#astarion/oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastshadows · 1 month

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 11: Fate's Folly

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Winter has gripped Faerûn in a deadlock. The trees have long since shed their leaves, and the bare limbs reach for the sky like bony fingers trying to scratch the heavens. The winter sun is dipping below the horizon, leaving the land stark and frigid. The wind whistles over the plains and whips your hair, churning it wildly around your face. You can’t even pick your feet up anymore, so your boots scuff across the hard earth.

How long have you been walking this road without stopping to eat or sleep? Your feet ache, your eyelids feel like lead weights, and your mind urges you to make camp for the night to allow yourself to slip into your trance, but you dare not. You don’t want to be assaulted by your nightmares any longer as they feed off sorrow and torment you. They pain you more than this exhaustion ever could.

Your fingers are frozen and numb. Lifting your hand, you try to summon fire, but you’re so tired even the Weave has abandoned you until you rest. With a defeated sigh, you pull your hood up and wrap your arms around yourself, shivering so hard your muscles cramp painfully, and your jaw chatters, clicking your teeth together.

If I can keep walking, at least I am advancing toward him.

… Hopefully.

As you continue your sluggish walk, your eyes begin to drift closed of their own volition. You’ve pushed your body too far, and it’s succumbing to exhaustion. You trip, sending yourself sprawling, and pebbles, twigs and gravel bite into your palms and knees. With no energy left in your reserves to push yourself up, you can do nothing but slump over on the cold earth and curl up.

If you do not trance, it will force itself upon you, and you quickly fade into a half-conscious state. You can feel the ground sap your body heat and infuse you with a raw, frigid sting that balls up your muscles and lances your skin as it permeates your robe. Your head hits and cracks the thin layer of ice atop a muddy puddle, splashing and submerging your hair in the slush. The murky liquid is piercing on your forehead and scalp, but you don’t have the energy to move. Unable to keep your eyes open, you drift and see Astarion in your mind’s eye.

Astarion relaxed at home, reading to you, cuddled up in bed while you giggle at his theatrical character voices. He only does these for you. He would never do such a thing in front of anyone else.

Astarion and you drinking his favourite wine by the fire all day, laughing, and dancing.

Astarion and you jump into a cold lake in the dead of night because he challenged you to see who would get out first. He won, of course.

Astarion walks through the rabble of taverns, playing your little game with a mischievous glimmer in his beautiful eyes, and he winks at you when he catches your glance.

Astarion and you making love. Your ears twitch, and you can almost hear his voice panting, “I love you, Kamena, my only one.”

Astarion humming a soothing tune because you were having trouble sleeping while you lay on his chest.

A wolf howls somewhere in the distance. When your eyes finally allow you to open them, your eyelashes are burdened with frozen teardrops, an icy stage for your woe. Your hair is an icicle of mud rooted to the ground. The first snowflakes drift from the sky, kissing your cheeks. You don’t have any strength left to rise, so you lay there as the snow starts to form a blanket akin to a death shroud on your body. You can’t even weep. You lay and wonder if this is it. Is this the end of your story? A powerful, fierce sorceress, torn asunder, doomed and destroyed by true love?

Why did you leave me, Astarion? What did I do?

You wake with a start, lunging upright and taking deep breaths. Your bones still ache from the cold, the remnant of your dream still evoking shivers. You flex your fingers, forcing them to release the bed linen balled in your fists. Nightmares still plague your meditation, but at least this one didn’t wake you up screaming. You glance at Astarion’s side of the bed, letting your hand slip over the silk sheets. He must still be out hunting. Every time he leaves, you worry that this time is the time he does not return.

Will I ever be able to trust him again?

Winter is starting to settle over the land, and the nights have become far too cold for your liking. There is no way you’ll be able to fall back into your trance. Flicking your wrist, a fire roars to life out of thin air, and you push it to burn unnaturally hot. Slipping Astarion’s shirt on, you sit on the floor before the fire and hold your fingers close to the flame, hoping the heat might blow away the remains of the dream gripping you. It doesn’t work. Your fingers still tremble with that panging soreness that will not relent.

Intense shivers run up and down your spine, making your body tremble with the same verve it did on that rigid, icebound earth. A cutting, frigid cold settles over your body as if you’ve been plunged into a crevice and fallen to the very depths of Cania. The flames of the fire start to turn a frightening blueish-white. Yet, no matter how hot you push it to burn, you cannot get the gnawing ache to abate.

You don’t hear Astarion enter, and you jump when he sits in the plush chair behind you, with you between his legs. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms, “You are up late or early, depending on how you view it. Nightmares again?”

“Yes,” you sigh as you pull the blanket around you. Your teeth continue to chatter despite the sweat sheening your skin.

Astarion kisses the top of your head, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

What does he expect you to say? The year you spent without him by your side still haunts your dreams and thoughts. Lately, it has been all-consuming, and it’s absorbing your happiness. You can feel yourself slipping, and no matter how hard you try, the slipping never seems to stop. Anything you say will hurt him, and he’s had enough pain in his life. He does not need to bear your misery.

“We used to talk about everything and anything. I told you all about my…,” Astarion’s jaw clenches. He’s uncomfortable talking about that night he cried in your arms for hours, but he pushes himself to continue, “My feelings and fears. It’s not easy for me either, you know. I am unaccustomed to sharing my weaknesses. Hells, I’m not even used to feeling it. I spent so many years feeling only hatred, disgust and loathing, and then you came along and ruined it all,” he smirks, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

“We used to before you left me,” you whisper. There’s a hint of irritation in your voice. Being pushed to share your pathetic moments and weakness grates at you, but then again, maybe you need someone to drag it out of you. You’ve been keeping this woe bottled inside you for so fucking long, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Astarion. Whatever I tell you will be painful to hear, and I don’t want to do that to you because it’s not your fault.”

Astarion bursts out of his chair. He shouts with an inflection rough as gravel, “It is my fault! Stop making excuses for me because there is no excuse for what I did. I am not a fool, and I am not fragile. What did you ask of me? The truth even when it hurts? Do I not deserve the same courtesy?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, hand covering your mouth and blinking away tears.

“I deserve the hurt, and I can handle it. Let me bear it with you.”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes fixed on him, “You don’t deserve it.”

Astarion wracks his fingers through his hair and over the frustration that darkens the planes of his face, making him look severe, “Stop being so bloody pig-headed!”

You’re swayed in a sudden grip of outrage. It festers in your veins, heating your skin and palms. The fire leaps wildly as if pure alcohol were poured onto it as you jump to your feet. You can’t help yourself, and you pace as you scream at him, “What do you want me to say, Astarion?! You want me to tell you that I walked for days at a time. All day and all night! I never stopped to eat or rest because if I did, I didn’t know if I would have the strength to get back up!”

Good Gods. You’re so fucking livid that flames are starting to writhe over your skin like snakes in a pit. That draconic fire is hard to control when your emotions are high. All the feelings you’ve been tampering start to spew out of your mouth spitefully, and you can’t stop the avalanche.

“You want the fucking truth?” You roar, unable to stop the emotion seeping from your pores, “I walked until my feet and legs were numb from pain. I walked until I was so exhausted that my eyes closed without consent, the Weave, even fire abandoned me, and my pathetic body forced me to stop. Do you know what happened when I stopped? Exactly what I feared would. I had to relive memories of when I was happy, memories of us, as the cold earth sapped the rest of my strength. When I came to, I did not have the strength to continue, so I lay there while snow blanketed me and considered letting death have me because I was so godsdamned miserable without you!”

Tears stream down your face, dripping from your chin. When you look at Astarion, his cheeks are as wet as yours, scarlet eyes ashine behind sorrow. This is what you did not want to do. You don’t want to hurt him. Astarion told you he left you because he was afraid, and at the time, it felt like the best option available. That need to run, ignore, and flee your problems is an old friend now, and you can’t blame him. It’s what you did for a year and are continuing to do.

Instead of facing the fact that he was gone and he did not want to be found, you kept pushing your body to its limits and putting yourself into stupid situations because you could not accept the fact that maybe he did not want you any longer. Your heart is hammering as you choke and suffocate on all the memories you’ve been repressing. Days and nights of walking or running as far as your feet could take you until you were senseless. Battles with brigands, ne’er-do-wells, and all manner of beasts. The boiling heat of summer and the glacial cold of winter. Staring at the moon while you wept because your soul could practically feel the distance between you enlarging.

The fact he’s made you upset him stokes those embers of anger further. You rasp low, wiping your eyes, “There. Now you know how pathetic I am. I am not a fearless leader or a fucking hero. I am just a broken, foolishly weak woman who could not even take care of herself and could not accept that you left me. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now that my fragility and broken pieces are displayed for you to gawk at and judge? Go ahead, Astarion. Tell me how objectively stupid I am.”

Astarion’s brows furrow as tears tiptoe from the corners of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. Astarion’s voice is gruff, a woven lace between anger and anguish. “By the Gods. Why would you do that to yourself? For me, of all people?!”

Good Gods, is he truly so blind?

“Because I love you! The way I fell for you was as effortless as breathing. When you left, the moon split, and the stars fell from the sky into the sea I was endlessly suffocating in. I watched my whole world crumble.” Splaying your hand on your chest, you try to halt the ever-increasing tightness constricting your lungs. You laugh sarcastically at yourself, “And it’s all my damn fault. You are not accountable for my happiness or lack thereof, or how I handled you leaving, or what I did after the fact. It’s all on me.”

It’s an epiphany of sorts. All that anger, fear, and hurt you’re holding onto, repressing, and running from is not his doing - it’s yours. You cannot blame Astarion for how you reacted to his leaving, regardless of how he handled it. You’ve been smothering yourself, and your anger is entirely misplaced. You are angry at yourself, and you have been for some time.

The silhouette standing in the road, blocking you from happiness, is yours.

You need air and space to think, and you dress quickly while Astarion begs you to stop and talk to him. Gods, you’re going to asphyxiate if you stay in this house. Your chest heaves in short, quick breaths that only make you dizzier. Your heart is thudding in your ears. Your muscles tremble with the urge to run, and you lunge toward the door.

Run.

Astarion steps in front of it quickly, “No,” His voice shakes, tears streaking down his cheeks as he blocks your path.

“Get out of my way, Astarion,” you snap at him sharply. “Get out of my way, or I will move you out of my way.”

Please don’t make me move you.

“Then move me,” he challenges with a scowl.

With a grimace, you cast Telekinesis and glide Astarion across the floor to the other end of the room gently. His eyes round, shocked. You’ve never cast against him in anger before. Guilt devours you, consuming whatever was left of your rationality.

Once again, panic takes the wheel, and you run.

I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m so sorry.

He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to the somnolent beating of her heart as she trances by the fire to keep warm. He only needs a taste, a nibble, to test how far this newfound freedom truly spans. He can walk in the sun, and so far, Cazador has not been able to control him, but is he still bound by the rules Cazador planted in his mind?

If he’s quiet enough, he should be able to… Her eyes snap open, and she jumps to her feet with a scowl.

“…Shit.” He puts his hands up and backs away slowly, watching her intently to see if she reaches for a weapon or if magic starts to dance on her fingers, “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s got to recover from this. Quickly, or she might try and stake him, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed - well, blood.”

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?”

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well… not for food,” He glances at the ground. How much should he reveal? It’s a fine line to tread. He needs to tell enough of the truth to earn trust but not enough to unveil his “little plan.”

She is not wholly soft-hearted and pure, but he’s spent two hundred years manipulating people. He can surely get her to spread her legs for him, to fall for him, and ensure his safety. The living are as much of a slave to their more animalistic desires as he is to bloodlust. It makes them simple prey.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer… Kobolds. Whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight! I feel so... weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He slips on his expert manipulative demeanour and intonation, ”Please.”

He feels an odd pinch in his mind as it half unfolds for her. Gods. She has access to his memories and thoughts. Will she intrude into his mind unapologetically and violate him as so many have in the past? More than likely. He sighs, resigns himself and awaits the transgression.

Her brow quirks up, and her defensive stance relaxes slightly as she shakes her head to rid herself of the unfamiliar sensation of the tadpole writhing behind her eye. Her voice is gentle, almost hurt, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She… she didn’t force herself upon him? She didn’t take the bait and play his mind like an instrument, plucking the strings of his memories?

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

She scrutinizes him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been stripped of his clothes and naked. “I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you.” he sighs, relieved. She trusts him? Objectively stupid, but he will take it. “Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

She nods, “Fine. But not a drop more than you need.”

His brows shoot up his forehead. Is she really just going to allow him to bite her? Stupid woman. “Really? I - of course. Not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

“Wait!” She halts him, pushing him back by the shoulders.

He recoils, a little aggravated at her blockage. He was so, so deliciously close. “What is it, Sorceress? Don’t tell me you’ve chickened out already. I’ll be gentle, I swear. It will only hurt for a moment.”

“No, Rogue,” she frowns at him. She is cute when she’s angry. Her fingers hover by his lips, “Pain does not frighten me. Open your mouth.”

“Open my mouth?” He arches a brow at her, “Why?”

“I’ve noticed your fangs, but I’ve never paid them much thought,” she muses with a wily grin. “I would like to see what you’re about to plunge into my neck.”

He scoffs, “I am not an exhibition for your eyes to feast upon.”

“Do you want to eat or not?” She smirks, “I believe it’s a simple request.”

“You’re very strange,” he clicks his tongue but opens his mouth for her with a roll of his eyes. It is a small price to pay if this works.

She pricks her finger against his fang, “Ouch! Sharp!”

“No, shit.” He chuckles with a scoff, “Have you finished examining me now? Shall we continue?”

She scoffs back at him, “You’re very impatient. Very well. You may continue with your supper.”

She lolls her head to the side. His fangs break her supple flesh, and her blood flows freely into his mouth. Cazador’s rules do not bind him any longer. Gods, she tastes like clouds parted, heaven is stroking his tongue, and angel wings flutter through his veins. She leans into him with a sigh. Her body shakes, excited. Excited? An odd reaction, but alas, who is he to complain? He can feel her inside of him. Her essence fills him, and his nerves hum a sonnet he’s never heard or felt. He loses himself in her.

She pushes against him feebly as her body starts to grow cold, “Stop! It’s too much.”

Reluctantly, he removes his fangs, cleaning his lips, and licking his fingers. He will not waste a drop of that liquid bliss, “Ah! Of course. I was just swept up in the moment. But it worked. I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

He got carried away. He will have to watch himself more carefully if she ever allows him near her again.

She wavers on her feet, hand coming to her forehead and eyes glossy. She groans, and he expects her to chastise him. Instead, she steadies herself and chimes resolutely, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

That’s it? No beating? No flaying? No putrid rats? Not so much as a “bad vampire!” Just... looking forward to seeing him fight. What in the Hells?

He hides his surprise behind that practice veneer of confidence, “Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling,” he lies. He’s full, happy, but inexplicably highly aroused.

Is this something that always happens with thinking creatures? Is it simply a natural response because she’s his first? He has nothing and no one to compare this experience to.

“This is a gift, you know.” She might be a gift from the Gods after they’ve ignored him for centuries. He is no longer bound by his puppet master or the rules rooted in his brain. He has broken his chains. He purrs, “I won’t forget it.”

She stops him, giggling lightheaded and ethereal, “The boar was you, wasn’t it?”

She is clever, isn’t she? He chuckles, “Yes, my dear. I said a vampire killed it, did I not?”

She plops down on her bedroll, “You conveniently left out that you were that vampire. Very clever, Astarion,” she smirks. “I’ll watch you and the pretty words that leave your beautiful mouth more closely from now on. Happy hunting.”

She thinks his mouth is beautiful?

The door slams hard enough to cause the tower to shake, and she’s gone. Kamena had always been the unshakable light of their group of misfits. She took everything in stride.

Gale’s orb might explode and kill them all? No problem, we will find magical items for him to consume.

Sharran Cleric? No sweat. Your beliefs are your own.

Warlock bound to his contract? Easy. We will find a way to break that.

Murderous Gith with a superiority complex that could rip out her spine? Tell me more about you and your people.

Tiefling spewing Hellfire from her body with an infernal engine for a heart? Welcome aboard. Now, let’s find a way to fix that heart of yours.

Vampire spawn who tries to bite her while she tranced one night? No matter. I trust you. While we are at it, let's make a pit stop and kill your master so you can be free.

She never flinched when confronted that they might all burst into Mind Flayers any second. She always kept the group moving forward toward their goals while taking the time to sort out everyone’s problems. His stomach sinks. It’s nearly dawn, but he can catch her before the sun rises… probably. He sprints out of the room and down the stairs.

“Let her go, Astarion,” Gale grips his arm and shakes his head.

“Are you mad?” He pulls his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

“You look lost,” Gale pats his shoulder. “Despite our differences, we do share one thing in common. Our love for her.” Astarion’s jaw tightens. “Purely platonic on my end, of course,” Gale assures with a genial smile. “If you need to speak to a trusted… friend. Well, I do hope you might consider me one such friend.”

“Are we,” he quirks his brow at the wizard and grimaces, “… friends?”

“Perhaps friends is a little superfluous,” Gale chuckles. “But I am here for you if you need a friendly ear or advice. I have navigated the waters she’s currently treading. It can be a dark path.”

“Ugh,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. The wizard always likes to beat around the bush. He prefers someone to speak their mind, “Just speak plainly.”

“Come, my friend,” Gale gestures toward the sitting room, “Let’s sit. I would offer you some tea, but… I know that doesn’t fit your particular dietary needs.”

Astarion groans, relinquishing his hold on the door handle. He looks longingly, willing it to open and for her to rush back into his arms. He sits on the sofa and lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers splayed into his hair.

“Do you want to be with her, Astarion?” Gale begins.

“What are you getting at, Gale?” He mutters annoyance weaved in the deep baritone of his voice that he can’t hide, “Get to the point.”

Gale’s voice loses the honeyed intonation, “Do you want to spend your life with her until hers ends, or will you run again when it gets hard? There is an imbalance in your relationship. You are immortal. She is not.”

“You know as well as I that there are ways to extend life - beyond my… condition,” Astarion drags his hand through his hair.

“There are, but nothing is assured,” Gale retorts, “If she cannot extend her life or find a cure for you, are you willing to stay with her when she gets old, and you remain forever young? It’s an eventually you must consider.”

Can he do it? Is he capable of spending the next 800 years with her only to have her age and die, leaving him alone again? Gods. A world void of her fire? Perish the thought.

Astarion cants a brow at him and scoffs, “If this is your attempt at a pep talk, you’re failing abysmally.”

“You have enough pep,” Gale chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “No, I am trying to have a real discussion with you, and you are making it exceedingly gruelling.”

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. Astarion swallows hard, trying to dissuade the ball in his throat to ease, “I want to be with her. More than anything.”

“Good,” Gale’s hand comes to his chin as he contemplates. “Then you must keep fighting for her. Every day, you must treasure her. When the days are cold, warm her. When the shadows disturb her rest, hold her tight. When she needs space, let her go. Show her you can handle the storm, and be prepared to weather it with her.”

“I am trying,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. His brows furrow as he eyes Gale with palpable caution. Gale is still in love with her, and he knows. It makes him wary to have these conversations with him, “I have never done this - a real relationship. Love. It’s all new to me, and I have no idea how to navigate it.”

Gale’s bourbon brown eyes reflect the firelight as he examines Astarion with a probing case that makes him uncomfortable, though his expression remains nearly blank. Is there empathy in his eyes? Delight? Pain?

“You hurt her deeply, but I don’t need to tell you that,” Gale finally says and leans forward. “You, of all people, should know that pain leaves scars, whether visible on the skin or unseen on the heart. Remember, Astarion. When you’re speaking to her, you are touching her scars.”

Hells below. He had not thought of it like that before.

Gale smiles, “Now, that awkwardness is over. Tell me, Astarion. What do you know of the Wish spell?

Astarion balks at the quick change in subject, although he’s happy about it, “Wish? I know it’s a powerful spell, but not much else. Spells are not my expertise, Gale. You know this. I leave magic up to you and Kamena - much more so Kamena.”

“Kamena is a substantially powerful sorceress. We have not seen the like of her kind for some time,” Gale smirks with an amused chuckle. “She gave up sparing with me because I could not keep up. Can you believe that - an archmage unable to keep up with a sorceress? I often wonder if her ancestor is Tiamat herself.”

“I am well aware of how powerful she is,” Astarion snickers, “But you’re getting off-topic. What of this Wish spell?”

Gale’s eyes brighten, and he beams. “Kamena never stopped looking for it, you know. Even when you left, she continued and persuaded me to continue as well. I have a lead - an excellent lead.”

“Is Kamena capable of casting it?” Astarion mouth drops. “Could she actually use it?”

“She is more than powerful enough to cast it,” Gale nods, but his expression turns sullen. “Though spells of this power often have a cost and can be rather… finicky. It could be dangerous - for you and her. I have not found it yet, but I believe we are getting close. In theory, she could use it to cure you, but it might go awry. We cannot be sure of the consequences, though. We have not found any documentation on such.”

“Can it kill her?” Astarion asks bluntly. Spells of such power often have unforeseen consequences. You cannot evoke such power without cost. Sometimes, it is minimal. Other times, it is life itself. He’s read enough books to know this much.

“Possibly,” Gale concludes with a grim look. His jaw clenches, setting his lips in a thin line.

“Stop looking for it, Gale.” Astarion shakes his head. His heart sinks a little. This would be the closest thing he could get to a cure since he didn’t complete the Rite, but he cannot justify the payment, “Her possible death is not worth my possible life.”

“My friend, you will have to speak to her about that,” Gale chuckles with a sullen shrug. “She has already been appraised of my objections.”

“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, tousling his hair, “Let me guess. She said, and I quote, “Your objections have been noted.”

Gale’s laugh booms through the halls, “Yes, precisely. She is stubborn, and that silver tongue of hers is dangerous. Sometimes, she persuades me to do things I was adamant I didn’t want to do! Are all Elves like that, or is she just special?”

“Gale,” Astarion smirks, “I think we have much to discuss. I do not indulge in tea, but do you have something harder?”

Gale’s fingers come to his chin, “Like wine?”

“No,” Astarion tuts, clicking his tongue with a scoff. “Much harder.”

Gale grins widely, “Oh, now you’re speaking my language, my sharp-toothed friend! Join me in my cellar, and pick what you like best!”

You close the bedroom door softly behind you and lean on it. Astarion is sitting before the fire in one of the chairs. He does not even twist to look at you, but he would have heard and smelt you coming even before you reached the manor. He sits with his head in his hand, propped up by his arm. You take a deep breath and force the fire to take the shape of a dragon, fly out of the fireplace, around him and to you before you make it land on the log and continue burning in its natural state. Astarion does not flinch at your display. He barely seems to blink as the dragon gambles around him, driving and twirling. It’s a sure sign that he’s angry, which is precisely what you wanted to know.

You have been caught in a stormy ocean of despair. You’re being tossed like a ship on rough waves. Some days, the waves calm, and you feel like yourself again. On other days, the waves are agitated, and you toss, just trying to stay afloat, but sometimes you get dragged under the surface and start drowning again. It does not matter how hard you kick or fight to break the barrier. An anchor on your legs and arms that drags you down into the depths.

Perhaps it’s time to stop fighting the storm and weather it instead. Emotions are messy, and you are not well acquainted with these. You’ve never been in love before this. You spent most of your adult life alone, hunting down the wizard who purchased you and tortured you for your childhood in the name of “teaching you to master your talents.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you murmur from the door, not daring to get closer to him. “I should not have cast on you. It was uncalled for.”

“You shuffled me across the floor,” he chuckles, twisting in his chair with an amused smile. “That hardly requires an apology. I am impressed with your control. However, I would prefer it if you don’t use magic when we argue. Otherwise, think nothing of it. I should not have pushed you. I was too harsh... I’m sorry.”

“I need to be pushed, I think,” you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. “I keep trying to calm myself, but I just need to weather it as it comes. Sometimes... I get swept away, and there’s nothing I can do. I think... I need to stop trying to stop it and try to survive it instead.”

“Come,” Astarion taps his lap with an affectionate smile and empathy shining in his eyes. “Sit with me, and we can talk.”

Walking over, you discard your robe and are left in your underclothes. Astarion’s arms wrap around you as you ease down onto his lap, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your temple, his cheek on your forehead.

Astarion takes your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and squeezing slightly. He asks blatantly, “Do you want to be with me, or is my presence here just hurting you further?”

“What?” You cup his cheek with your palm, and he nuzzles your hand. Astarion’s silken lips ghost over it, and he kisses it before resting on it, “I want to be with you more than anymore, but I need time. I told you. I am broken. I mentioned I was drowning when you left, but I am coming up for air now. I’m fighting to keep my head above the waves, but sometimes I fall below them…. I don’t want you to leave. Please, stay with me. You are all I need.“

He nods. Astarion’s scarlet eyes swallow you, and empathy and understanding wash over you. “You are not broken, sweetheart.” Astarion places a soft kiss on your lips. “You are healing, and sometimes healing is messy. I know that better than most.” Astarion pauses and nuzzles your cheek, “Stop running from me and start running to me, Kamena. I can be strong when you feel weak, just as you are for me. We do not walk these roads alone any longer. We walk them together, my Solicallor, my only one.”

Solicallor… His Elven nickname for you means “Warm light of the sun.”

What did I ever do to deserve someone so understanding?

That’s it, that breaks you, tearing you apart and rending you inside out. Your breaths come in rapid heaves, and your heart feels like it might fly out of your throat onto the ground before you. You clutch at your chest, and you start to tremble. Your eyes swarm with tears. You slip your hands down the back of Astarion’s shirt, needing to feel the cool chill of his skin, but are careful not to touch his scars. He doesn’t appear to notice when your fingertips accidentally brush the raised edges.

Astarion purrs, crushing you against him, “Breath with me, my love. Deep breaths. In” he counts to 30, “and out,” he counts to 30. You try to synchronize your breaths to his as best you can.

“You have not called me Solicallor in some time,” you shake while forcing a fireball to circle you as if you’re the gravity keeping it in place. You push all your hurt, fear and anger into that fireball, making it double in size and burn white-hot. “I can be your sun, Astarion. For now, at least.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice that you didn’t expect. “Gale and I had an interesting chat today, but we shall discuss that later.”

“He told you of the Wish spell.” It’s not a question. You knew Gale was going to out you eventually. You’re going to have to scold him later for it. You were not going to tell Astarion until you had the damn spell in hand and were sure you could cast it.

“He did,” Astarion nods, rubbing your back and weaving his fingers into your hair. “But that’s a conversation for another time. Let’s focus on us for tonight.”

“I am going to have to chastise Gale,” you frown. You cannot help the anticipation dripping from your voice, “Us?”

“Don’t chastise him too hard, darling. He is rather insecure, but who wouldn’t be with me around?” he chuckles with an arrogant smirk. “Yes. Us. Whatever that may be right now. We can stay in this limbo of indecision as long as you need. But to me, we are still us. You are only mine, yes? Or do I have people I need to murder?”

“We are us.” You agree with a broad smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself close, “And I am yours.”

“Only mine?” He sounds agog as if he cannot imagine you would be wholly his.

Does he still not believe he deserves me?

“Only yours, Aerasumé,” you kiss his cheek, calling him the nickname you gave him in private derived from your language. It means “Silvermoon of the Evening.” You’re reluctant to say it, but it’s been on your mind since you met him, “I think I was born to be yours, thiramin.”

Astarion stiffens at your mention of “thiramin.” It is your Elven word for what is basically a soulmate. His clutch on you strengthens, and his fingers start running through your hair, but he doesn’t say anything, and his jaw is tight. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Have you gone too far? Have you frightened him? Will he run?

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” you encourage in a honeyed intonation, running your fingers comfortingly up and down his neck. “I do not expect you to feel that same. I just… I guess I just wanted you to know how I truly felt.”

Astarion’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. It’s one of his tells when he’s uncomfortable. He kisses you intimately, but his reluctance to answer causes your heart to spasm, clench and descend into your stomach. Are you more in love with him than he is with you? Is that why you were so incapable of letting him go, but he so easily ran from you?

“I think... I need some space,” Astarion murmurs. “I’m sorry, I-”

You cut him off, slipping off his lap and shaking your head. You remain stoic, forcing tears to stay behind your eyes, “It’s okay. I understand. Goodnight, Astarion."

I went too far.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

I just wanna hug Kamena.

Also Astarion

And Gale too for good measure.

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #astarion/oc #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #shadows of the past

99 notes · View notes

astarionsblueundies · 5 months

Text

A scene from the wip fic, in which Astarion sees what he can do about making the process of feeding a little more comfortable for his generous friend, Ashe.

Pairing: Tav/Astarion Rating: idk, not E Word Count: ~5,700

(For context, this is after the Act I Gur encounter. Astarion has been consistently feeding on Ashe, but they've otherwise not outwardly expressed any romantic interest apart from his incessant flirting, which Ashe can't trust since he does it with anyone. She's positive her crush on him is quite unrequited.)

Beside the crackling fire, a comfortable silence settles over camp as everyone winds down from a long day of unfortunate but necessary violence and deception. Ashe still doesn’t feel cut out for these things, but she bumbles her way through them nevertheless, and she hasn’t died yet—not permanently, anyway.

Bumbling is better than dead, she supposes.

With another sunset come and gone, she sits cross-legged on her bedroll, fiddling with the corner of a worn page as she reads a fun little tale about life in The Nine Hells. She wasn’t expecting a slice-of-life story when she looted the book off an infernal corpse, but it’s been page-turningly delightful so far.

Astarion, on the bedroll adjacent to her, flips through his usual much larger and dustier tome. Ashe doubts his is nearly as fun, but she’s curious about it all the same. Someday she’ll ask about it, but for now she’s engrossed in reading about how much chain devils enjoy karaoke.

While some of her other companions usually take advantage of the fire’s warmth to bed down, it looks like it’s just the two of them tonight. The air is still quite warm despite the night’s light breeze, so it seems that most are sticking to their tents.

Ashe doesn’t have one for whatever reason, so fireside it is for her.

Astarion always chooses fireside as well. He hasn’t said so explicitly, but Ashe suspects he enjoys the heat in the same way a lizard might. She’s positive he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, so she’s kept this hypothesis to herself.

As the hour grows late and Ashe’s eyelids grow heavy, all is peaceful for a single, rare moment. So much so that even the low, sudden hum of Astarion’s voice startles her. “I saw that, you know,” he says.

Ashe snaps up from her book, brows knitting together as she meets his gaze, which is startlingly on her, by the way. She wonders how long it’s been like that. “Wh-what?”

He barely elaborates, “Earlier.”

She blinks, clearing her throat. “Sorry, let me rephrase that… what?”

“Back there with the Gur,” he elaborates more with an incline of his head. “That little move you made—stepping in front of me like some sort of bodyguard.”

“I—” she stalls out, tamping down the wave of heat rushing to her cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to pick up on that. Clearing her throat, she gathers her wits about her and blusters out what she considers a very reasonable retort. “Well of course I did. He was after you. What did you expect, that I’d just step aside and hand you over?”

“Oh, don’t make it sound so ridiculous. I’m sure it’d be tempting for some,” he muses, waving his hand about in the air, “on a platter even.”

“Please. I doubt they even make platters that big. Be reasonable, Astarion,” Ashe scoffs, trying to keep the amusement from her voice as she imagines an entire Astarion folded up cartoonishly on an oversized platter with an apple stuffed into his mouth. A little garnish on his hiney. “Regardless, no. It wasn’t all that tempting. Despite your concerning penchant for chaos, I happen to want to keep you around. So yes, I stepped between you two.”

“Mm. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, dear.” Judging by the look on his face, it’s definitely the former. He loves this. “You don’t think I can handle a single Gur?”

She gives him a tired look. “It’s not about that.”

“No? Do tell. What’s it about then?” Of course he wants her to indulge him.

“I-I don’t know, Astarion,” she huffs, marking her page with a dog-eared fold and clapping the book shut in her lap. “I didn’t really think about it, I just kinda moved, okay?”

Did she mention he loves this?

His brow arches and his face settles into something charmingly arrogant–which is annoying, by the way.

“Oh? Feeling a bit protective, are we?”

To deny it outright would be silly at this point. Best to just be difficult about it, Ashe decides.

She takes a beat to stare before clicking her tongue. “Perhaps. Is that acceptable to you?” she asks, feigning concern like she’s just performed some sort of grave clerical error. “I can certainly refrain from all protective or otherwise favorable behaviors towards you in the future, if you so wish.”

He smiles and lingers an amused look on her. “No, no. I suppose I’ll allow it.”

“My, so very gracious of you. Thank you, Astarion. Thank you so much for letting me shield you from monster hunters and whatever other scary things might come crawling after you.”

“You’re most welcome, darling,” he hums, looking pleased as blood punch with himself. “I suppose it was rather cute, in a way. You volunteering to be my darling little meatshield.”

“Yes, well, just so you know, if a Shadowheart hunter showed up, I’d have stepped in front of her too. There are plenty of people I would meatshield.”

“Ah,” he pouts—dramatically so, “and for a moment there you had me thinking I was special.”

“Oh, I could tell. Hence my clarification.” With a shake of her head, she shrugs and lets out an overly apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry to say, Astarion, but you’re entirely ordinary. Not special. Boring even. It simply can’t be helped.”

“Boring,” he balks with an incredulous laugh before angling his head to tip low. Like this, his crimson eyes glint playfully in the shadow of his brow as he levels a dangerous look at her. A certain predatory quality seeps into his words, smooth and low. “Do you find it dull whenever my teeth sink into your neck as you slumber, dear?”

“Dull? Oh, no. No, I find that quite sharp, actually,” Ashe retorts, blinking at him innocently, tamping down an expectant little smile because she knows just how much he loves a stupid play on words.

And by ‘loves’ she means ‘despises eternally’.

He does indeed look offended, which pleases her greatly. “You think yourself pretty clever, don’t you?”

She hums thoughtfully. “I’d consider myself a medium amount of clever, depending on the day. Why do you ask? Oh dear,” she clutches her hypothetical pearls, “was that too close to a pun for your liking?”

“Entirely,” he deadpans, not quite keeping his smirk at bay.

“I’ll admit, it was low-hanging fruit. I was feeling a bit audacious. In my defense, you do make it fun.”

“So my suffering amuses you, does it?”

“Only when I inflict it,” Ashe clarifies. “Anyone else will be immolated, of course.”

“I see. Well,” he pauses, fingers idly pulling across and playing with his bottom lip as he watches her intently, clearly enjoying himself in their little back-and-forth, “any more of this rampant audacity and I may have to take drastic measures. Best be careful, darling.”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be necessary,” she assures with the utmost confidence and a pat of the book in her lap. “I think I got it out of my system. I doubt I’ll blight this world with another pun until tomorrow morning at least.”

“Do try then, dear,” he says, his tenor slipping into something dreadfully concerned. “I’d hate to have to bleed you dry tonight.”

“Ah, the price of a pun?”

“Steep, I’m afraid. Delicious too, but that’s beside the point.”

With a soft smile, she just looks him over for a thoughtful moment. “You know, Astarion, I will give you this.” He holds her gaze with amused anticipation and a raised brow. “That truly is a remarkable talent you have—making death threats sound so very charming.”

“Mm, you flatter me, dear. My years of experience are finally paying off.”

“Yeah, yeah—masterful delivery,” she yawns, setting her book aside and tugging off her outer layer of clothing to get ready for bed. The shirt that remains beneath is a simple cotton tank top. It reveals her neck and the faintest of wounds from the night before—mostly healed now due to a cure wounds cast on her during the day’s battles.

She can practically feel the weight of his gaze on it though. How it lingers there like he’s counting the beat of her pulse, now more rapid than it had been only a moment ago. As much as she enjoys and has grown comfortable with his company, he still manages to make her nervous with just a look sometimes.

Earlier in the evening she’d told him he could ‘visit’ her that night, and he graciously took her up on the offer as he always does.

With his very elven lineage, he doesn’t really sleep. He simply rests in a state of deep meditation for about four or so hours, and gets up refreshed, good as new—she’s jealous, by the way. It’s usually at that point in the night that he wakes her, by way of opening a vein. Not the most pleasant of wakeups, she’ll admit.

He’s gotten much better at knowing when enough is enough at least. Credit where credit is due, or something.

“Did you want to just do this now?” Ashe hesitates to ask, looking over at him. She knows it’s early, but this way she can sleep through the night unbitten. This way, she can be more aware during it.

Why she wants to be is something she doesn’t dwell on too much. The answer might prove concerning on a personal level. Ashe likes to ignore that level.

“Hm?” He blinks, humming in questioning like he didn’t quite catch what she said, mind elsewhere.

Her small fingers climb up her shoulder and find the strap of her tank top. She pulls it to the side and lolls her head the opposite direction, neck elongating. A delicate curve with a thumping pulse. Keeping her eyes on him—tired as they are—she says, “I just figured now seemed as good a time as any? The camp is quiet. You… did want to feed, didn’t you?”

Realization quickly gives way to a look of heady satisfaction on Astarion. Anticipation. She is offering herself to him, albeit early, and the expression on his face alone tells her yes, he’s appreciative of this. “Of course, of course, far be it for me to deny your… generosity. I was simply taken aback by the early hour is all.”

“I—I mean it’s not a big deal either way,” she says quickly. “If you wanted to wait for some reason, that’s fine. I just figured since everyone seems to be asleep or occupied anyway, we could just do it now. Sometimes waking up like that can be, mm… a little jarring?”

“Oh?” This actually puts a crease between his brow as his eyes flit over her. It’s almost unnerving, the rare occasions his concern seems genuine like this.

“Which is fine!” Ashe fumbles to assure. “It’s nothing I haven’t agreed to.”

His head tilts to the side, eyes appraising her carefully now. Studying her. “Should I be going about it differently, darling?”

“I… I don’t know… maybe? I wouldn’t mind trying something else, anyway,” she admits, picking at her cuticles. “I-I think if I were a little more alert when you actually bit me, it might be less, erm, alarming?”

“Well, I certainly don’t mean for you to be awoken in a fright. I’ve only done it the way I have for the sake of discretion and timeliness for you, but I’m more than happy to… revise the process—with your input, of course.”

“Okay,” Ashe agrees. “Thank you, I—yeah, we can try that.”

“Good.” He smiles. “Now, how would you like me to go about it then?”

Ashe blinks at him. “I—" Her brain is entirely, annoyingly blank. As it turns out, knowing what she doesn’t want and knowing what she does want are two very different things. “I’m… not sure...?”

Astarion hums in consideration, gears turning behind those luminous eyes of his. “Well, how about this,” he proposes, setting his own book aside. “Why don’t you lie down. Get yourself all cozy and relaxed as if you were asleep, and we can work through some options together. I do have some thoughts. Think of it as a little… oh, I don’t know, a roleplay exercise.”

“A-Alright,” she agrees with a nod, swallowing thickly as she lies back, not entirely sure what he means, but trusts that he knows what he’s doing. “Yeah. That’s—okay, yeah. That sounds like a good idea, I think.”

“You’re going to hurt my ego sounding so surprised like that, you know.” He gives her a chastising look as he moves languidly to position himself over her.

She’d normally have something borderline rude and/or snappy to retort with. Your ego is that fragile, is it? But right now, he’s leaning far too close for her brain to function on that level. “Sorry,” is all she manages in a whisper, not quite able to look him in the eye.

He lets a breath of a laugh from his nose, looking down at her. “Not to criticize your form, dear, but I’ve seen split lumber more relaxed than this.”

“I’m sorry—I just,” she huffs, grumbly in her admission, “You’re making me nervous. I don’t know.”

“Nervous?” he chuckles quietly, settling in even closer. “There’s no need for that. Your job is simple. I’ll be making some… suggestions, and all your pretty little self needs to do is decide if they suit your liking.”

Her mouth slants to the side as she chews on her cheek, regarding him and not feeling like he’s being terribly disingenuous right now, which is nice. “That’s all?” she questions.

“That’s all. You have my word.”

“Okay,” she breathes, letting the tension leave her as best she can.

“Much better. Now, you don’t normally sleep with your eyes open, if I recall correctly?”

After a quick indignant huff, she shuts her eyes.

Leaning over her, he keeps himself propped up. “Keep them closed,” he murmurs. “For as long as you think you’d stay asleep, keep them closed, darling.”

She says nothing, just continues to lie still in response. The small, approving hum in his throat makes her think it’s the correct response.

“Now…” he whispers, shifting to hover over her even more. “What if I let you know that I was here like this… with a little gentle pressure.” His movements have a cat-like grace as he swings a leg over her, his knee finding purchase in the space between hers. He settles atop her with a saccharine promise, “Nothing painful. Just my body to yours.”

Ashe does all she can to stay calm, lips pressed together tightly, a measured breath shaking out of her nose. Because right now his thigh presses to a spot between her legs and it’s talking all of her to resist the instinct to move against it. To push her hips up and find relief on that leather-clad thigh of his.

A way to ease the fire suddenly burning inside her.

“Well?” Astarion murmurs, and his face is so close to her ear now. “Are we okay with this so far?”

Ashe has to swallow before deciding to just nod. She worries too much about how she’ll sound. What her voice might give away.

“Good,” he purrs, lips just ghosting over the shell of her ear. “You know, I usually try to stay off you as much as possible, but this position gives me much better leverage.”

He takes a moment to inhale slowly. Deeply. Is he… smelling her? If so, the satisfied exhale he looses makes her think he likes it. Nosing at the crook of her jaw, he coaxes it to tilt to the side, leaving her neck undeniably exposed to him.

“There,” he breathes, “that’s perfect.”

Ashe can’t help it. She cracks her eyes open to look up at him. He’s staring down at her just as she suspected, and a smirk crawls across his face as he notices her peek.

“Surely that wasn’t enough to wake you yet, my dear,” he questions.

“I… don’t know.” Her voice is small and airy. Her tongue moves behind her lips in an attempt to find to moisture.

“Well then,” he contemplates aloud, eyes like perfect jewels as the reflection of embers shine within them. “I suppose I’ll just have to continue until you do, hm?”

Her stare latches onto his for a moment longer, wondering what exactly she’s getting herself into, and moreover, if it’s worth it. With a reluctant nod she apparently decides it is, closing her eyes once again.

“Here’s what I’m thinking…” Astarion dips down. She can feel each whisper of breath against the thin skin of her neck. “I’ll linger here like this. Let you feel my weight. Let it slowly rouse you.” He settles further as if to make a point and—

Gods… Gods above, does he realize where his thigh is? Can he understand what it’s doing to her?

He continues on as if he doesn’t, she’s not so sure about that though. There’s something dark in his voice that straddles the line of hunger and fed. Something insatiable.

“Then… I’ll let you know where I’ll be biting you. Mark the spot, so to speak… no surprises, on my word.” Astarion leans in, hovering over the curve of her neck. Her breathing halts entirely as she waits in nervous anticipation. His tenor sinks low, hardly even a whisper, “Right here, darling.” He punctuates it with a slow, sweet press of his lips to her rabbiting pulse.

And this… this is the thing that makes her breath hitch.

It’s slight. She keeps it contained in her nose, holding it there tensely. Her hand moves on its own, twitching to grab at his arm as if to steady herself, despite laying flat and still already.

His lips quirk at this. She can feel them against her, stretching into a smarmy little smirk like he’s just won a bet.

He lingers a moment like this—his cool skin somehow searing like a hot brand against her—and pulls away ever so slightly. “That’s good, just like that, darling,” he murmurs, the simple praise flooding her face and, um, other areas… with a rush of heat. “You hold onto me and keep quiet. I’ll go on, and… once you feel awake. Once you feel… ready for me,” his voice dips into this low, almost-purr, “you just give my arm a squeeze. That’ll be our signal.”

Ashe takes a deep breath through her nose. For a moment she thinks it’s fine. She can do this. Tamp down whatever bodily reactions are rapidly swelling within her. Sort them out later. Alone.

But then he moves back in and opens his mouth against her neck and—

Composure be damned.

The gentle scrape of canines raises goosebumps across her flesh like brail, and she prays he cannot read whatever it says about her. It runs an undeniable shiver down her spine that she only manages to partially subdue and—ah, his tongue, what the hells is his tongue doing?!

It presses to her pulse unabashedly. Flattens soft and lavs it as if begging for entry. Priming her.

Ashe’s breath stutters out in such a way that makes her chest jump with erratic little spasms. She tries so hard to subdue them with only mediocre success.

His teeth tease at what’s to come as he continues to lavish her neck with sweet, suckling affections. It’s like he’s drinking from her already, but no skin is broken yet. This part isn’t for him.

It’s as he said, he’s just marking the spot.

She nearly lets slip a hot, panting breath. Nearly.

Don’t make this weird. Don’t make this weird. Don’t make this weird.

Her lips press into a tight line, forcing a stuttering exhale from her nose instead. No embarrassing sounds allowed. No, sir. She is sleeping—or pretending to anyway—not panting like a dog in heat, thank you very much.

Oh, but it’s taking everything. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he seems amused by her resistance. Like she’s just posed a fun, unexpected challenge, and oh, how he loves a challenge.

Humming low and quiet against her, he sounds coaxing. Soothing. He sucks and nips at her flesh tenderly like he knows she’s fighting to stay in control, and he wants to assure her it’s just fine to lose it.

With a hand laid on his bicep, her fingers curl around it, but don’t quite grasp. She should though, right? Squeeze him? Surely him sucking on her neck like this would be enough to rouse her, as he would say, then he can proceed to drink and they can be done.

But Gods, she doesn’t want to be done.

The way his body feels pressed to hers... His thigh still tempting her hips to roll up just to see what it would feel like. How very kind he’s being with that tongue that so often only gives a lashing.

She’s never felt a thing like this.

So she should stop him, yeah, but she doesn’t. It’s a selfish thing, to want more of this honeyed feeling pooling deep in her abdomen and spreading warm throughout. But he’s always telling her to be more selfish, so….

The weight of his body blankets her even more. Even heavier. He settles atop her further. It should be suffocating, but instead it feels… safe?

Is that stupid? Feeling especially safe beneath the vampire spawn charlaton about to feed from her?

Yeah, probably. But it doesn’t matter because just then he shifts. His thigh rubs deliciously against the heat between her legs and—ah… ahm—

She realizes with no small amount of horror that this little slip of a noise, barely a breath on the breeze, has come from her.

Worse yet, her hips move on their own, tip up to meet the broad plane of his thigh without so much as a fleeting thought. It’s a shy response. Experimental. A barely-there lift of her hips, just wondering at how it might feel.

Very good, by the way.

By the Gods, she needs to get a hold of herself. Shoot some frantic prayers to Tymora. If Ashe is lucky, Astarion will just assume all that was simply her, y’know, adjusting herself or something. As one does. All normal things.

And if she’s really lucky, she won’t do it again.

The last thing she needs is Astarion realizing the intensity of this ridiculous, unrequited crush she has on him. The absolute fool she is for him. How his mouth humming and lapping at her neck has all but unraveled her and so badly does she want to just unseal her lips and let his name fall from them.

Her hand grips his arm in a panic, suddenly in fear of what else her body might do if she doesn’t stop this.

That’s the signal. She knows that he knows because his ministrations come to a pause.

“Yes?” He pulls off enough to whisper against her neck and she feels his absence with a longing ache. “Feeling ready now, are we? Present and in control of our faculties?”

She wants to scoff. He’s awfully presumptuous about her stupid faculties. She certainly wouldn’t consider herself in control of much. Precisely why she needs him to proceed, like, now.

Squeezing at his arm once more, her fingertips sink into his lean muscle and stay like a vice grip, holding tightly in both confirmation and anticipation.

While her neck is still stretched out for him, her head tipped back and angled away for ease of access, she manages to shakily nod.

“I’d like to hear you say it, darling,” he murmurs low. “Just this once. Just to be sure. I only need to hear you say ‘yes’.”

Oh, of course he’s going to make her speak.

He really is evil.

As if her lips haven’t been sealed tight in a desperate attempt to keep any and all noises held at bay. After a thick, audible swallow, she manages to breathe out a flimsy, “Y-yes,” that sounds just as pathetic as she feared.

No time to dwell on it. There’s only a flicker of a second between her consent and his mouth bearing down on her once more. This part she knows well enough.

Or does she?

It’s different this time. He’s not chomping down on her like it’s a freaking timed trial. Some task to cross off his to-do list.

No, his teeth sink.

They ease into her languidly, like she’s something to savor tonight.

The pain is still there, sure, but she’s ready for that. What she’s not ready for is what comes with it—or more accurately, what far overshadows it.

What makes her back jolt into an arch and her chest press against his in surprise. What makes her let out a gasp and do everything in her meager power to hold back the litany of little puffs and noises begging to spill from her.

Astarion groans deeply like she really shouldn’t. Slips a hand beneath the small of her back and keeps her tightly against him as he continues to indulge in her, drinking and drinking like a desert-stranded man to an oasis.

Her hands search for him to hold onto, pawing blindly until they find his arms. The cotton sleeves of his shirt twist between her white-knuckled fingers.

He’s never had her like this. The way he lets the blood pump into his mouth and fill it. Lets it pool and spill a little—decadence—before he drinks it down.

The pain ebbs until she can hardly even find it amongst the waves of gasping pleasure washing over her. Pulling her under. Sweeping her off into the sweetest of undertows.

She’s slipping away and she couldn’t care less. Not of that, and not of her lips that finally fall ajar. The hitching sigh, surrendering from them just one thing—his name.

“Astarion.”

And that might be music to him because he redoubles his efforts. Tugs her tighter. Adjusts his jaw wider. Sinks his teeth deeper. Rolls his body against hers as he rakes his other hand into her hair to hold her still at this perfect angle.

She’s at his mercy—not something he’s known for.

She should be worried. Maybe a small part of her is. This is the most he’s ever drank from her, but it’s also the most incredible it’s ever felt.

As the strength saps from her grip and dark spots dance at the edges of her vision, she paws up his back until her fingertips are met with soft curls at the nape of his neck. Folding her fingers into them, she whispers another soft plea.

“Astar… star…” Her breath grows airy. It’s hard to even get a word out. Her fingertips feel numb as they gently comb through his hair—she’s always wanted to do that. “Star…?” She whimpers once more, scratching tiredly at his scalp. “Stop… please? Star?”

Suddenly he tears back with a startled gasp. Like a drowning victim sucking in their first breath as they come back to themselves.

Her head feels heavy, all swimmy as she stares up at him in a daze.

“Sorry,” he breathes, his face too blurry for her to make out any particular expression. “I… got a little lost there for a moment, but you seem alright, yes?” he asks, not without an anxious uptick. “Ashe?” he prompts when she doesn’t answer straight away, tucking a hand beneath the back of her head, angling her to look at him.

“Hm?” she hums absently, head lolling until he rights it again and pats her cheek to bring her to attention.

“Yes? You’re… alright, yes?”

“Oh, mhm, I’m—sorry, yeah, I’m just… a little light-headed… I think.” She blinks a few times, vision slowly swimming back into focus with Astarion front and center staring down at her. Now, maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but with the twinkling night sky as his backdrop, she thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever been.

She’s breathless. Speechless. Shameless in her staring adoration.

“You’re sure?” Astarion presses with an odd smirk, his brows knitting with something torn between uncertainty and amusement. She must be making a dumb face, but she doesn’t have it in her to care. “You’ve got this sort of, ehh… lobotomized look about you. Ugh, tell me you haven’t let Volo near you with that ice pick.”

“No…” she whispers absently, clearly distracted.

There’s not a single cloud in the sky that night. The only thing blocking the moon is Astarion’s stupidly pretty head, but the glow still radiates out from behind. Illuminates the wispy edges of his soft curls with this ethereal glow. It makes him look like an angel—damned deceitful lighting.

But right now, even amongst all the stars in the sky blinking down at her, he outshines them all.

“Beautiful,” she mumbles, thoughtlessly reaching out for his face like she’s in a trance and doesn’t realize how fully weird this is.

Astarion chuckles low in his throat. “You’re talking about me?” He questions as her hand clumsily finds him, feeling at his cheek like a blind person prepping to sculpt him. “Mm, well, perhaps you have your wits about you after all.”

Bold of him to assume. For the record, her wits seem to have gone on strike, and who knows when they’ll resume working.

“Ah hah, this really is a gift,” he says, clearly satisfied judging from how stares down at her. “Look how flushed you are for me, even still,” he brushes a knuckle over the apple of her blooming cheek, “even after I’ve had my fill. I must say, this was one of your better ideas, or at least… as long as it was good for you? Did you find this more… palatable?” he asks like he doesn’t already know. Like he couldn’t freaking tell.

He’s either toying with her or she did a better job than she gives herself credit for.

“I—yes,” she whispers with a swallow, still recovering from whatever daze he threw her in. ”It was fine.”

“Fine,” he repeats. Draws out the word with a tone just dripping with heady amusement, his smirk stretching into a smile. “I couldn’t agree more. It was quite fine indeed. We should do it again sometime—up to you of course.”

“Yes, I-I’ll—” she nods with a swallow, trying to string together a sentence with little luck, “yes, I’ll um, I’ll let you know.”

“Well, I look forward to it then,” he murmurs, leveling her gaze with those heavy-lidded eyes of his. “Sweet dreams then, darling.”

And with that he’s starting to shift off of her. She blinks up at him, absently touching her neck. Bringing her fingertips close to her face, they remind of her morning dew on roses. Wet and red.

“Oh? Did I miss some?” Astarion questions, his long fingers wrapping around her petite wrist.

Ashe stares in awe as he pulls her hand close. He leans in. Tethers her hazy gaze. Brings her fingers to his pouty lips and parts them to take her fingertips in his mouth. “Mm,” he hums, using his tongue to reclaim every bit of her that he’d left behind. “Your blood is even sweeter tonight, darling,” he says, finally returning her hand. She lets it fall to her neck once more, absently feeling at the two neat little wounds there. “No wonder I can’t get enough.”

When she glances at her fingertips again, a fresh daub of red adorning them, a thought occurs to her. A stupid, impulsive one.

“Wait.” Her voice is like gossamer silk, nearly floating off in the cool night breeze. Astarion waits.

Flush-faced and heavy-lidded, Ashe holds his gaze as she brings those fingers to her own mouth this time. He watches intently. Slowly now, she finds the corner of her lips. Presses down. Smears a pretty streak of glossy rouge across them.

“Oh,” Astarion murmurs with a roguish realization. “Oh, so that’s what you want.”

“If you want,” she whispers, a tinge of sadness peeking through, even in her mystified state.

He breathes out a laugh. “Why, I can’t think of a reason I wouldn’t want that.”

She smiles slow and somber, reaching out to take a curl between her fingers. She misses and nearly pokes him in the eye, but eventually finds one. “You’re just so beautiful, Astarion…” she exhales deeply, pulling her hand back to clumsily feel at the ugly scar blanketing nearly half her face. “And I’m just me.”

Astarion stares. There’s a flicker of some indiscernible expression tugging his brows together before his face takes on its usual wolfish humor.

“I mean this is the nicest way possible, darling, but for a smart girl, you can be rather lacking.”

She doesn’t respond because suddenly his mouth is on hers. One of his hands rakes through her hair to cup the back of her head and pull her up to better meet him.

Her lips part with a gasp as his tongue swipes languidly across them once. Twice. He cleans her blood from them with a satisfied noise humming low in his throat before pressing his lips flush to hers.

It nearly stops her heart.

He can’t possibly understand how long–how much–she’s wanted this. A shaky breath blusters from her nose as he holds the kiss. Draws it out. A whimpering sigh slips from her, vibrates against his lips, and he answers back with an approving groan.

When he pulls away, she can do nothing but blink at him like a hot-cheeked idiot. Despite her obvious lack of blood, it still manages to feel like it’s bursting in her chest.

“There,” he says, a devilish smirk playing across his lips. “All cleaned up and ready for bed, you precious thing.”

“Goodnight, Astarion,” is all she can whisper. Brain no function.

He lingers on her a moment longer with a thoughtful tilt of his head, expression unreadable, and says, “Indeed it is, my dear. Indeed it certainly is.” With that, he’s pushing to his feet and wishing her sweet dreams.

Ashe isn’t certain she’s not already in one.

#astarion/tav #astarion x tav #astarion/oc #astarion x oc #Astarion #astarion ancunin #bg 3 #baldur's gate 3 #fic snippets #fic wip #Ashe is my little dummy just let her be stupid and pat her on the head #Yeah this is her first kiss #Not that he knows that #who knows if I'll ever actually publish this fic but here

32 notes · View notes