Please, stop apologizing," he begs, dramatically. "Just say 'thank you' and we can move on."

You peel your face from his skin, dried tears sticking you together. You wince at how disgusting this must be for him. You lean up and kiss his cheek. He smiles at the affection. "Thank you."

Softer, he says, "Of course, my love."

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

Note

hey! i just had a request (if you like it!) - cazador taking astarion’s partner (reader/tav) when all the siblings try to kidnap astarion, and turning them, intending for them to take astarion’s place - ofc astarion and crew arrive in time and scene progresses as normal, but now reader/tav is a vampire spawn. just fluff and hurt/comfort

Oh wow this became far darker than intended, I hope you don't mind. I do feel a little bad for reader in this one, honestly. Part 2 can be found here!

Spoilers for act 3!! If anyone still needs this.

Astarion’s shout stirs you from your peaceful slumber and you sit up with a start, eyes wide. Your hand automatically shoots to your weapon, fingers curling around it when you see two figures slowly approaching your lover who back away, hackles raised.

“Peace, brother. We’re here to take you home.” One says and you frown, ready to step in if needed. The other one urges Astarion to return with them, to ‘be reborn’ and you quickly make your way to Astarion’s side, ready to fight if need be. You didn’t care that those two were vampire spawn, you would defend Astarion with everything you had. You weren’t going to lose him now, not after coming all this way.

Astarion’s hand gently brushes against yours, a silent thank you for your show of support as you size your potential opponents up. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Astarion moves to step slightly in front of you and begins to tell his siblings of his plan to take Cazador’s place in the ritual, to ascend and his siblings are none the wiser about the lies he’s weaving.

You know how desperately he wants the ritual, how he yearns for the power it will give him and yet you’re torn between convincing him otherwise and letting him take it. You don’t want to see him drown in the pursuit of this power but you know how much it means to him, the idea of being able to walk in the sun again, the idea of no longer being under someone else’s control, so you keep silent, your mind in turmoil.

Either way, the encounter ends with Cazador taking control of the spawns and it delves into a fight as Astarion does all he can to protect himself and you do all you can to ensure neither spawn manage to lay a hand on him. By the end of it, you’re panting from exhaustion, scratches lacing your skin but the two spawns have been backed into a corner and you have emerged victorious alongside Astarion.

Or so you think.

Suddenly, a chill runs down your spine and mist turns into a humanoid figure with glowing red eyes. Astarion’s eyes widen and he takes an instinctive step back. The two spawn cower as a sneer forms on the humanoid’s face, a clawed hand reaching out towards you.

“Y/N I presume? I have heard much about you, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Cazador.

You swallow hard, refusing to show the vampire lord a hint of fear and meet his burning gaze that stares into your very soul.

“Cazador,” you say, tone measured. “If only I could say the same.”

Why was he here? Was he going to forcefully take Astarion away? If he was, you were pretty much powerless to stop him by yourself and he would be able to start the ritual. You keep your eyes fixed on the vampire lord who is smiling unnervingly, standing your ground as he takes a step towards you.

“Thank you for taking care of my precious lost son,” he places a hand on your shoulder which you brush off, glowering at him. He remains unfazed despite your rude gesture, the smile still fixed on his face.

“You’re very welcome,” you say stiffly, still uncertain about what Cazador was here for. He hadn’t spared a glance at Astarion at all, which was odd and the other two spawn hadn’t made a single move to kidnap Astarion, even though now was the best time to do so.

“In return, I would like him back so that he may return home.”

“No.” You immediately growl without a second thought. “I will not let you lay a hand on Astarion again.”

“How courageous of you,” the vampire lord chuckles. “To think that my son has found someone like you…to guide him back. I really am extremely grateful to you.”

Astarion makes a noise, ignoring the shaking in his hands and moves to stand next to you. He can’t leave you to face Cazador alone, not after he’s promised to always be by your side and so despite the nauseating fear that is rising in his throat, he forces himself to face his tormentor.

“Now then, my boy” Cazador continues, gaze finally turning towards him. “I will give you a choice. You, or your precious Y/N.”

“What?” Astarion narrows his eyes.

“Choose. You, or Y/N.” Cazador repeats.

“What do you intend to do?” Astarion snarls. Cazador doesn’t answer his question and simply raises three fingers, slowly counting down. Confused, Astarion opens and closes his mouth, unsure of the consequence each choice will spell and a wide grin forms on the vampire lord’s face once the last finger is down.

“Time’s up, my boy. I suppose, I will have to make the choice for you since you cannot make up your mind.” Cazador places a hand on your shoulder. “Say goodbye to your precious Y/N.”

Astarion takes a step towards you, your name on the tip of his tongue but he is too late, slowed by the tadpole and Cazador whisks you away along with the other two spawns, back to his palace.

“No, no, no!” Astarion roars, hand grasping thin air. “Cazador!”

The others come running over at the commotion, confused when they see Astarion on his knees, sobbing and cursing.

“What happened?” Halsin asks, kneeling next to the wailing vampire.

“Cazador!” Astarion snarls through the tears. “He took Y/N!”

“He took Y/N? Aren’t you the one he’s after? Why did he take them?” Wyll asks.

“Didn’t you say you’d protect them? Why didn’t you?” Lae’zel snaps. Astarion whirls around, ready to tear Lae’zel apart but Halsin holds him back, the vampire thrashing in his grip.

“Calm down, Astarion. We won’t get anywhere fighting amongst ourselves. Do you have an idea of where Cazador might have taken Y/N?” Halsin’s low voice gently rumbles.

“His damned palace, probably,” Astarion mutters, guilt tearing away at him. He should have given Cazador an answer, he should have been stronger and pressed Cazador for answers, he should have pulled you away from Cazador the moment the vampire lord had placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Then we will head there immediately,” Jaheria smoothly takes command and the other nod in agreement. The longer you were with Cazador, the dimmer your prospects, for who knew what Cazador wanted with you? Time was of the essence.

“We will get Y/N back,” Gale said firmly. “We will rescue them.”

At Cazador’s palace, you were held in place by blood red glyphs as Cazador circled you, ruby eyes glowing in the darkness.

“You are a fascinating creature, Y/N. Time and time again, I’ve taught my imperfect son not to form a relationship, that such bonds are a weakness he cannot afford, and yet he still chooses to form a bond with you. He knew of the consequences that would follow, and still decided to proceed. I wonder what about you makes him decide to risk it all.”

You remain silent, glaring as hard as you can at him. He leans in closer, a cold finger traces along your jawline and stop at your chin.

“Is it because of how much you make him think you care for him?”

“I genuinely care for him, unlike you!” You spit, jerking away from his touch.

“Or maybe your looks.” He pretends to contemplate before tightly grabbing you by the chin and pulling you towards him.

“No…that can’t be it.” He smirks. “Oh, I know. It’s the delectable taste of your blood, isn’t it? I can see the bite marks, he clearly loves drinking from you.”

“Piss off!” You snarl despite the fear creeping into your chest. “Whatever goes on between Astarion and I is none of your concern!”

“Oh, but it is. He is, after all, my son.” Cazador leans even closer, pressing his lips against the bite marks on your neck. “And you too, will become my child.”

His fangs sink into the soft supple flesh of your neck, painful and harsh unlike Astarion’s bite and you hiss, struggling to get away but the glyphs hold you tight. Your heart thunders, blood rushing in your ears as you snarl, spit and thrash as hard as you can but his fangs remain firmly lodged in your neck, your precious lifeblood gushing down his throat. Spots start to form in your vision and you feel yourself weakening, life fading away.

“Oh, don’t worry.,” you barely hear him as the world starts to turn black. “I don’t kill my own children.”

When you wake, everything is dark, but something feels different. Your sense of smell is sharper, you can see the lines of wood in the dark and…

“Welcome back, my child.” The sound of wood scraping rakes your ears and you quickly cover them, hissing.

“How are you feeling?” Cazador smiles, setting something down before turning to you, holding out a hand.

“Get lost!” You slap his hand away, trying to take in your surroundings. You’re in some sort of underground area, judging from the leaking ceiling and the musty smell in the air. The tiny squeaks of rats fill your ears and you notice chains hanging from the wall in front of you, covered in dried blood.

“How rude. It seems the first thing I must teach you is manners,” Cazador tuts. “Repeat after me, ‘I am fine, thank you for asking, master.’”

“Go —” A presence dominates your mind, sending your tadpole squirming as it tries to take back your mind. You scream, the tadpole’s fight tearing your mind apart and you hear Cazador snarl in frustration.

“That blasted thing!”

He looks back up at you, a smile slowly reforming itself upon his face. “Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to have complete control over you for my plan to work. All I need is you.”

“What do you intend to do?” You pant, head throbbing.

“Why, have you take that boy’s place in the ritual of course. He chose to sacrifice you instead of himself. Now come along, I would rather not have to drag you out in front of your new siblings.”

You quietly follow him, mind still struggling to wrap around recent events. One moment you were trying to find Gortash and Orin to prevent The Absolute from taking over Baldur’s Gate, and then next you were Cazador’s latest vampire spawn, a sacrifice for his ascension. Cazador didn’t seem to mind your silence, tightly holding onto your hand to ensure you couldn’t just run away, not that he would have much of a problem catching you anyways.

He leads you to a grand hall where a pentagram has already been drawn with blood in the center of the floor and seven pedestals surround it. His other vampire spawn each stand on one, waiting for further instructions and you glance around nervously. Would the others be able to find this place before it was too late?

Cazador unsheathes a dagger, snapping his fingers and glyphs appear around your wrists and ankles once more, forcing you to kneel on the ground in front of him. He slices your clothes open, tossing them away until you’re half naked and bends down next to you.

“I believe you know what comes next.”

Bile rises in your throat, your clawed fingertips digging into your palm as you prepare yourself.

“Go rot in the hells.”

He laughs, knowing that all you can do is spit words at him and raises the dagger with a sadistic grin.

Then plunges it straight into your back.

The pain tears you apart from the inside, gnawing at every fibre of your being as you keenly feel each and every sinew being split open by the dagger, warm blood coating your back. You can hear screaming, was it coming from you? You couldn’t tell, your mind was far too hazy to make anything out.

Everything hurts, everything hurts, everything hurts.

You scream until your voice turns hoarse, but Cazador doesn’t stop. He continues with his work of art, twisting the dagger whilst its blade is embedded in your flesh whenever you collapse, shocking you back into reality. Over and over again he marks your flesh with Infernal script and you wonder how Astarion pulled through this.

Suddenly, the dagger stops. Cazador shouts something but your ringing ears can’t make out anything. Something red slams into the vampire lord and sends him crashing into the floor with a war cry, followed by an axe.

The glyphs holding you up disappear and you feel yourself falling, but not an inch of your body obeys your command to break your fall. Before the floor can meet you, a pair of warm arms wraps around you, holding you steady.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

You stare blankly at the floor beneath, wishing it had ended your suffering but then you remember that you’re a vampire spawn now and simply smacking into the floor wouldn’t kill you.

“Y/N? Talk to me,” the voice speaks again. Your swimming vision barely manages to scrape together an image and through the haze your mind recalls a name. Wyll.

A small noise escapes your lips and the Blade of Frontiers lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re alive, that’s good.”

“No,” you whisper. “Not. Alive.”

“Not in that sense,” someone else speaks. Halsin.

Something new warms your back, blue light shimmering around you, “don’t you dare fall asleep.” Shadowheart.

“As…”

An angry cry pierces through the air. More shouting. Then. Silence. A figure rushes to your side, silvery curls stained with blood.

“Y/N!” There’s panic in the voice. “Darling?”

“As…ta…rion.”

“You’re safe now,” he pulls you into a hug. “You’re safe now.”

“Hurt…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Astarion chokes. “I’m sorry I let that monster take you, I’m sorry I let you get hurt, I’m sorry I was late.”

His apologies are met with silence, your body limp in his arms as you struggle to stay awake. You want to reassure him, you want to say something but your body refuses to cooperate.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “It’s my fault that you were taken, I promised to protect you and yet, and yet I —”

“It…s…ok.”

“It’s not!” He snaps. “It’s not ok! Nothing is! I let Cazador take you! I let him turn you! Now…now you can’t walk in the sun anymore! Not once that damned tadpole is removed! You’ll constantly feel the hunger! Others will call you a monster!”

Astarion stops when he sees the fresh tear streaks on your face, biting his lip hard. You come first, you need him right now. He pushes his self-hatred away and focuses on you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly, ignoring the blood that seeps between his fingers. He presses his lips against the top of your head as your shoulders shake.

“I’m right here, my love. I’m right here. I promise, you’re never alone. You will never be alone. I will be right here, by your side to help you shoulder your burdens as you’ve helped me. I promise.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #tav #bg3 fic #bg3 angst #bg3 fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt/angst

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aethes-bookshelf · 3 months

Text

let me be your shelter || astarion/gn!tav

This is the result of an especially hectic exam season. I started writing this fic instead of having a meltdown lol Now that I have more time again, I decided to finish it :) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), gn!Tav (can be read as a self-insert), Tav/Reader is the one being comforted

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Summary: You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. Even after everything you'd been through, you put on a brave face. All the way up until you couldn't.

Luckily, Astarion's always there to pick up the pieces.

ao3 link

The sun was setting outside when you finally closed the front door of your house behind you, cloaking the entrance corridor in darkness. The straps of your pack were digging quite painfully into your shoulder, no doubt leaving angry marks on your skin. You threw it to the floor with a huff and closed your eyes for a moment,

The day's exhaustion rolled off of you in waves; hours worth of dust and grime stuck to your clothes and skin. Rebuilding the city after the Battle of Baldur’s Gate was a noble cause. It being noble, however, didn’t make it any less exhausting.

You tried running your fingers through your hair, but your hand almost got stuck in it instead. The firm tug against your scalp made your eyes water. Your back was on fire, your legs were on fire, your face was tacky with drying sweat. It was all so much, too much.

Curling up in a corner and staying there until the sun fell out of the sky seemed worryingly appealing. I still have to go back out there tomorrow, though, you thought. The ugly, choking pressure in your throat got tighter and tighter. Your eyes, still clenched shut, brimmed with tears.

‘Darling?’ called a familiar voice from somewhere on the other side of the corridor. ‘Why are you just standing there? At least light a candle or something. It’s not like you can see like this,’ the voice continued, getting closer.

There was the hiss of a match being lit; one, two, three candles lit up the darkness.

‘Well, not that you can see much with your eyes closed, anyway,’ said Astarion. All snark left his voice when he saw the first tears roll down your cheeks. ‘Oh, I wasn’t that mean, was I? Why are you crying, love?’

‘I-I’m sorry.’ Your voice broke. ‘I don’t- don’t know why, I’m just- just so…’ you trailed off as the first sobs tore out of your chest.

Just a few months ago, Astarion would be looking like a deer in headlights right about now. He still remembered the very first time you broke down after the whole Absolute-tadpole nonsense was over. After everyone else went their separate ways and you chose to stay to help rebuild the city and he chose to stay with you. Naturally.

The breakdown happened soon after. The second night the two of you slept in your brand new bed in your brand new house, the dam inside you just broke, shattered into pieces; and you were swept up in the current of the build-up grief and fear.

Astarion, as much as he loathed to admit it, panicked. He had no idea how to comfort people; after all, it wasn’t a skill necessary for survival for most of his life, so he never really bothered to learn it. He still hadn’t even after whatever the two of you shared at first turned more serious. You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. The stable one. The stable one never gets to cry, so you didn’t.

As ashamed as Astarion was when he realized it, he hadn’t even thought you could cry. It just never really crossed his mind.

Luckily for the both of you, he loved you far too much not to learn from his mistakes after that very first night of the rest of your life. He’d like to think he got comforting you down to a science.

‘Would you like a hug, my sweet?’ Step one was almost always physical contact. And not just because holding you became one of his favorite pastimes; rather, it was grounding for you to have something to hold onto when you got like this. Astarion would gladly volunteer to be that something whenever he could.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to answer, so you just nodded instead. You were starting to tremble; rarely a good sign. Whatever stress-induced breakdown was happening would probably be a big one.

Astarion knew better than to try to wrestle you from the spot you were standing in. It would do nothing except agitate you further, so he simply walked up to you and gathered you into his arms.

The moment you were close enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck, the sobs that had been building up inside you this entire time wrecked your body. You were wailing loudly; so loudly you’d be embarrassed if you had enough energy left in you to care.

Astarion winced slightly at first — you were close enough to his ear for it to hurt. Still, he held you closer, firmer. Just enough pressure to help you calm down.

Eventually, your wailing died down to sobbing, and sobbing turned into soft sniffling. He tried to run a hand through your hair; his fingers nearly got stuck in it, just like yours before.

‘Would you say no to a bath, darling?’ he said, voice soft and quiet. ‘I got some new scented oils a few days ago. I even paid for them this time.’

That got a small chuckle out of you. Your throat was raw and your face was even more sticky now; a bath sounded wonderful.

‘I’d rather like a bath, I think.’ Your voice was all scratchy. You’d probably have one hell of a time trying to speak tomorrow.

‘Come on, then.’ Astarion kissed the top of your head and gently pried you away from his neck.

Usually you were the one leading him everywhere; he supposed in moments like these it was his turn to lead you instead. He walked you to the bathroom, holding your hand. And he didn’t even comment on the snot you left on his shirt, which was a great show of understanding on his part — as far as he was concerned — although he did take it off and throw it in the laundry basket as soon as the two of you entered the bathroom. All his love for you didn’t mean he’d be okay running about in a snotted-up shirt.

He sat you down on the floor near the bathtub and filled it with water. He smelled each of the new scented oils with great consideration. The last thing you probably wanted at the moment was having to pick which oil to put in your bath, so he wanted to make the choice for you — and to make the right one.

After the bath was all prepared, Astarion helped you out of your clothes and walked you to the corner of the bathroom, where he washed most of the dirt off your skin. Making sure you could properly relax also meant making sure you wouldn’t be soaking in dirty water, after all.

Soon enough, you were sitting in the bathtub with your eyes closed. Right after helping you inside the bath, Astarion ran off to grab your favorite hairbrush. And now, he busied himself with detangling the mess your hair had become over the course of your day. He talked and talked all the while — about his day, about this awful thief he managed to thwart the other night, about the shopping trip he went on the day before — about everything and nothing, just to keep talking. Just to fill the silence with noise that would drown out your screaming, tired mind. He didn’t expect you to answer; it was enough that you listened.

After your hair was brushed, washed and conditioned, Astarion dried you off and brought you a freshly washed set of pajamas.

‘You need to sleep, darling,’ he said, handing you the clothes. He knew you were far too tired to argue with him on that. As endearing as your usual desire to stay up with him for as long as possible was, you needed rest — badly.

‘Will you stay with me?’ you said. You felt much better now that all the grime was off of you, but the thought of laying in bed alone made you want to cry all over again.

‘As if I’d ever leave,’ scoffed Astarion as he took your hand again, leading you out of the bathroom.

The coldness of his bare chest was a much needed comfort. You nuzzled closer to him as he threw a thick blanket over the two of you. He reached over to his bedside table.

‘I could read for you, if you’d like.’

You mumbled out a ‘yes’. Your eyelids were so very heavy, but the idea of hearing Astarion’s voice rumble in his chest right against your cheek sounded lovely.

He chuckled to himself. ‘You’re adorable when you’re tired.’

He started reading. You weren’t really paying attention to what he was reading, rather to the sound of his voice itself. The individual words and sentences blurred into one, continuous rumble. Listening to him speak felt like falling deeper and deeper into a pile of the softest pillows.

You were out before Astarion could finish the first fifteen pages of the book. He noticed by the end of page twenty. When he did, he gently put away the book and held you tighter against him. And he may or may not have left a few kisses on your forehead, but that’s neither here nor there.

Astarion got comforting you down to a science. And he was damn proud that he was the one you trusted to comfort you in the first place.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #gn!reader #gn!tav #unnamed tav #fluff #domestic fluff #hurt/comfort #fluff and angst #bg3 #astarion #my writing #bg3 astarion #bg3 x tav #bg3 x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #second person pov

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ancuninfiles · 1 month

Text

Comfort pt. 4

GIF by @astarionposting

4.5k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Tav - 18+

Thank you to @gelican-gelicant Gelican AO3 for beta-reading, as always. 🖤

Summary: The companions engage in crucial conversations, Nym reads an educational book with Astarion within the confines of his tent, and Astarion, grappling with internal struggles, finds solace in the intimacy shared with Nym, albeit as a temporary distraction.

Tags: smut, fluff, angst, p in v sex, creampie, mating press, vampire bites, needy/desperate astarion, snuggles🥺, kissing, sex from Astarion's POV

MASTERLIST (The other chapters and other works)

Read on AO3 (Recommended)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

It had been a long and arduous rest of the day, between two seemingly benevolent druids turned bloodthirsty, and a forgotten temple of Jergal set with traps and undead sorcerers.

The archdruid Kagha had sent her snake on a tiefling child, resulting in the little girl's death while Gale and Nym were at the beach. Nym spoke with Kagha shortly thereafter, resulting in an unproductive conversation about how Nym had never met a wood elf prejudiced enough to kill a child.

The druidic healer, Nettie, was no help, either. Not only did the bird she healed fall ill again minutes after her treatment, but she had also tried to kill Nym with a poisonous thorn engendering their cohort to attack Nettie in self-defence.

After the grove’s disputes, they returned to the ruined temple where they had killed a group of bandits the previous day, to procure provisions and explore. Nym acquired some interesting books after a pacifistic skeleton that spoke in early-modern english rose from his tomb.

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Now, settling in at camp for the evening, Gale worked away at the cookpot, Astarion read at his tent, and Nym was with Shadowheart at the Sharran’s tent.

“He told me that he isn’t jealous of Gale, so I figured he would at least give me his blessing if he had no desire to join us.” Nym frowned as they sat cross-legged facing one another.

Shadowheart exhaled heavily, “Nym, you poor thing, he probably only said that because he felt embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Isn’t it considered normal to be jealous among non-wood elf people?” Nym gazed at the floor with brows canted down, her palms up and hovering.

“Ha,” Shadowheart chuckled, “Normal, yes, but dishonourable. I’m sure he must’ve felt a little odd having staked claim over a woman he’d just met, but men can be strange and possessive creatures; and I suppose women can be, too.”

Huffing, Nym brought her knees to her chest. “It all makes sense now - why else would he interfere so violently?” She rested her forehead on her knees and dug her nails into either calf. “I should talk to them - separately. I don’t want to upset anyone. This is all so silly.”

“You’re not to blame for Astarion’s transgressions, nor are you to blame for Gale’s machinations,” Shadowheart pressed.

“I’m aware of that, I just - I’m learning. I want to be a proper leader, and I truly do enjoy Astarion’s company,” Nym brought her hand up, blocking the sound exiting her mouth from one side, “more than Gale’s if I’m being honest.”

They hushedly snickered in tandem. Nym covered her mouth and Shadowheart slapped her knee joyously.

Their giggles reached both Gale and Astarion's ears.

Gale stirred a pot over the fire and left it to heat up before waltzing over to Astarion’s tent. “We need to talk.”

“Do we? I’m personally quite content pretending you don’t exist. You leave no lasting impression, anyway,” Astarion retorted venomously with his nose in a book.

“Listen, we have a common goal - to rid ourselves of these godsforsakened tadpoles. We must tolerate each other for the time being - that being said, you don’t own Nym,” Gale argued.

Astarion snapped his book shut and sneered at Gale, craning his head closer to his face. “I only attacked you because I thought our leader was being assaulted.”

“Oh, please. You saw how she crawled to me this morning, and you know she wanted me. I’m sure she’s told you that by now, as well.” Gale pointed his finger at Astarion, standing his ground.

“Ha,” Astarion scoffed, “are you done? Because I’d like to relax and read; this book is fairly interesting and you are not.”

“Fine, however, keep your weapons away from me. Need I remind you that you’re not the only one here capable of severing one’s ties to the temporal plane?” He gestured his palm upwards sarcastically as he began to turn away towards the fire. “Just a suggestion.” He walked to the cookpot.

Astarion’s jaw clenched as he placed his book under his arm and ducked into his tent, closing the flap behind him. Once in solitude, his entire body tensed as he sat on the bedroll. Ceasing breath, tears welled up in his eyes that he wiped roughly with his palms and gritted his teeth.

He combed his fingers through his hair, gripping his scalp firmly. “Pathetic,” he whispered.

“Astarion - Are you in there?” Nym called from outside of his tent.

Astarion quickly tossed his hair, attempting to set it back into place before wiping the rest of his tears away with the backs of his hands. “Come in!” He cringed at himself briefly before painting a forced smile upon his lips.

Nym crouched into Astarion’s tent, holding two books in one arm. “Hey, I wanted to -” Astarion ripped her into his tent, causing the books to topple on the ground. The tent flap closed behind her as he gained purchase on her hair and pulled her mouth into a needy and forceful kiss.

Nym squeaked, melting into Astarion before moaning into his lips. He let go of her hair, and both arms wrapped around her torso under her limbs.

Astarion sighed with locked lips, frowning and holding Nym tightly.

Nym pulled back from the kiss with flushed cheeks and a heaving chest. “Woah.” She grinned and rolled her eyes before glancing up at Astarion, puffy-eyed and reddened cheeks wet with salty tears. “Oh - uh,” she said, her hands coming down to his shoulders and she straddled him, “do you wanna talk about it, or?”

Astarion turned his head away from Nym, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Nim giggled, throwing her head back and Astarion watched her with concern. “You’ve seen me like this at least twice already. You know - these past two days have been quite overwhelming. Nobody can blame you for crying a little; I mean, I would’ve cried more today if you hadn’t helped me with the shopping list - ugh,” she grimaced.

Astarion paused, turning his head again to face his tent flap and resting his hands on Nym’s hips.

“I spoke to Shadowheart,” she started, “and she says you want me all to yourself.” Nym laughed giddily.

“Did she?”

“Yeah, is it true?”

"What would it matter? It's not as if it’ll change anything,” Astarion pouted, continuing to avoid Nym’s gaze. “Besides, you don't owe me. If anything, I'm indebted to you, and we've only just met yesterday."

"But it's obvious that this situation is affecting you. I think that counts for something - It hurts me to see you pained,” Nym sighed. ”I can't explain why, but you remind me of - well - someone I used to know."

The tent was then shrouded in silence.

Nym said, "Plus, I don't see the harm in you and I having a physical relationship. We could turn into mind flayers at any moment, and not to mention it's an excellent way to destress."

Astarion piped up, "That is if neither of us starts transforming during one of our carnal escapades."

Laughter bubbled forth, weaving through the tent, untangling the knots of tension that had gripped them moments before.

"This is why I like you," Nym stated matter-of-factly before gazing into his eyes fondly. Astarion reciprocated her gaze, and the corner of his lip pulled up. "By the way, you're not indebted to me."

Astarion’s eyes darted away once again, "But - I took your blood." He hung his head.

Nym’s shoulders slumped. "For there to be a debt, it needs to be agreed upon prior to the act - besides, I enjoyed it." She blushed, eyes falling momentarily before perking up. "I got this amulet, see?" Nym thumbed the charm, "It cures blood loss!"

Astarion eyed the amulet before reaching his hand to hers. "I see," he paused, his brow creasing with displeasure, "I want you to know that you are free to go to Gale's tent if that's what you wish."

"Oh, I - uh . . . I almost forgot about that." She frowned, "I don't want to anymore; not after seeing how upset it makes you. Like I’ve said before, where I’m from, one is scrutinized for expressing feelings of jealousy; but, I never fit in with anyone back home anyway.” Nym paused, biting her lip and gazing downwards. “I've been the target of scrutiny, monogamous or not. The wood elves of the High Forest feign peace and neighbourliness, but they are very unaccepting of - well.” Nym inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, “differences; at least within our own factions,” she spoke animatedly, hands dancing about with each phrase. “They have all these weird unspoken rules and if you screw up one-too-many times, they essentially cast you out."

"I see,” Astarion said, bringing his knuckle to his chin in thought.

"Youkeepsayingthat! And I've always been a little eccentric. . . I’m open-minded to your a-typical way of life as well. It would only be fair." She smiled endearingly.

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Astarion’s eyes widened at Nym, his brow creasing before his frown warped into a grin. "You're too sweet."

Nym brushed off Astarion's compliment, her attention fixed on her discovery. "You too - and I found these books in that ruined temple today! The Curse of the Vampyr and Wood Elves of the High Forest. Can we read them together? Oh - and, can I stay with you again tonight, please?"

Astarion considered all of what Nym had just said. She doesn’t want Gale anymore - but on what pretense?

Nym looked at him with doe eyes, pulling him from reason. Although he still had much to think about, he decided that having her stay the night again wouldn't cause any harm.

"I would love that." He gestured to her side of the bedroll, the one furthest from the tent flap.

Nym abided, lifting herself off of Astarion, scooting beside him, and grabbing the books that had fallen from her grasp upon her fumbled and steamy entrance.

She excitedly opened the book on Vampires, flipping to the introduction. “I’ve already done some research on Vampires before, but getting the best books would be no easy feat where I’m from,” she exclaimed. “There is a library deep in the mountains on the north end of the High Forest, that’s where all the good books are,” Nym smirked.

Astarion bunched his mouth to the side and rested a knuckle under his chin. He tried to think back to what he knew of libraries in the High Forest, and he recalls hearing of a covert archive that was riddled with traps and illusions. Even a skilled rogue would have much trouble penetrating through that much security, he thought.

Nym skimmed through the pages of the book, occasionally running her eyes up and down particular pages. She nudged over to Astarion and rested her head on his shoulder, giving him a better view of the book.

Nym’s vanilla-and-amber-scented body felt soft and warm against his arm; a most welcome but novel sensation.

Nym read aloud,

"Vampire spawn are, more often than not, slaves to their master.”

"The spawn have supernatural abilities such as spider climbing and gaseous form."

Astarion perked up. "We would only use gaseous form if we were compelled to, but spider climbing? I had no idea about this."

"The vampire or vampire spawn do not need to consume blood to survive, however, if they do not consume blood, specifically humanoid blood, the following symptoms may occur:

- madness/extreme bloodlust

- brain fog

- depleted strength

- loss of supernatural abilities

- dry lips/skin

- depression

- anxiety"

"Ah - makes sense," Astarion flicked his gaze down, past the book.

He peeked up at Nym with admiration while her nose was in the book; seeing her so eager and focused caused his chest to tighten.

"It says here that the thirst for humanoid blood may be driven by one's instinct to procreate, as only a well-fed vampire or vampire spawn can reproduce. Well, then what about the vamps that prefer same-sex relationships?" Nym questioned, looking up at Astarion with knitted brows.

"I genuinely did not know that I could reproduce at all. I always assumed that I was doomed infertile."

"Whoever your master was must've been a real piece of work, huh?"

"You've surmised that much already?"

"Well, like I’ve said, this isn't my first time researching vampirism - all vampiric masters are evil as far as I’m aware."

"An unfortunate truth, I'm afraid," Astarion’s gaze shifted away as he began to pout.

Nym paused.

"Well whenever you feel ready to talk about it, I'm here." She winked playfully. "So, how much does a vampire need to drink to be well-fed?"

He pondered her question. "I actually don't know. I wonder if it says anything in that book about it. Why? Already getting baby-fever?" Astarion asked with a roguish smile.

Nym frowned, the colour of her cheeks deepening with blood. "Hmph - no - I'm just curious. I figure now that I have this necklace, you could essentially drink from me until I'm almost dead, chant ‘Te Absolvo’, and then drink a bit more after. We could even buy, or steal if you prefer, some scrolls of lesser restoration and then you can go crazy on me one night to see how much you need to drink until you’re full,” she grinned widely with arching eyes.

Astarion’s heart skipped a beat; he recalled his fantasy that he had on the beach. Is she truly offering to do this for me? "Hold on - you want to try that? You'd let me do that to you?"

"Mhm,” Nym nodded, “I think it would be an interesting experiment. Have you ever been full before?"

"I - uh - no, actually." Astarion tensed a smile.

"Well, then we have to try this . . . If you want to, of course." Nym shrunk into herself.

As if it were even a question. To feel sated for the first time - would it even be possible?

He leaned into her neck, whispering, "You have no idea how much I want to."

Nym blushed deeply while Astarion kissed her neck.

"Hmm - but wait!" She squirmed.

Astarion abruptly pulled away from her neck.

"Not right now! We need scrolls and I've already used this once today."

"Oh - I'm aware, darling," he gave her a condescending scratch on the head, "You're just so delectable; and in more ways than one." He smiled slyly.

She leaned into his touch and slowly closed her eyes. "Mmm - you know my weakness, huh?"

"You really are a kitty." Astarion angled his body to the left, directing his frontside more toward Nym without fully turning. He gently grazed his fingernails on her scalp, massaging thoughtfully.

"You're sort of cat-like yourself - albeit the more feral and particular type." She lolled her head back into his hand while he continued his toying.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good,” Nym’s face transitioned into a frown, “sorry, I hope I didn't offend."

Astarion laughed, "Oh, not at all. If anything, I'm charmed," he said, letting go of her hair.

She grabbed her chin and stiffened her shoulders. "I see," she mocked in a deep and posh-sounding voice, pursing her lips.

Astarion's mouth fell agape. “You're going to pay for that,” he said before lunging towards her and tickling her sides mercilessly.

Nym yelped and squirmed about, giggling with tears spilling from her eyes. She fell back onto her pillow, hugging her elbows to her waist to shield herself from his playful assault. "Okayokaynomore," she begged.

Astarion respectfully seized his attack as she caught her breath, sitting on his knees with either thigh between Nym's legs.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were glossy, and her legs came to meagerly wrap around Astarion's torso.

“Hmm.” His lips curved to one side. “Ignis,” he whispered before lighting a few candles in his tent with the small flame on his fingertip. He oriented himself towards her again, happily exhaling whilst running his hands down the top of her thighs.

Nym brought her warm hands up to rest upon the backs of his cold ones as his hands swept up her waist, above her breasts, and then finally to her shoulders where he would tenderly squeeze her.

In sync, Nym's hands glided across the backs of his arms, all the way to his shoulders. She pressed her fingertips gently into his back, coaxing him forward.

Astarion enjoyed how Nym would always suggest, but never demand. He enjoyed her embrace; and when he saw her face, he felt safe somehow. The feeling washed over him, and he soaked it up like a sponge.

Still, there was a constant battle to push the thoughts away; especially in moments like this, where his unpleasant memories were seeming to surface more and more with every touch.

He wanted to be touched. He wanted to embrace Nym. He wanted to become whole with her, all while a pressing feeling ached within him, urging him to run or to freeze.

His elbows slowly came down to the bedroll, caging Nym. His face hovered above hers, witnessing her expressions.

He saw lust in the laze of her eyelids, and in the way her teeth peeked through her parted lips.

Nym blinked slowly, and the candlelight danced across her features. Her hands snaked up to Astarion's rib cage, where she sensually caressed his body over his shirt.

A shiver ran up his spine as his growing desire battled his introspective qualms in waves.

“Astarion,” her voice echoed in his mind, “are you okay? You're frowning.” Nym pouted.

Astarion's awareness snapped back like the recoil on a crossbow, his head melting to the crook of Nym's neck.

I want to forget again, for one more night.

He tasted Nym's salty neck as her nails ascended to brush through his snowy curls. She hummed, her vibrating throat tickling his lips ever so slightly.

“Are you sure you're okay, Astarion?” she whispered.

Astarion groaned while he gently nipped at her flesh without drawing blood. His pelvis pressed firmly against her core, causing her to moan indignantly.

“I need you tonight, Nym - please,” he breathed saccharine words into her ear before suckling on the thin flesh on her neck. Their bodies rocked into each other, and Nym began to radiate heat like a beacon, its intensity drawing Astarion in with its passionate incandescence.

“Astarion, I want you too,” she purred. Her hand came to his lower abdomen, her fingers splaying beneath the waistline of his pants.

He kissed up her neck, navigating towards her open mouth. His lips slowly and sensually joined with hers as he let out small groans of satisfaction.

His left hand snuck beneath her loose night-shirt, gaining purchase on her breast.

The pace of her breathing picked up as he groped her soft mound, causing him to grow painfully hard and leak precum into his pants.

Their lips flew apart and Astarion hastily got up to strip, his muscles rippling as he pulled his ivory shirt above his head, apathetically discarding it next to the bedroll.

Nym watched him with patient adoration, as she lay melted beneath him.

Astarion wasted no time before climbing atop Nym once again and kissing her fervently. His dominating kiss caused her head to sway with each swell of vigour that leaked from his soul. Breaking away, he winced and impetuously pulled Tav’s loose night pants off, followed by her top, her arms raising to accommodate his plot.

He hovered over her, sucking and kissing a trail from her neck to her breasts, making sure not to neglect one more than the other. Nym pressed her body upward into Astarion’s mouth as he snuck two curving fingers into her weeping folds.

Nym whined loudly as his finger started slowly pumping in and out, causing lewd and wet sounds to surely penetrate through the fabric walls of their shared accommodation and into the ears of their campmates.

“That’s it, sweet Nym - sing as loud as you need,” Astarion purred, “I want to hear nothing but the sounds of you coming undone for me.” I want the sound of your cries to drown out the clamour of my miserable memories - please.

Her core pulsed against his fingers at his words, and her hips wiggled needily against his hand as she came up on her elbows, moaning through gritted teeth.

Astarion ascended to her lips, delving into her mouth with his tongue which waltzed with hers. When he disentangled their maws, a wet string that connected the two of them drooped leaving a glistening wet thread along her chest.

Nym lay panting, and gazing at Astarion warmly with heavy lids. That’s it - that’s what I need, Astarion thought. The fidelity of Nym’s stare forced a rush of blissful numbness to his mind that seeped into his chest and outwards into his wrists like little blue rivulets of panacea.

He removed his fingers and gripped her thighs roughly, placing the backs of her knees above his shoulders. Nym made small mewls of enjoyment while Astarion manhandled her like she was his pet, but when he lined himself up with her wetness and subsequently filled her in one agonizingly slow thrust, she cried out voraciously.

“That’s it, good girl,” Astarion praised while slightly picking up the pace of his thrusts.

His length reached into her deepest depths, coaxing whimpers and groans out of both partners.

Nym stared at Astarion with unrelenting passion and intensity, her expression reading somewhere between anger and affection; once thought to be polarizing energies, but now mingling like leaves and rain in a windstorm.

Astarion had folded her completely in half and began to thrust into her with great abandon. This woman - she’s so warm - she’s so hot. “Agh,” Astarion whimpered, hanging his head forward, causing his curls to graze her flushed cheeks.

Nym’s womanly body rippled, her feet bouncing above Astarion’s shoulders as he lay into her again and again.

“I’m so close, Astarion,” she whined, enticing him to unhook one of her legs and reach for her clit where he would rub taut circles, eliciting more cries to spill from her kiss-swollen lips.

“Ah - Nehel lani don stacia sha'Quessir,” groaned Nym through clenched teeth.

Astarion wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Something about a beautiful elven friend, and certainly nothing negative, he thought assuredly. Growing up in the city, he had never learned how to speak Elvish fluently. It was something he wanted to learn, but never had the opportunity.

The way the beautiful language poured from her lips uninhibitedly and the way her cunt quivered around him was bringing him to the apogee of pleasure.

“Bite me - please,” she pleaded.

Right when he thought he couldn’t feel any better.

Astarion grunted and descended to her throat, slowing his pace slightly to search for her pulse with the flat of his tongue. When he found it, he swiftly latched on and began drinking from her vehemently, making Nym yelp softly. Feeling confident in his bite, he started rutting into her rapidly, chasing his climax.

“Asta - rion,” she choked out a cry when he felt her core violently clenching and gushing around his shaft as her ambrosia coated his tongue.

Nym’s body limpened beneath him, glistening and panting; so he removed his hand and expertly hiked her leg over his shoulder once more without releasing her flesh from his bite.

Astarion’s entire body tensed, hips stuttering all while a syrupy ecstasy clouded his mind. All at once, the ecstasy flowed from his mind to his groin and erupted into Nym’s body.

Astarion whimpered into her neck as he locked his hips into hers, filling her wholly with his seed.

He briefly thrust shallowly into her a few more times before taking his last gulps of her blood and then pulling out of her entirely.

Panting, he licked her fresh wounds clean and then pressed his bloodied lips onto hers. Nym took a deep breath through her nose while Astarion tasted her mouth. He embraced the hot and tender sensation of her plush lips against his own.

Their kiss was mutually passionate and oozing with a purple aura of post-coital fatigue. They groaned into one another before disconnecting with a pop.

Astarion thoughtfully untangled Nym’s legs and placed them to rest straight on either side of him. He carefully massaged her hips and thighs, squeezing her hip bones compassionately, causing her to hum sweetly.

“How are you, my dear?” he asked, grinning slightly.

Nym propped herself up on her shoulders and reached a hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. “Perfect - and you?” she exhaled.

A simple enough question that would be difficult to answer without complexity and an uncomfortable level of vulnerability. His stomach vibrated, mimicking the feeling of perhaps falling off a large cliff or floating like a feather from a jay’s nest. This feeling oscillated with a muddy green sickness, fermenting into an acrid and ethanol-like brew, fit to burst from the seams that Astarion had been so desperate to maintain.

“Hmm?” she pressed, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb.

Astarion snapped back to the present, noticing that he’d periodically been running into trouble maintaining his composure throughout the night. He gazed at Nym, whose body glistened in the candlelight, the sun having been set completely for some time. Her eyes were round and her lower lip puffed out slightly in a pout.

Pity, Astarion grimaced inwardly.

“I’m sorry - you’ve been so much fun that I’ve found myself completely spent, darling.” He painted a disingenuous smile across his face. “Here, let me take care of you.”

Tidying up after sex had always been part of his song and dance, a chore that he would provide and never have provided for him; however, with Nym, it felt different. The idea of her being left to care for herself after he had ravished her made him uneasy; in parallel, the act of wiping her clean and tucking her in filled his soul with a strange sense of joy that he’d seemingly been deprived of for countless years.

Nym curtly nodded and laid back down, rolling onto her side and carding her hand beneath the pillow with her eyes closed.

Astarion did his routine wash up with the softest dampened cloth before discarding all of their dirty linens into his new designated small wicker basket, acting as a hamper.

He had his naked back turned to Nym, and the sudden realization of what that meant caused his whole body to stiffen momentarily.

My scars -

. . . but she was bound to see them eventually.

Astarion slowly turned towards her, almost as if he were scared to see a monster over his shoulder, but she was deep in trance and snuggled into her pillow.

He sighed in relief; thanking, not the gods but perhaps his recent streak of luck - grateful for the kind and promiscuous elf in his tent.

He crawled beside her and pulled her backside into him so that she was flush against his tepid skin. Astarion pulled their blankets over top of their naked bodies, cozying up beside his little elven woman and savouring everything she was.

Who knows how long I’ll be able to indulge in these little comforts, and who knows how long it’ll be before she stops craving my company?

Everyone gets taken away, eventually.

Read the next chapter ( 5 ) >>

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Notes: Astarion history check:

*Tries to recall a library in or around the High Forest*

Required roll outcome: 15

Astarion rolls: 14

Damn, so close!

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #astarion x original female character #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x female tav #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion hurt/comfort #comfort chapter 4

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

Text

Fever

Summary: During your post-game adventures, you get sick and Astarion takes care of you.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @tragedybunny for being an amazing beta!

It's bone-chilling cold. So close to the Spine of the World, the snow and winds prove as merciless as demons from the Abyss. Tears freeze on your cheeks. Even Astarion, wrapped in his fur cape, shivers; the cold seeping into his undead body. He starves. The dark forest is silent, with no animals around to prey on.

"Astarion," you muffle through the thick scarf, "take a small sip, I beg you."

"No," he refuses yet again, unwilling to risk your life. Hunger and cold torment him, but he stands on his feet. Meanwhile, you, a fragile mortal, teeter on the verge of death in this frozen forest. Your back aches despite Astarion carrying most of the load. Your feet are numb as if submerged in icy water, and your throat burns with pain.

Astarion grabs your hand and lets you lean back on him. The nearest village is still miles away, and there's no chance you'll make it till sunrise. Nights are long, dark, and unforgiving. You need to set up the camp; it might be warmer in daylight.

But Astarion desperately holds on to his sanity, which he might lose if he doesn't feed soon.

"Astarion, please. We need to put up the tent. Sunrise is soon. I will just lay by the fire, and you can eat."

"We still have time, darling, and save your energy," he grits his teeth. The starving monster within him looks at you through Astarion's kind crimson eyes.

"Astarion, take my blood!"

He doesn't reply, leading the way through dark woods. If only there was an animal, even a rat. Looking up, you see the dark skies filled with prickly stars.

"What is it, my sweet?"

Suddenly, you realize you haven't been cold because of the snow and winds. You are cold from within. Your heart, lungs, and bones are freezing, much like what Astarion feels every moment since he died. "Oh, fuck!"

You realize you now lie in the snow, unable to move, as the air in your throat burns with ice.

"Wake up, gods damn you!" Astarion's voice is desperate, betraying that he' is scared to death.

You hear the loud thump when his travel sack drops in the snow. Then he works on your belts, releasing your burden. A moment later, and you rest in his hands.

"Love, I need you to stay awake. You hear me?"

But you can't say anything. The cold rips through your muscles, turning into ice, and you lose consciousness, drowning in cold, dark waters.

So cold, so cold. It's a freezing grip of death on your heart, killing you. You think of Astarion, imagining him beside your lifeless body.

… You hear muffled talking and open your eyes. You aren't dead, that's for sure, but there is complete darkness around you.

And you lie under something weighty.

You try to move but can't, your. whole body shivers. You are almost naked, tucked in animal fur like some barbarian child.

The smell wood and herbs comes to you. And fire.

Then you remember the sun. And how Astarion carried you in his hands. Horror pierces your mind along with cold.

He is dead. He didn't make it till sunrise. It burnt him; he is gone. And the village people probably found you alone in the snow and brought you here.

While you think, you realize there are people in the room. Two people, to be precise.

"It's a freezing fever," the female voice says. "You two would have been complete idiots if you'd decided to put up a camp. She would have been dead by now."

"But now—is she ok?"

Astarion.

You have never felt so much joy in your life. He is alive and here, beside you. You can't comprehend how much strength he had to pull to make it with you in his hands by sunrise.

"She needs to take the potion. And then sleep in warmth."

You feel the familiar weight beside you. Then, two hands get you out of the blankets and make you sit up. Your head is spinning, and you shiver, though you notice sweat on the healer's face.

Astarion smiles at you and brings the bottle with the potion to your lips.

"Drink, love," he says.

"The taste is nasty," the healer shrugs. "Make her drink every last drop."

The potion is genuinely awful, burning your mouth. You start slipping away again, and Astarion tucks you in thick blankets.

"And people say vampires are soulless creatures. They should meet you two.”

When the healer leaves, Astarion lies beside you over the blanket. You wish to hug him but are afraid of his cold skin.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

You hear a chuckle. "You are at death's door, and you ask about me? "Take mine," you insist.

"Tav, darling, I ain't taking a tiny drop from you until you fully recover. There is prey in the woods. I will find it."

You want to say something else, but the freezing hand of the sickness grips your throat. You feel like you’re naked on ice, in the howling wind.

"Love?"

"It's still… cold…"

Astarion sighs and stands up. You want to cry, to beg him to stay, but you can't say anything as he leaves the room, closing the thick wooden door.

You feel like crying, alone, and freezing. The healer curses, "You, idiot, stay inside!"

You hide under the blanket in the fetal position, trying to save warmth. However, it's difficult since the core of your suffering is still within. What if you are dying? And you are dying all alone in this village without a name in the middle of nowhere.

It's been years since you left Baldur's Gate together, and you can't fall asleep without him by your side. Astarion is safety. Astarion is protection. Whatever enemy is out there to threaten your life and freedom, Astarion is always there with his fangs and daggers. He doesn't sleep—only meditates a bit—and he is your guardian when you are most vulnerable.

But now you are alone. Your mind grasps consciousness with the last bits of strength you have. The thick blankets don't let you move, and you lie like you’re in your very own coffin of ice. It's been a long time since you were left alone, but you know it's still dark outside. And then you realize you aren't alone anymore.

Astarion crawls under the blankets and covers your body with himself, placing his head on your chest. He smells like blood, the hunt, and forest. He has already pulled off all his clothes, and you feel his skin against yours, unexpectedly flaming hot.

You can only wonder how much blood he has drunk. Sure, his body gets warm after feeding, and the more living blood he takes, the more alive he seems. But this is different. You can't see him, but you are somehow sure his skin has temporarily returned to its natural living color.

You wrap your hands around him and stroke the scars. Astarion groans and adjusts himself a bit.

"I've been hunting," he says, sounding drunk. "The healer told me there is a bear attacking villagers, starved and angry. I found and drained it."

"You shouldn't have risked it."

"I wanted you to be warm. I know how it feels to have a freezing grip on the heart. It hurts. All the time."

You press him tighter and kiss his forehead.

With him in your hands, you finally fall asleep. You have a strange dream—a summer day in the beautiful mountains.

And there is Astarion beside you. He smiles, exposing his face to the sunshine. You want to tell him to hide, to run away. But he opens his eyes, and you stare at him in disbelief.

They are green, not red.

… When you wake up, you feel hot. Sweat runs down your back, and the blankets suffocate you. You get out of them like a kitten squeezed by its mother.

"Hello, my sweet. You are so adorable with this bed hair," Astarion sits on the floor with a needle and a thread. You recognize his own shirt in his hands.

"How awful do I look?"

"You look like someone who finally got better. But I suppose you could scare away some kids in that village. Maybe I should tell them you are also a vampire. Food or bath?" he asks.

"Food. I am dying of hunger."

"My sweet, don't tell me about hunger." He mockingly kisses you. He returns soon with a soup bowl. You try to take the plate in your trembling hands, but Astarion forces you to sit still like a baby and starts spoon-feeding you.

"Good girl," he chuckles. "The healer said it would take you weeks to recover, and you made it in three days."

"And you have been here?"

"Don't offend me with such questions."

"Oh, don't be angry."

With a full stomach, you feel much better and lie back on the bed, letting your body fully recover. Astarion studies your face as if seeing it for the first time. Then he lies beside you, allowing you to place your head on his chest. His skin is cold again, but it feels more like him.

"What is on your mind, Astarion?" you ask.

"I want to stay," he says. "Not exactly here, but I can't live like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Living on the road. I can't do that anymore. You obviously can't either. I... listen… I've never had a home. Never had a place to call my own. I want one. I want one with you."

"Didn't you tell me it would be tediously boring?" you inquire. "I wanted to see what life has to offer beyond the city walls." "Astarion, it will be dangerous. No one would want a—"

You bite your tongue. "Sorry."

"Dealing with a nosey neighbor doesn't sound more dangerous than getting some weird sickness in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we can prove to people it's better to have a vampire of their own rather than be threatened by some unhinged vampire lord.”

"Astarion, I am afraid for you. People hate vampires!"

"And I am afraid for you."

You are both silent. You turn to him and nuzzle his collarbone. He wraps his hands around you. Vague memories return, and you suddenly realize you heard the voices while in fever.

"Don't die. Please, don't die. I need you."

A scared voice of a healer. "You are a vampire!"

"Please help her. I won't come inside. I will stay in the woods. Please, please, help her! She is mortal; she is dying!"

You remember being carried to the bed and a strong smell of herbs. "How did you two end up together?", asked the healer.

"She saved me. From myself. Showed me I have a chance to be something different from what I was turned into. Tell me what I can do. Do you need herbs? Ingredients? I will bring you anything."

And then the face of the healer standing above you. She came to check on you in Astarion's absence, and the feverish mind remembered that.

"You are a lucky to have him, girl."

You caress Astarion's cheek. "Would staying in one place make you happy?"

He nods.

"Then, me too." --

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion fics #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #nurturing astarion #astarion fanfic #spacebarbarian fics #astarion angst #astarion hurt #astarion comfort

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prophetszendo · 7 months

Text

How the birds fly (Pt. 1)

Content warning: attempted suicide, very negative thoughts. Only read if you are in the right mindset

Summary: the adventuring life took a toll on you, and you face your feelings on a nightly walk

Pairing: Astarion/you (no use of pronouns or y/n)

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: hurt/comfort, kissing, I guess fluff?, I am horrible at tagging please forgive me

About the dialogs: they are in two different "-marks, because my program uses my native language as default. And as I'm not a native speaker, feel free to point out typos, or simply weird sentences. I aim to be better with English.

It was a very long day. You finally made camp after walking for half a day, defending yourselves against an ambush, then gettinf lost in some woods. You ended up in a clearing, somewhere up in a mountain. You were not even sure anymore that you were heading to the right direction.

Setting up camp always came with it’s duties. One of it was collecting wood for a fire so someone can make the only meal you usually eat a day. Today, you were on wood and branch duty. As if it wasn’t me nearly always – you thought to yourself. Everyone clearly preferred not doing it. It was a long task and if unsuccesful, the bearer could be blamed. They didn’t went far enough, didn’t look hard enough.

Of course, everyone was on edge by now. The tadpoles in your head, the waiting, the constant danger looming over all of you created this snappy and sarcastic environment. They never really meant any of it, it was just a way to let off some steam.

You tried to not think about any of it while you picked up another piece of wood. Somewhere in the distance you heard some birds rustling, chirping, and then flying away. You tried to look through the trees surrounding you to see their siluettes in the dawn, but they were far away.

Once you deemed you had enough wood, you headed back. You heard the camp from far away. Your companions talked loudly, as if they were in a tavern, not on some mountain in the middle of nowhere.

This used to make you smile. You used to think there was at least once place you could remotely call warm and home. Right now it just felt distant.

„I’m back” you announced. Your companions looked up in sync, and in agreement, they took all of it from you and started making a fire to cook. Everyone, except Astarion.

He had this game with you. Sometimes he gave you attention, and other times, like this, as if you were thin air. Which you probably wouldn’t have cared about that much, if only you didn’t have feelings for him for a time now. When he gave you his attention, it was simply heavenly. Great flirtatous talks, teasing words, maybe a few stolen moments alone, or a drink for him, from you. They were cherished by you.

You sighed as you sat down, watching the others get lost in the chaos of collecting the ingredients for dinner.

Gods, you felt alone.

Later, when it was already late at night, you lied in your tent, wide awake. You were exhausted, yet dreams evaded you. Maybe for the better – you thought to yourself. Since the tadpoles, they were confusing, and you couldn’t get the proper rest and awoke feeling tried.

You decided to take a walk. Maybe moving around could make you a bit more sleepy. You decided to take the same route you used for collecting wood. At least you had an idea where you were there, and where was camp.

It was a very clear night, the moon was also full and shining bright. So bright, that it nearly dimmed all of the stars.

You zoned out while walking. When you came to, you noticed a cliff. You decided to take a rest there, and using what light tbe moon provides to just sit and watch.

There was a branch conveniently a few meters from the edge of the cliff.

In the distance, you heard and owl making noise. The next moment, it flew above you, and into the horizon.

You always wanted to fly. It seemed so free. From everything. Let it be the ground that was under you, or the burden of everyday life.

Not that you had a big burden back in Baldur’s Gate. It was the opposite, really. Everyday was the same. It grew dull overtime. Yet you couldn’t find anything motivating enough to change it. You were prepared to grow old, doing the same thing. You also had trouble bonding with people there. Not that you didn’t try, the friendships just always seemed to wither away with time. And the tavern buddies slowly all stopped showing up, until you were sitting by yourself, drinking some cheap ale.

Originally you thought of this tadpole event to be the push you needed to finally change your life around for the better. Learn new skills, like how to set up camp, survive on your own, decide which berry is edible. Make great friends for life – if you make it out alive. You were positive at the start that you would. You took on every challenge, helped every person that came your way, moved every rock to find a cure.

The others started to see you as their leader. It made you happy, gave you a purpose.

Until it became too much. You had to make the hard choices: who to side with? Which lead to follow? Kill someone and be sure they won’t spill your plan to the enemy, or let them live and be hopeful that they will be true to their promise?

It didn’t help that everyone had opinions, which they didn’t hesitate to share. And someone always disapproved, and it was on you.

And seemingly only you had nothing personal to solve. Everyone had a life, a purpose, a big enemy, an end goal. A reason to get the tadpole out. What waited for you after the adventure was just... grey. As it was before.

You sometimes wished this adventure would never end. You liked being around everyone. Karlach’s happy demeanor, how she seemed to be excitied for everything. Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s conflicts did bring some tension, but it always turned out well in the end. Gale and his magical hunger made you slightly amused: who actually eats boots? Not to mention Wyll, Halsin or Volo.

Astarion. Obviously, he was the star of the group. For you, at least. You loved how he liked deception and mocking people. You loved hearing his sweet words, especially when one of those were your name. You loved, when he opened up a little about himself. How life was for him as a spawn. It twisted your heart to hear him struggle, and you tried to help any way you could. Basically blidly following if he had a suggestion, even claiming it was your idea, if the others asked.

You believed your feelings became obvious for the others some time ago. You overheard them talk, then suddenly go silent when they saw you. Your name was whisperes silently along with Astarion’s a few times, but you were never included in those conversations.

You stood up, and took a few steps ahead, while fixing your gaze on the stars. They looked beautiful, like tiny little lanters far in the sky.

Like how the blood splattered from the goblin you killed today.

The image suddenly invaded your mind, and you now all you saw in the sky was bloodshed and violence. You didn’t want to end their life, it seemed pointless. They didn’t even seem so evil, just like a few pawns in the bigger game.

You tried to redirect your thoughts, so you thought about something else. More precisely, someone else. His silverish hair, eyes so sharp, that they see into your soul, his vampire smile he only shows with you.

Usually these pictures comfort you, but how Astarion had been acting lately, you just felt more invisible, even smaller.

Yes, invisible. You found the right word. As if you were hidden behind your responsibilities and decisions. As if your opinions, emotions did not matter anymore. Because you will do all the hard stuff, let it be collecting wood, taking the blame, or deciding to let someone bleed out or end their suffering.

They probably haven’t even noticed just how much you had on your shoulders.

Would they notice if you were gone?

You took a few steps closer to the cliff. You wondered what could be on the bottom. Maybe the river you passed recently? Or was that on the other side? Maybe a few boulders.

The memory of the birds you heard today flashed i ro your mind. You really did want to feel free, like how they were flying away from you.

You stood on the edge. The front of your feet were not even on the ground anymore. The moon didn’t give enough light to see what was on thr bottom. It seemed like a dark pit, that could just swallow you whole.

You felt something cold on your face. You realized that while you were lost in your thoughts, you started crying.

You never faced your raw feelings before. Maybe that’s why. Or because you finally made a decision. One, that would make sure you never ever had to make anymore.

„I always wanted to try flying...” you whispered in front of you, into the abyss.

You closed your eyes, and put your arms out, imitating wings. You shifted your weight, and started to fall forward...

...and with a suddend yank, you fell back, onto something warm.

You were confused, and it took you a few seconds to realize what happened. Sounds slowly made it to your ear, and the little light into your eyes.

„Fuck, dammit, you... No, it’s not your fault, I’m sorry, but shit, I can’t believe... Do you know what you were doing?!”

A voice came from under and behind you. It was rambling, sounding very distraught. Maybe even scared.

You turned around, still a bit lightheaded from the shock of falling backwards. Your eyes met a very familiar pair of scarlet eyes.

Astarion.

He was panting, as if he ran from camp all the way here. But you doubted it, he wouldn’t run after you. Maybe he noticed you were gone?

Suddenly, he hugged you tightly. His fingers dug into you, as if you could just float away anytime from his grasp. He felt warm, which was unusual to you. But truth be told, he never held you like this before.

He struggled breathing. He didn’t need to get air, which just added to the list of strange things happening. Maybe you actually fell and now living in just a fantasy?

But no, you slowly started to hear soft sniffles with the breathing. Astarion was... Sobbing.

„I’m... So, so sorry” he said, making eyecontact again. You noticed tears forming in his eyes.

You were at a loss for words. You finally pieced together what happened. Astarion saved you in the last second, and he was clearly distraught by what happened.

You felt guilty.

„What happened?” Astarion asked with a soft voice. You looked away, not being able to make a sound. You yearned to share your feelings with him, but there seemed to be no proper words to use. Nor a voice to say anything with.

„You... You’re so strong. What happened? What did we... What did I miss?”

The correction in his sentence made you heart flutter and ache at the same time. He clearly was very caring towards you, but you feared it was just one of those times and that it would never last longer than a few days.

„I’m...” you stuttered. Your voice felt like it wasn’t yours. You had to put all your strength into forming just a few words. „...not...strong...”

Astarion looked at you, with immense worry. You couldn’t say more now, and you felt like you couldn’t speak again for a long time.

You tugged on his tadpole, inviting him for a visit in your mind. You previously all agreed in the group, that you give everyone the privacy of their own mind, so you opening a way into yours was unusual.

You gave him a faint smile. You tried to put encouragement into it. He closed his eyes, and stepped through the door into your memories and feelings.

You showed him everything. How life was for you in Baldur’s Gate, and just how miserable you felt. How the initial excitement of this adventure turned into a daily torture of decisions, where there was no right answer, responsibilities which were crushing you, and the constant judgement of others.

You showed him the rollercoaster of feelings his actions caused. The hope you cradled for so much time, the longing you felt for him. The pain you felt everytime it seemed like he was just toying with you.

You shared how ready you were to let things end.

As he experienced your feelings, his arm grew even tighter around you, and he slowly buried his wet face into your neck.

After you showed him everything, he pulled out of your mind. He lifted his head, but only so much that his mouth was to your ear.

„You’re so much stronger than I thought you to be, darling” he whispered. „I never knew you struggled so much. You always seemed so sure, you... You never took any shit. You seemed so brave and determined.”

He gulped, and took a deep breath. He slowly lifted his head fully, to be face to face with you.

„I guess... I never thought about how it affects you. It was so easy following what you say, letting you decide on every crossroad. And it was so easy... Blaming you, if something went south. We... I should’ve stopped to think about you. And how you feel.”

Tears started forming again. He took another shaky breath, and tried to quickly blink them away.

„I always took you for granted. A strong leader, who is always there. And not just there...”

He looked down. You saw a single teardrop sneaking over his cheek. You never saw him this vulnerable before.

„I took you granted in a more... personal way too. Now that I saw myself through your eyes, I understand. Gods, I was such an asshole with you.”

He paused for a moment, as if searching for words. He opened his mouth, but closed it back soon. You sat in silence for a bit. You didn’t mind.

For the first time, you felt seen.

„I was scared of my own feelings” Astarion said suddenly. You sligthly raised your eyebrows, suggesting suprise. His own feelings?

„Yes. The ones I have for you.”

Your stomach filled up with butterflies. Did you hear that correctly? You couldn’t do anything, but blink at him.

„Whenever I realized just how much I care about you, I pushed you away. In my past, caring about someone meant you had another exploitable weak spot. Someone they could hurt to hurt you. And I didn’t want anyone to hurt you. So I pushed you away, since if I’m cold towards you, noone will think anything of you.”

He chuckled a little.

„But I could never keep it up for long. Because I missed you, Gods I missed you so much, even when you were right beside me, covering my back in a battle, sleeping just a few tents away. And yet, I kept missing you so much, it hurt. And now that I see, just how much it hurt you, I regret it so, incredibly much. We could have had sweet stolen moments together, if only I was less stubborn, and looked out for you a little more.”

Astarion looked utterly defeated and sad. You felt the truth in his words, and it was something you only ever dreamed of. You raised your hand to caress his cheek. He gave you one of those vampire smiles that made your knees weak.

He lifted both his hands, and held your face just under your ears. He pulled you closer to himself, and out your foreheads together. It was a very intimate moment.

„I think I fell in love with you” he whispered so silently, you barely heard it. But you did. And it gave your voice back.

„I fell in love with you, too” you said, giving him the first real smile since you were here.

He slowly leaned closer to you. You closed your eyes, and got lost in the moment.

And then... He kissed you.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #hurt/comfort #kiss #astarion x tav

658 notes · View notes

frantic-fiction · 5 months

Text

Reoccurring Nightmares

(Gif: margonite-seer)

Astarion x GN!Reader / Astarion x Good!Durge

Summary: A night reveals that maybe the past is not left behind, and maybe old urges have begun again. As people always say healing is never linear.

Triggers/Tags: Implied mentions of self harm. Violent topics. Angst Hurt/comfort.

Minor spoilers for Durges plot line nothing very specific but you have been warned.

Word Count: 2.2k

(Quick note I gave reader Tav's name so hope y'all don't mind)

Cold damp earth thunders under your feet as you run, each step echoes in the silent woods. Your chest heaves, each breath a meager attempt to fill lungs that can't seem to feel satisfied.

Why are you out here?

The forest is a maze, and you navigate it with urgency, propelled forward by the rhythmic pounding of your heart. It threatens to break free, like a wild creature desperate to escape its cage. You don’t stop, fueled by the momentum and the all-consuming fear clawing at your throat.

Why were you running?

This isn’t the first time your memory has betrayed you, leaving you disoriented in the unknown.

Ducking beneath a fallen tree, the rough bark scratches against your skin. You turn sharply and press on, the underbrush snapping beneath your hurried steps. The surroundings are a blur, darkness shrouding any discernible features. The moon, a mere sliver in the night sky, casts an eerie glow through the dense canopy.

A plan forms in the chaos of your thoughts. The distant sound of water becomes a lifeline; a river might offer refuge from a pursuer. You move toward the sou-

Your foot snags a root, and you collide with a rock. Blood fills your mouth, the metallic taste jarring, familiar. In the darkness, your hand tightens around a shard of glass. The moonlight reflects off its jagged edges, casting faint ethereal patterns on the forest floor.

Frogs and crickets harmonize in the night, their symphony a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The beauty of the scene clashes with the disarray of your mind. A brief moment of clarity emerges, allowing you to catch your breath.

What happened?

You examine the shard of glass, uncurling your fingers for a better look. A deeper wound reveals itself, and the blood flows unabated. The taste and sight is both revolting and comforting, a paradoxical sensation that grounds you in the reality of pain.

Where did the glass come from? Memories fracture, and images of a shared life flood your mind. The house on the outskirts, memories of love and healing. Someone's absence looms, silver curls and sharp teeth; Astarion, a question unanswered.

Knees pulled to your chest, you notice the blood-soaked clothes. Panic sets in; that part of you, the monster believed buried, threatens to resurface. Did his blood taint you again? Did you harm Astarion?

Jerking to the side, you vomit, the weight of imagined horrors overwhelming you. The riverbed offers a cold sanctuary, and you scrub the blood away. The water numbs your body, but you persist until your fingers ache. The raw emptiness grows, time stops, and the world holds its breath in shared grief. You can’t face your friends; the word "friend" is tainted by your actions. Astarion’s absence is a void you can’t bear.

Wasn’t this the fear? The fear that kept you awake, haunted by the possibility of losing control. The dark whispers that the urges would resurface.

Your reflection in the river, blood-soaked and tormented, triggers waves of self-loathing. The glass shard gleams, a macabre symbol of your descent into the abyss.

Fingers graze the cold surface, and a distant voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Tav!” The sound pierces through the chaos, freezing your movements.

“TAV!” Astarion’s voice, a lifeline in the disarray.

Frantically searching, he emerges from the trees, disheveled and relieved. He is by your side in a moment joining you halfway into the river. He cups your cheek, his touch offers a brief respite, a moment of grounding in the maelstrom.

Words are cement in your mouth. You're mystified by the reality that is facing you. Astarion is here, in front of you. And, in fact, very much alive. You reach up with a shaky hand to barely caress his cheek, as if a more stern touch would shatter the fragile moment. He grabs your wrist and kisses your cold palm softly.

“You’re alive,” you choke, collapsing into his chest sobs rolls through your body.

He momentarily freezes in confusion at your words before refocusing at the current urgency of your state. Pressing you tighter against him, Astarion strokes your hair and gives you a gentle kiss to your hairline. Maybe he had just fed before finding you, or maybe it's a testament to how long you have suffered the freezing night, but he’s warm. You bury yourself deeper in his embrace, hiding your tear-streaked face in his neck.

“Of course, my love,” He softly says and holds you a moment longer, allowing you to feel the truth of something he’s not quite understanding but knows is important just the same. But little by little, he begins to pry you from his body.

“No,” you make a pathetic whine in protest, desperately trying to stay attached. Too afraid that once you let go, he’ll disappear and the truth of what you did will be brought back into the moonlight.

“Hush now, my sweet,” Astarion stands up suddenly and removes the heavy jacket you had given him. Kneeling back down, he drapes it over your shoulders.

“You have been in the middle of the woods in freezing weather for gods know how long. And you've had a bit of a swim.” His thumb brushes the line of your cheekbone. “Let’s get you home so I can warm you up, and if you are feeling okay tonight, we could discuss what my darling was doing alone out here.”

He doesn’t leave room to argue, and you have none to give. So he takes you in his arms and begins to walk. You’re too tired to speak, so you simply curl closer into him and resume your position, face tucked into the crook of his neck. His scent invades your nostrils, and finally, since waking up in the woods earlier this evening, you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you awake on the plush sofa in your living room. Astarion must have moved it because it is now as close to the fireplace as safety would allow. The only thing standing in its way was the intricately sculpted metal table Dammon had gifted you for a housewarming gift.

What seemed to be the entire house's stock of blankets was now piled on top of you, effectively cocooning you in cotton and silks. You try to sit up, but find that no strength is left in your bones.

“Stari?” You croak, your voice hoarse from your sobs.

There is not an immediate response, just the crackling fire and the rustling of dinnerware from the kitchen. You don’t bother to call out again; you know he’ll be in to check on you soon. When it comes to you, Astarion’s mother hen tendencies rear their head with great urgency.

While you wait, you stare transfixed into the fire, mesmerized by the crackling wood and swirling ash. The chaos of fire has always been interesting to you. In small quantities, fire can bring warmth to a home and light to darkness. But uncontrolled fire burns, burns everything in its path. No mercy, no complexities, just fire and fuel; anything in between is insignificant in the grand scheme. It's familiar, too familiar.

Maybe this topic was best left untouched; maybe you hated fire. After all, fire is made to burn.

“Oh good, I was just about to wake you,” Astarion sets a tray on the coffee table. “I made tea,”

He starts to unearth your body from your blanket tomb and helps you into a more seated position before moving to the armchair. You catch his wrist; his crimson eyes meet yours. You're not entirely sure what you want; you just can’t bear him being so far. Not after thinking he was lost to you forever.

“Hold me?” The words are barely above a whisper, hesitant as if Astarion has ever denied you anything. “Please,” you tack on for good measure, though you're not sure why.

“Of course, my sweet,”

Handing you your tea, Astarion motions you to lean forward so that he can slip in behind you. Sandwiched between his legs, he wraps an arm around your middle and eases you against his solid torso.

He’s warm; you must have been right. During your trek in the woods, he must have stepped out to feed. Now that the winter is approaching, he’s been hunting larger game; he likes to be warm, says it’s not always fair when you're the only one bringing heat into the relationship.

He silently urges you to drink your tea, and you do. It’s quiet; neither of you speaks; you simply drink your tea and Astarion comforts. Hands gently trail up and down your arms, in between peppering tender kisses on your neck and shoulders.

You know what he’s doing. You’ve done the same tactics on him plenty of times in the past. He’s waiting. Waiting for you to speak first. To share with him why you were in those woods. What horrors brought you there. It’s an unspoken rule between two very broken people. You offer each other comfort, the safety each has lacked in the past and wait. If or when the person wishes to speak, the other listens.

But how do you even begin to describe the night that has occurred? The terror, the guilt, the hatred. It all just boils in your chest like wet tar. You can’t even really explain what happened to yourself. Once the tea is finished, you pass the cup to Astarion, who in turn returns it to the tray.

With a deep breath, you say simply, “I thought it happened again,” he knows immediately what you're saying and holds you just a bit tighter.

“I-I-I don’t know what happened, b-but I was just running. I was… Gods, Astarion, I was so scared.”

Pushing the blankets further away from you, you turn in his arms and wrap around his neck. His eyes reflect the same sadness and fear you are feeling. “I was covered in blood, and then…then all I could think about was you,”

Tears begin to roll one by one down your cheeks; he collect them with his thumbs. Tears of his begin to follow a similar path. “I thought it finally happened,” you're crying harder now, hiccuping between words.

“I thought he finally made me kill you,” words began to fail you from there. You pathetically tried to say more but the only sounds that escape are choked hiccups and wet sobs. When you know you have no hope of continuing you simply hide your face in your hands, no longer wanting to face the world.

“We’re okay, little love. Everythings okay.” Astarion is rubbing soft circles into your back, repeating calming phrases until they stick. “I’m here, nothing can change that. You’re okay darling.”

It takes a lot of lovely words and small touches before your breathing calms down and you seem to have run out of your tear supply for that night. But even then Astarion doesn’t let go. You two stay interlocked, warmed by the slowly dwindling fire. He clears up your scattered thoughts.

Astarion's voice, tinged with concern and a hint of reassurance, breaks through the remnants of your panic. "It was probably just one of your nightmares," he offers, a familiar acknowledgment that nightmares are woven into the fabric of your existence. In the quiet aftermath of your ordeal, the weight of his words settles in the still air.

As he gently extracts one of your hands from your tear-streaked face, the dim light catches the glint of a heavy bandage wrapped around your trembling fingers. The glass shard, a cruel messenger, the night will leave its mark. With a tender touch, Astarion guides your gaze to the bandage, and then, with a careful motion, he lifts the fabric of your pants to expose a larger wound on your thigh, neatly covered in thick gauze.

The size of the injury is alarming, and the realization dawns that stitches would have been a necessity. Astarion's eyes reflect a regret that mirrors your own. "I should have been there, I'm so very sorry, my love," he whispers, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken vow to protect you from the horrors that lurk within your own mind.

As you open your mouth to argue or perhaps offer words of comfort, Astarion anticipates your protest. "Regardless of what you are going to say," he interrupts, his words cutting through the heavy air, "from now on, I will be feeding exclusively when you are awake." The admission reveals a vulnerability in his eyes—a fear that lingers from the night when the scent of your blood permeated the air, and you were nowhere to be found.

"There was nothing more frightening than coming home to the smell of your blood and you gone." His hand begin to play with a strand of your hair. "Not to mention the absolute nightmare of a talk I’m to receive once I call for Shadowheart come morning, because I’m still not convinced you didn’t contract hypothermia during your midnight swim.”

A small smile plays on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the impending lecture from Shadowheart, whose disapproval you can almost taste. Astarion seems to relish in your smile, and he cups your jaw, pressing his forehead to yours in an intimate gesture that transcends words.

"That is all behind us," he declares, a note of determination in his voice. "Our wounds are still fresh, but we are here, and we are healing. We'll get through this, we always have." His smirk carries a promise of resilience, and you nod in agreement, surrendering to the irresistible urge to find solace in the warmth of his lips pressed against yours.

Author's notes: Oh boy I haven't posted any of my writings since 2018 but damn BG3 has sparked something in me. Astarion is something special and I love him. If anyone has some ideas they would like to throw my way I would loved to see them.

Feedback is welcome, hate is not! Have a nice day, cheers.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x dark urge #astarion #astarion imagine #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #baldur's gate #fanfic #writing #reader insert #astarion ancunin #angst #hurt/comfort

519 notes · View notes

gingerbloof · 5 months

Text

red (astarion x fem fighter!tav)

contents: light smut, fingering, tav getting injured, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of other companions (Halsin, Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Gale), bathing/skinny dipping in a hot spring Astarion being an absolute sweetheart, use of safe word (hard stop), non-sexual intimacy

author's note: gahhh finally i got this request finished! this is a anon request from my smut prompt list (which you can find in my masterlist!) it's more fluff/hurt/comfort than smut, because i wanted to change it up a bit since its been rather smutty on my blog thus far, but regardless, i hope you all enjoy! (image taken from @dailyastarionpics) word count: 3,821

It was yet another excruciating day of traveling Faerun, and unfortunately with no leads on curing your ceremorphosis. You and your party drudged their feet sluggishly back into camp, wishing for nothing but the sweet release of sleep. Even though the sun was already starting to peak over the horizon and morning dew started to bead on each blade of grass your tired feet landed on.

Karlach, half asleep already, started the pointless fire as Shadowheart went around to heal everyone. Once she made your way to you, her eyes widened. She brushed silver bangs off her face so she could look at you clearly. Her face grew with worry as she spoke.

“Tav… How did that happen?” She asked, pointing to your ribs. Your face scrunched up in confusion as you looked down at yourself. You then see a horrific wound that wrapped from the front side of your ribcage that wrapped around to your back. You stare at it wearily, blood dripping down your skin and mixing with the dirt under your feet.

You suddenly grew pale as you felt the adrenaline from your last battle start to wear off. You tried your best to keep your composure. Years as a fighter taught you that there was no use in submitting to any wounds you may have gotten from battle. Lae’zel admired that about you, which is why it surprised you when she looked over from her tent and raised her eyebrows in surprise and rush over to you.

“Tsk’va! Tav what the hells happened?!” She asked, a very rare worried tone in her voice.

You let out a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. “It’s just a… scratch,” The last word was soft and breathy, then you felt your body begin to sway, and your surroundings blur, until darkness clouded over you. The last thing you heard was your beloved fanged partner shout “Darling!” before you submitted to the pitch blackness of unconsciousness.

***

You woke up with a groan, pain shooting through your side. You open your eyes slowly, the world slowly coming back into focus. You were snug in your bedroll, shirtless, and caked in sweat. The injury you got must’ve infected you at some point and gave you a fever, which was now thankfully breaking.

You looked down at your injury and saw that it was quickly healing, probably thanks to the help of both Halsin and Shadowheart. Careful stitches held your broken flesh together, which you knew was thanks to Astarion, whom you barely noticed was right next to you reading a book. You started to sit up as he snapped his book shut and shifted so he was on his side facing you.

“Easy, darling!” He said concerningly, laying you back down slowly. You looked up at him with sleepy eyes as you allowed him to lay you back down. “You’re still in a bit of bad shape, no sudden movement, alright?” He said soothingly, running his slender pale fingers through your hair and laying a kiss on your forehead.

You sighed softly with a bit of frustration, leaning into his kiss. “I’m fine, my love…” You said, your voice low and gruff. “‘Tis but a flesh wound, I promise.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “‘My love, I don’t believe a ‘flesh wound’ would cause you to collapse from blood loss and get… twelve stitches,” He said, glancing briefly at your injury and counting them quickly. “We also had to pull a rather big chunk of metal out of your side…” You sigh again and carefully cross your arms over your chest, pouting at him. “I’ve had a lot worse, you know,” You said in a snarky tone, pointing to the big gash in your face that you had gotten years ago.

He gasped and placed his hand over his chest in a sarcastic manner. “Oh, I’m so sorry! It seems I have forgotten that such a strong bodied fighter such as yourself doesn’t need any comfort,” He said cheekily, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk as your face flushed bright red.

“I-I didn’t say that!” You pouted even more, turning your head away from him. Regardless of your strong outer shell, he always brought out your very well hidden soft interior. He was the only one who could do it, and knowing that inflated his already massive ego.

He laughed heartily at your reaction, gently taking your chin in his cold hand and turning your head back around to face him. “You are utterly adorable,” He cooed, giving you a quick smooch on the lips. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up, darling. No offense, my love, but you smell like death.”

You frown and sniff yourself briefly, the smell of stale blood and sweat assaulting your nostrils. How embarrassing… You nodded, and he very carefully helped you up. He pulled off his own nightshirt for you to wear, and linked your arm with his so you didn’t stumble.

As you exit your tent, the assaulting rays of the afternoon sun almost blind you. You squint in the light and use your hand to shield your eyes as Shadowheart and Halsin quickly rush over to you both, relief washing over their faces.

“Tav! You’re awake, thank Selune!” Shadowheart beamed, cupping your face gently. You smile warmly at her and chuckle. As your best friend, other than Astarion of course, Shadowheart was always giving you sweet friendly touches. You adored having someone like her around.

Halsin was next to speak, his large frame thankfully shielding the sun from your still very tired eyes. “Thank the Oak Father… We were worried your injuries were far too grave for us to heal alone. Good to see we were wrong,” He smiled warmly at you. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged as you leaned against Astarion a bit more. “I’m okay, it just hurts a bit. We’re going to the river to clean up quickly,” You respond, reassuring them that you were fine. “Of course if she’s alright enough to do so,” Astarion chimed in, lifting your shirt enough for the healers to take a look at it.

Shadowheart hummed and reached her hand out, chanting a soft “Te curo” as a soft blue light wrapped around your injury. This eased the pain quite a bit, and from the looks of it, her simple healing word seemed to have closed the gash up just a bit more. A sigh of relief left your lips as you said a silent thank you to her.

“I think she will be fine, but I do recommend going to the hot spring, the warmth of the water and the healing properties of nature should make her feel good as new,” Halsin said. Astarion smiled at both of them. “Thank you, we shall take our leave for now, then,”

As you both turn to head towards the spring, Halsin spoke out to you once again. “Would you two mind if I joined?” A small but sweet smirk on his face. Both you and Astarion chuckled. You had both indulged yourselves with Halsin before, so it was always on the table when the time seemed right. Astarion looked to you to silently ask if that was alright, and you shook your head. You just wanted him right now…

Astarion replied on your behalf. “Mmm, tempting, but not tonight, druid. I hope you can understand.” Halsin nodded, fully understanding. “Of course. Enjoy yourselves, both of you.”

After walking for a few meters you found the spring. Neither of you have seen it before, so you both took a moment to soak up the view. There was a beautiful waterfall in the distance that led to the river, and mountains could be seen just beyond it. Moss covered rocks were placed conveniently around the steaming body of water, perfect to sit on to dip your feet in, and the trees hung low enough to lightly diminish the harsh ways of the afternoon sun from your view.

You smiled and sighed softly at the view. It was breathtaking. Astarion, however, was entranced by a different view. You.

You felt his eyes upon you and looked over to him, your eyes immediately locking with his. You tried to play it cool, looking back at the spring before you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked softly. He stepped closer to you, gently placing his hand on your hip and carefully pulling you closer, minding your wound. “Not as beautiful as you, my love,” He purred softly, placing a kiss on your forehead. You flush deeply, and not just from the steam of the spring.

You both stay there for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. He sighed a contentful sigh as he pulled away from you briefly. “Come now, my love. Let’s get you all cleaned up,” He smiled. You nodded and started removing his shirt from yourself, but he quickly stopped you, taking your hands for a brief moment. “Let me, my dear,” He gently lifted the shirt off of you, careful not to let you lift your arms up too far. The shirt pulled off of you, revealing your bruised and injured body. Crusted up blood flaked over your skin, but regardless Astarion still looked at you like you were the most beautiful being in all the Relms.

Your small clothes came next. He slowly slipped them down around your ankles leaving you bare. Astarion soon followed suit, yanking down his pants and slowly stepping into the warm water. He reached his hand out to you and you took it, following him into the water.

You sigh in relief, the warmth of the water immediately relaxing your tired muscles. You stepped further into the pool, sinking down until the water was just above your breasts. Astarion went back over to the rock he left his trousers on and pulled out a bar of soap, which you hardly even noticed he grabbed. You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Let me guess… Stolen?” You jabbed, crossing your arms lightly. Astarion half shrugged nonchalantly. “Only from Gale,” He responded with a chuckle. You roll your eyes and shake your head playfully. You weren’t surprised, he always took the opportunity to take anything important as he saw fit, especially if it was from Gale. He made his way back over to you, getting the bar of soap wet and lathering it in his hands. “Turn around, my love,” He said softly, taking your shoulders and spinning you in the water gently so your back was to him.

You comply and briefly dip yourself further into the water to wet the rest of your body. As you stood back up he placed a soft kiss on the nape of your neck and started his work. He scrubbed away the grime and flaked blood off the backs of your shoulders. You hum happily, wrapping your arm around to gently wrap your fingers around his beautiful silver locks. He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you further into him. He placed soft kisses along the shell of your ear as the lather made its way to your chest and torso.

He continued to clean you innocently and sweetly for a few more moments until he turned you around. The way the suds of the soap encompassed your breasts and the golden rays of the sun making your wet skin glow flipped a switch inside of him. You were the most ethereal thing he had ever gazed upon.

You were entranced with him too. The sunlight bounced off of his beautiful pale skin, and he almost appeared to shimmer in it. His ruby eyes glinted as he looked at you, nothing but love and devotion filling them.

“You know…” He started softly, tracing the backs of his knuckles down your arm, gazing down your figure. “I can think of some other ways to relieve some tension, darling,” His voice was a hungry purr now, honeyed words floating sweetly into your ears like a soft lullaby. You nibbled your bottom lip as you watched his movements as his hand creeped down to the front of your thigh. Once again, you tried playing it cool, despite the ever growing heat in your core. “W-What do you mean?” You asked softly.

A low chuckle left his lips. “Don’t be coy, darling. You know exactly what I mean,” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as his fingertips gently grazed across your folds, making your breath hitch in your throat. “What’s the matter, my sweet? Cat got your tongue?” He hooked his index finger to part your folds and catch against your clit, brushing against it gently.

You grabbed his hand in an attempt to push his fingers against your swollen bundle of nerves more to get some much needed friction. He stiffened his hand, not allowing you to move it. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting in yet another devious smirk.

“Patience, my sweet,” He purred next to your ear, his other arm snaking around and gripping your ass gently, pulling you further into him.

You stumbled a bit into him, clearly flustered by his bluntness. Uncharacteristic for someone of your class and background, but you didn’t care. Astarion brought a side out of you that you haven’t felt safe enough to channel in years, and you were very grateful for him for it.

He chuckled at your apparent shyness, placing soft kisses along your ear making you shiver. “S-Star…” You whimpered, making him groan. He loved that nickname, and you always knew the right times to use it. “Yes, darling? What is it?” He replied smugly, his feather light touches grazing your folds again, making you tense up.

“Please…” You mumble, making him groan in playful frustration. “My darling, we’ve gone over this multiple times… You must– say it with me now… use your words,” You shyly said those three cursed words along with him. As he said, you have gone over it multiple times, but you were much too stubborn to give in and actually tell him what you wanted. That was, until you were too desperate for him not to care anymore. Just like how you were right now.

“Astarion,” You said sternly, trying to keep up your strong facade. “I want you to touch me. Use your fingers. Please.” The last word you spoke was soft and breathy, your stubbornness bending like a hammer to hot steel. He grinned, his fangs glinting in the glow of the setting sun. Gods, he is beautiful…

“Of course, my love. Whatever you need,” He purred, his fingers finally placing soft pressure against your hard clit. You gasped softly as he used those two slender fingers to massage soft circles into it. You shivered, despite the hot steamy water that surrounded you both, and grasped onto his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

He gently ran his fingers through your hair as he continued to stroke the fire in your core. To the innocent bystander, it might’ve looked like you were just having a sweet romantic hug in the water, but down below the surface, he was giving you endless pleasure, quickly bringing you to the point of no return.

With you being inexperienced when you started being intimate with one another, it never took you long to reach an orgasm, especially if he was the one touching you. He chuckled as he felt your body tremble against his. Your blunt fingernails gently dug into his skin as you felt your orgasm creep closer and closer. Normally, he would make you ask to come because he relished in the sounds of you begging. However, given the circumstances, he decided to play nice with you today.

“That’s it, my pet… Let go,” He whispered, kissing along your shoulder gently. His pace quickened, earning him a soft airy gasp from you. Your breath wavered as his fingers continued their quickening pace against your clit, your legs starting to tremble. “A-Astarion…!” You choked out, grasping onto him for dear life. He hummed in approval as his pace quickened once again, making your eyes snap shut and let out a delicious, loud moan.

Your orgasm crashed into you like the waterfall behind you crashing into the river, your whole body twitching and spasming. You almost fell over from how hard you came, but thankfully Astarion’s stiff body kept you upright. He slowed his pace, riding you through your orgasm and whispering sweet praises into your ear. “There you go, my sweet… What a good girl you are,” He peppered kisses along your neck as he slowly withdrew his hand.

You panted as you looked at him. Your face was beet red, and your brow was starting to bead sweat from the heat of the spring and your orgasm. He smiled sweetly down at you and caressed your cheek. “Would you like more?” He asked, as you felt his cock throb against you. You nodded eagerly, slipping your hand down beneath the water to stroke him gently. He took your wrist and shook his head.

“Please, my dear… Allow me,” He purred. He gently guided you over to a nearby rock to the shallower end of the pool. “Bend over here, darling,” He gently coaxed. You were quick with your actions, yet careful. You didn’t want to reopen your wound. You gently bent over the rock, arching your back slightly for him. He came behind you and stared at your swollen cunt, dripping with ecstasy and still twitching from your previous orgasm. He ran his hands across the swell of your ass and down the sides of your thighs, groaning softly. “Beautiful…”

He took his cock and gently pressed the tip against your hole. “Are you ready, my sweet? Are you ready to be stretched by my cock?” He asked, his tone sweet and innocent despite the filthy words. You nodded eagerly, arching your back a bit more in an attempt to push yourself onto him. “Y-Yes… Please, I need you…” You replied, your voice full of desperation.

The eagerness in your words was all the confirmation he needed. He slowly started to roll his hips into you, pressing each inch of his cock further and further into you. You moaned loudly as you stretched around him and clenched. He hissed in pleasure at your tightness as he thrust slowly in and out of you, closing his eyes. You growled softly at the feeling of you. “Gods, Tav… You feel so fucking good,” He said, pressing into you harder, earning a loud yelp from you.

Sometimes, especially in moments of insatiable desire such as this, Astarion could be a bit rough with you. It was almost like he went feral from your sounds and the feeling of you pulsating around him. Thus, you have agreed upon a word that either of you could use if things got out of hand. Neither of you had to use it yet, but if he kept up this harsh, rough pace, you would have to use it.

His speed increased, thus his roughness. The pleasure started turning into a soft, manageable pain as the tip of his cock pounded against your cervix. He must not have noticed your body tense, because he kept going, wrapping his hands around your waist, accidentally touching your stitched wound.

That is what made you say it.

“R-Red!! Astarion, red!”

His eyes snapped open as he stopped, pulling out of you quickly and turning you around gently, his face broken with worry. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry… Did that hurt? Are you okay?” He asked, checking your wound briefly to see if he had accidentally reopened it. You panted softly, trembling a bit. You winced softly with pain. “I-It was just my injury… I think I’ll be okay,” You reassured him, feeling bad that you had ruined the moment. He shook his head. “No, darling… Let’s stop, I don’t want to cause any more harm to you. I-i don’t know what got into me, I-”

You noticed he started rambling a bit and… Tearing up. You had yet to see him cry about anything, so this surprised you. Your face grew with worry as you caressed his cheek. “Hey… It’s okay, I’m okay,” You said gently. He leaned into your touch and shook his head again. “Gods I am so sorry…” He apologized again, his voice laced with guilt. You kissed him sweetly on the nose and smiled at him. “My heart, I’m okay. Thank you for stopping when I said it.” He chuckled at that. “Of course I stopped. I want nothing more than for you to be comfortable,” He said gently, placing a soft peck on your lips. You kissed him back and smiled warmly. You had never had anyone who cared about your safety and wellbeing as much as he did, nor him with you. You both felt so safe together, and absolutely nothing could ruin that.

He pulled away slightly and took the bar of soap again, coaxing you over with his finger. “Come, my love, let’s finish getting you washed up.”

After you both bathed, you stayed in the spring for a few hours, talking about everything and nothing and enjoying each other’s company. The moon had risen a while ago, bathing you both in its faint blue light. You stared up at the moon as you sunk down into the water to your shoulders. You barely noticed the wound anymore, and you felt relaxed and very well healed.

Astarion had gotten out a few minutes ago to dry off. He stared at you and had a devilish idea. He smirked to himself as he slowly slipped back into the water, trying not to make too much noise. He snuck up behind you, totally oblivious. Just as he was about to splash you with water, you flipped around and got his face and hair soaking wet, making him groan in frustration. “Gahh, my hair! My beautiful hair!” He pouted, making you laugh hysterically. “Sneaking up on a fighter, really, my love?” You said through laughs. He scowled a bit, then started to laugh as well. “Foolish idea, I know…” He admitted, wading closer to you. “But you didn’t have to ruin my hair…” He whined. You grin evilly at him, lifting your hand to his head.

“No, no! Stay back, you!” He shouted as he tried to get away from you. You chased him around the pool for a bit, laughter and playful banter filling the night.

Halsin and Shadowheart were silently watching you both from the clearing just before the pool, smiling sweetly. “She seems to be doing a lot better now, doesn’t she, Halsin?” Shadowheart queried, making Halsin chuckle as he replied. “What can I say… Love certainly is the best medicine.”

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wiltedreamofbaldursgate · 7 months

Text

You, Blinding Like the Sun

characters: Astarion x gender neutral Elf!Tav/reader word count: +1.5k Rating: teen and up. sfw. trigger warning: very loosely implied trauma on both sides. read on ao3

Astarion despises you so very much because you’re everything he isn’t, everything he has never been. Not even alive could he have held a candle to you, because you’re perfect and he is falling, and he hates that he is falling for you.

He despises you.

From the moment Astarion first laid eyes upon you—confident, selfless little elf, blinding like the sun—he has despised you. You with your dazzling golden eyes, the sweet flush on the tip of your pointy ears. Your artfully arranged hair, kissed by the sun to make it shine like fine silk. The cute little freckles sprinkled all over your unmarred skin—skin that has never been touched by undesired hands. You who lived long enough to choose a name for yourself—to make a name for yourself.

How he despises all of it.

The way you win anyone over with nothing but an honest smile; the sheer purpose in your every step. That nasty confidence of yours that isn't some skill you ever needed to acquire because, to you, it comes all-natural, of course—you were born with it. Astarion can tell it's true because he’s spent two centuries mimicking the behaviour of people just like you.

And he despises you for it.

Before you were even born, the gods have bestowed their gifts on you, and here you are, not even knowing what power you hold, how very blessed you are. You wouldn’t even care if you knew, because the fact of the matter is that you have no need for gods nor gifts nor skills. Not when people gravitate towards you as if you have hung the stars. And how dreadfully inviting you always are, so very accommodating.

Come sit by the fire, Astarion; isn’t it cold and lonely over there?

Come feed from me, Astarion; you look so terribly starved.

Come enjoy yourself, Astarion, have all of me, Astarion, I don’t ask for anything in return, Astarion.

Astarion, are you alright?

Everything you say or do, everything you are—he fucking despises it.

He despises how laughably easy it was to fool you, to fuck you, to make you fall for him; honestly, don’t you know any better, darling? Probably not, because it’s evident that you aren’t all there in the head sometimes.

After all, who in their right mind would let a starved beast feast at the most divinely set table, have it indulge in the sweetest of wines as if it were nothing, as if it weren’t everything to him? And it’s only by luck that you’re still breathing now, that he hasn’t ripped out your throat to drink up every obscenely delicious drop of you.

But of course, you come with an excessive amount of luck—so much of it that it makes up for your lack of brains. Hells, the worst thing that has ever happened to you is the little fiend lingering behind your eye, the very same thing that has set him free after centuries of endless suffering, and he despises you. Astarion despises you so very much because you’re everything he isn’t, everything he has never been. Not even alive could he have held a candle to you, because you’re perfect and he is falling, and he hates that he is falling for you.

You with the soft lilt in your voice, a reminder of a language that weighs like lead on Astarion’s tongue. You with your easy smile that he can’t help but return with an unfamiliar one of his own. You with your blood that tastes like the very sun. Astarion hates that he never even stood a chance against you because you care. Because you either love sincerely or not at all. Because you somehow love him.

And he hates that his gaze keeps following the alluring sway of your hips; that he finds himself instinctively reaching for your hand whenever you hold it out to him, and that he hates it even more when you don’t.

He hates the way you say his name—not because you mock him for that childish name of his, no, but because it makes him want to hear it from your lips over and over and over again.

And most of all, he hates the way you speak of victory. How dare you make it sound so believable—probable, even? He hates how he trusts your words to come true, that real freedom is at his fingertips. If you think it’s possible, it has to be, doesn’t it…?

Yes, Astarion well and truly hates how much he wants you, trusts you, craves you. Your blood. Your smile. Your love. All of you. It makes him feel like an idiot because all you had to do to mess up his perfectly fine plan was to exist next to him. You are the stake hovering right above his heart, and he is so fucking scared of the inevitable impact. Because sooner or later, his love for you will bite him in the ass—it always does. It hasn’t happened yet, but here he is, already hurting.

It hurts Astarion to watch you get injured in battle, and it hurts even more to see your eyes frantically dart over him to make sure he’s alright after. It hurts that he wants to make love to you so badly but doesn’t quite know how. It hurts him to guard over your trances, to watch you struggle through each night, haunted by your very own ghosts—and that he can’t do anything to ease your suffering. It makes him feel weak, and he is tired of feeling this way, tired of being so fucking useless to you. You haven’t realised that he is nothing yet, but you will soon enough, and Astarion is afraid—always afraid that that will be the end of it. The end of him. Around you, he can feel his mask slip all too often, all too easily, and he is afraid of your blindingly loving gaze upon him. What do your golden eyes see?, he wonders, too afraid to ask. Why don’t you look away when you see him laid bare? He’s afraid that there’s something wrong with you, because how could it be any different?

In fact, Astarion is mostly afraid for you, because every day he learns that you’re not perfect at all. There are more knots in your hair than he can count, and you always seem to have a nasty sunburn spread across your shoulders. You sometimes cackle like a goose around the fire, and you’re too gullible, too good for your own good. And you can die so very easily…

Deep inside, Astarion is terrified that one day you will glide through his fingers like sunlight at dusk.

He’s terrified that there won’t be anything he can do to save you.

He’s terrified of what he might be willing to do to try anyway.

You wake from your restless trance with a choked cry. It seems like you always startle into consciousness, unsure of where you are even moments later. It’s not the first time that Astarion wonders what could possibly be haunting your memories, but the way you tremble and make yourself look smaller keeps reinforcing his sickening suspicions.

Forcing down the anger soaring through him, he leans over to where you’re lying next to him. Cooing softly, he brushes a strand of hair from your forehead, cautious to barely touch your sweat-drenched skin. His eyes lock with yours, and together you wait for the tightness in your chest to ease, your hurried breath to slow down.

You grab his hand to hold it against your racing heart, and Astarion wants to tell you that you’re safe; lying is what he does best, after all. He can’t bring himself to say those false words, though, not to you—never again to you. He has already tainted so much of what you have together and although you’re not perfect, you’re special. This is special and he will do anything to make it last.

When your breath has calmed into a gentle rhythm again, Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, gently pulling your back against his chest. His lips are still warm from your blood circulating underneath his skin as he presses them against your temple.

“Rest,” he whispers. “I got your back, sunshine.” Astarion’s words are hesitant and shaky, even in his own pointy ears. Long years of disuse have perverted the inflection, and he doesn’t trust himself to say any more—not for now, at least.

It takes you a moment to realise that Astarion has spoken in your common mother tongue, but when you do, you tilt your head to find his almost timid gaze again.

“I know you do,” you answer, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, making your perfectly melodic words sound so much lovelier. “Thank you, Astarion.”

The pale elf brushes his lips against yours. It’s a quick, sloppy kiss, and he doesn’t recall ever kissing someone like this before—rushed and imperfect; real. He takes in your smile one last time before he buries his face in the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth, your scent. Everything that is you.

Astarion loves to be blinded by the sun.

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