Catstarion
Sorry for the slow uploads, been going out with friends and working for a bit but here's the next one, inspired by @bg-brainrot's post here. Thank you for the idea!
As you set your cup down, ready for another round of wine, you sense something, no, someone staring intently at you. Turning around, you find Astarion standing at the stairs leading up to the rooms, ruby red eyes piercing into your very soul as he stares, arms resting on the banister.
You’ve known him long enough to know what this means so with a sigh, you thank the bartender for his hospitality, excuse yourself from your increasingly drunk group of companions and head over to the stairs.
The vampire grins when he sees you approaching, gently pulling you to one side by your arm.
“Already turning in for the night, my sweet?” His fingers trail up your arm, lips whispering in your ear. The tips of your ears burn, feeling his words ghost over them.
“So it seems,” you reply. “Care to join me?”
The corners of his lips curve upwards, a sparkle in his eyes as he takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and gently takes the lead, thumb running over the back of your palm. His wordless answer brings a small smile to your face and you let him guide you, annoyance left at the bar counter.
He turns the corner and opens the door to his room, ushering you in before closing the door behind him. He remains standing at the door as you make your way to the bed, getting comfortable before patting the spot next to you but he doesn’t move.
Raising an eyebrow, you tuck yourself under the covers before patting the pillow next to yours and yet he refuses to budge. Well, third time’s the charm, right? You open your arms and he immediately shoots over, burying himself in your embrace. Amused, you chuckle, which sends reverberations through him. He happily hums in response, shifting so that you have easy access to the entirety of his hair and grabs one of your hands, dropping it on the top his head.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,” you snort as you begin to run your fingers through his soft white curls. He lets out a sigh of contentment, basking in the familiar rhythm of your fingers combing his locks, massaging his scalp along the way. The gentle movements start to lull him into a trance and he feels his eyes begin to close, his grip on your clothes loosening but then you do the unthinkable.
You shift.
Immediately his eyes snap open and he turns to glower up at you. You raise your hands in surrender, eyeing him warily as he scowls.
“My love, please do not interrupt my trance again.”
“Sorry, won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
With a huff, he turns, stretching out across your legs like a cat before curling back up, feeling your fingers continue their movements through his hair. He loves it when you do this, when you let him trance whilst resting on you without making a single fuss even though you have little to no intention of going to sleep yourself. He loves how you don’t mind carving out time for him amidst your busy schedule, you could always ignore him until you were done drinking but you always responded to his call, putting aside your own needs and wants for him. He knew he could ask anything of you and you would do it, without crossing the boundaries the both of you had set at the start of your relationship of course.
To him, you always had something better to do than attend to his petty whining but to you, he always came first and he still couldn’t fathom why. Maybe one day he would, perhaps if he sat you down and talked to you about it, he would understand, but that would be after The Absolute was defeated and the worms were removed. He was becoming more positive about the party’s prospects in a fight against The Absolute, although he preferred hiding such feelings.
As your fingers continue to work their magic in his hair, his thoughts drift to the many ways you’ve upended his life. You’ve shown him what it means to love, what it means to be genuine, what it means to care about others. You’ve added to his life, and changed things that were already in his life. You’d made it your whole mission to help him associate actions that once caused him pain and misery with something more pleasant, the only reason why he could slip into a trance whilst you ran your fingers through his hair. Back then, such an action always came with —
Cough.
Astarion groans, reaching up to poke your cheek, “I’m trying to trance here, love. A little peace and quiet would be nice.”
“Sorry,” you pout, giving him the puppy dog eyes he can never resist and he lets the matter slide, returning back to his thoughts and attempt to trance.
You’re always careful to not pull his hair, with knots always being gently untied either with your fingers or a comb should one be nearby. You’re also the only one he trusts to take care of his hair, whether it be washing or helping to maintain it.
He feels you rest your free hand on his waist, the warmth from your palm spreading through his cold undead body and feels the urge to slip into a trance wash over him once more. Knowing he is safe in your arms, for nothing will be able to hurt him when you’re around, he lets the urge take hold, readying himself for whatever nightmares could plague his rest.
That is if you didn’t sneeze right there and then.
Astarion clicks his tongue, refusing to even open his eyes and exclaims, “Gods, how am I supposed to trance in these conditions?”
He buries his face into your thighs, putting up a dramatic show of angrily muttering under his breath while you apologise, struggling to hold in your laughter.
“Come on Astarion. If you want to trance properly, you should’ve just told me to go to sleep!”
“But then you wouldn’t be able to do…this!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of your hand which is still buried beneath his white curls, letting out yet another huff.
“You’ll have to choose one then, Star. I can’t seem to do both.” There’s mirth in your voice and for a moment Astarion wonders if you’re just toying with him but then the look in your eyes reassures him and he lets out a sigh of resignation, sitting up so that you can get into a comfortable position to sleep.
“Fine. Sleep next to me, my love.” He wraps you in a cocoon made from his arms, nuzzling into your neck and feels his fangs press against your skin — the only barrier between him and your blood. Yet you don’t flinch, trusting that he will only bite after asking you for permission and snuggle against him under the covers.
“Stop spending so much time with them,” you hear him mumble. So that was why he was acting so weirdly all night.
“You have me all to yourself every night, don’t you worry.” You press a peck to the top of his head, tucking him tighter against your body.
“And you’ll have me for all eternity too.”
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There are SO many different ways to interpret Ascended Astarion and his relationship with Tav/Durge which is why I find myself so fascinated by that path. One angle I haven't seen talked about too much that I think is so compelling is a resist Durge who happily becomes his consort.
With the caveat that I haven't finished the Durge story in game (but have been spoiled for most of it), I think about a Durge who defeated their father, who is allegedly 'cured' of their urges from doing so, but probably still carries with them the trauma and terror of being controlled like that again. There's an argument that that would make a resist Durge less likely to let A!A turn them, but on the other side of it, what if it's a huge comfort to them?
They're handing control to someone they love and deeply trust as opposed to having the reins be held by some unknown force, or worse, by themselves, who they don't entirely trust, either.
Whether they should trust Astarion could have a hundred different answers depending on someone's HCs for the relationship, but lets roll with the angle that the love between them is genuine.
And Astarion knows that forgoing this control and handing it to him is a relief for Durge; they never have to worry about potentially succumbing to some rogue urge again, if they could theoretically be compelled or otherwise stopped from carrying it out. And I know the general consensus is an embraced Durge could eat A!A for breakfast, so I'm seeing this specifically for a resist Durge angle.
So Astarion hams it up in large part for Durge, because that display of dominance, even when it's somewhat theatrical, is part of that comfort. Reminds Durge they're in good hands, someone's looking out for them, they're not alone, in the sort of ways they need to be reminded of all of that. They never have to be afraid again; he did promise that, after all.
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Astarion.
The little star.
I wish to call him mine, yet I wish not to bind him.
Rather, I want to watch him flourish in his newfound freedom. I want to see what he does with it.
He thought that he was keeping his nature a secret, but I knew. Oh, I knew all along.
I could sense it anywhere after all. The cold chill of his undead body. That sickeningly sweet stench of decay, buried beneath his precious perfumes.
How I would love to roll around in it. To coat myself in him.
He bit me last night.
Without my memories, I did not know ecstasy until that moment.
All he did was sink his fangs into my neck, teeth into flesh, and I was his.
I AM HIS
He claimed that I gave him a gift, but no.
It was him who blessed me with one.
He brought me to the brink. There, I balanced on the precipice between life and death. I gave him life until I could spare no more.
I hated to push him away.
I want to give him everything.
It was then that I realized two things. A vague recollection that resonated with understanding.
First, I am a creature of devotion. Whoever claims my attention, they have it in its entirety at the expense of all else.
I said that I will bow to no master, but Astarion makes me want to.
He is worthy of a reverence befitting Faerûn's so-called gods.
To experience the pleasure of being on my knees in worship of him...
In prayer, of course.
Speaking of, the second thing I realized is this.
Apparently, I am a sucker for a pretty face.
And he is the prettiest star indeed.
—The words are laid out on a cleaner page with less blood to obscure the writing. The words 'I am his' are circled several times over. The script is more legible compared to before, bolder, as if the writer had taken great care and time to record his thoughts.
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