#au!astarion x tav

[sfehvn]

the apprentice

Description: AU- An ambitious criminal justice major undertakes an internship at, arguably, the most noteworthy law firm in the country. Things don't go as she plans, as the title of intern to Astarion Ancunin is synonymous with personal assistant, apparently.

A/N: I've been so all over the place with what I'm working on writing-wise, but this has been deep in my drafts and I figured I'd set it loose. I was reading '30 Days' by Astarionhq on A03 and really took inspiration for my own modern twist on an Astarion/Tav love story. I linked their story above; please check it out! Also my obsession with the whole 'enemies to lovers' trope is totally not apparent, psh. There will be a lot of pining and eventual smut. I'll include content warnings in individual chapters if any apply. Enjoy!

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

Word count: 4,595 Characters: au!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

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Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The shrill sound prompted you to pull the heavy comforter over your head, willing away the sunbeams shining obnoxiously through your window. You groan as your hand smacks the wood of the nightstand haphazardly in a desperate attempt to stop the godawful noise coming from the alarm clock. Relief floods your senses as it finally ceases. You close your eyes and are on the precipice of sleep until realization dawns on you. 

Fuck.

You had already snoozed the alarm three times prior. Meaning you were going to be royally late. With adrenaline pumping through your veins, you toss the warm blankets off you and bolt from the bed, barely glancing at the clock's LED. You could make out the emboldened numbers through your sleep-recovering eyes. 

9:54

“Fuck. Fuck.” It was all that you managed as you darted around the room. In a flurry, you pull a black dress from your wardrobe. Making quick work of pulling off your pajamas, you slip it on hastily and step into your bathroom, carelessly sliding toothpaste over the bristles of your toothbrush before brushing your teeth. You pause, clamping down on the toothbrush with your teeth, bracing it as you lean down to secure the black heels to your feet that had been unceremoniously tossed aside on the bathroom floor the night before. Not typically the type to be late, of course the one time you were just so happened to be on the day that could make or break your professional career.

You push aside the self-berating for the time being as you rinse the paste from your mouth. Not having the time to shower now, you pull your long strands of hair into a high pony, carefully leaving out a few whisps of hair to frame your face. You had managed to make it out of your apartment before the clock struck ten, and hope bubbled in your chest at the thought that you may make this interview after all.

The bus you would have caught was long gone, so you jog the entire way. Juggling your purse, papers that included a resume, pages of references, and your phone to observe the time. You’re well aware of the disorganized mess you must look like as you stand in front of the receptionist’s desk. Chest heaving from the jog there, papers in disarray in your hands, the blonde woman behind the desk eyes you with a passing look of judgment, and the need to crawl into a hole and hide flits through your deflated ego. You give the woman your name, and she types it quickly and efficiently into the computer.

“I’m sorry, miss Tav.” The woman starts, “Mr. Ancunin has an eleven o’clock meeting. Your interview was scheduled for ten thirty. You’re nearly fifteen minutes late.” She looks up at you from her screen, and though she tries to appear sympathetic, the emotion is missing from her eyes. You glance at the clock above her head, stomach sinking to your toes.

10:43

“Right, yes. I completely understand. I had car troubles this morning and had to walk here; you know how crowded these sidewalks are.” You let out an awkward laugh, attempting to gain some level of relatability with the woman. She laughs wryly along with you, causing your face to visibly drop. “Listen, I-I really need this interview.” New approach: honesty. “Is there a later slot? I’d be happy to wait here all day if needed.” 

“A lot of people need this interview, miss Tav.” The woman is unfazed by your pleading tone. “Unfortunately, there will be no more slots for this particular internship. The final interviews will occur later today, and Mr. Ancunin is completely booked for six months. It’s safe to say he will have come to a decision by then.” 

Your shoulders drop. The sleepless nights of preparing, the references you had compiled from professors and other dignitaries alike, it didn’t matter. While, yes, you could always strive for another internship, Ancunin Associates was an elite law firm. In any case, you would have been guaranteed a job at any firm post-graduation had you completed this apprenticeship.

The woman is eyeing you expectantly, waiting rather impatiently for you to make your retreat. “Miss Tav, I will have to ask you to leave. Mr. Ancunin-“ 

You can barely hear her anymore as you make out the man passing through the large office. Walking with purpose past the tall, windowed walls overlooking the bustling city many floors below. His unnaturally silver hair is brushed back purposefully, leaving a few curls to swoop and fall over his forehead. Eyes that could only be described as honey pierced forward as if looking right through anyone who stood in his walking path. The finest of tailored suits adorned his figure, a figure you had no doubt was toned to the gods underneath. You recognized him from various news articles; he had been considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, after all.

You brush aside your musings, and adrenaline pumps through your veins. “Mr. Ancunin, my name is Tav. I had a ten-thirty interview for the open internship. I recognize I’m severely late, and I apologize, but I swear it is entirely out of character for me. Is there any possible chance I can fit into your schedule later today?” 

He halts, staring at you with an indistinguishable look from across the office. You nearly regret speaking up to 

him as he scrutinizes you. You can feel those golden eyes of his scanning over you, and you fight the urge to falter under it. You remain unmoving, trying to appear like you belong. His eyes are fixed on your chest for a passing moment, and the need to cover your frame burns through you.

“A bold one, hm?” His tone is teasing, though his face still holds firm. “Late and less than presentable. Does all of your clothing have those stains on them?” He gestures towards your chest, where he had previously been staring. You finally glance down and are met with a small white stain in the center of your chest. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed at this point, but instead of backing down, you shift the papers you held against your bosom, hiding the marred fabric from his eyes. You made a mental note that the next time you found yourself late to an important meeting, perhaps you should ensure toothpaste wasn’t all over you before leaving home.

“Mr. Ancunin, ten minutes of your time is all I need. Please.” He didn’t visibly react to your pleading, and his face remained stone-cold.  The silence was deafening. The only sound you could make out was the thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

“Clear my eleven o’clock.” He says simply without addressing you, looking at the blonde woman you had just spoken to. “Come.” His words were firm. He turns on his heel towards the office he had just emerged from, silently expecting you to follow. You quietly breathe a sigh of relief as you oblige. A sleek black desk with an expensive-looking chair sat behind it in the center of the room. He holds out a hand, gesturing to one of the two armchairs in front of the desk, overlooking the large windows behind his chair. You silently obey his command, crossing your legs over one another as you wait for him to speak once more.

There’s a deafening silence as he eyes you, hands folded and resting in his lap once he’s sat down across from you. Mouth opening to speak, you close it when he holds his hand out in a quiet bid for the papers you had been holding. You wordlessly hand over your resume and references, and he scans the pages with an unreadable expression. The quiet stretches, and you fidget nervously in your seat, wishing you knew what was happening in his mind.

Finally, he looks up, those golden eyes locking onto yours. "Tav, is it?" he asks, his tone revealing nothing.

"Yes, sir. And I apologize again for my tardiness. It's not a reflection of my usual professionalism." You reply, trying to maintain a professional composure.

"Hm." He murmurs, leaning back in his chair. "Your credentials are impressive, Tav. Top of your class, stellar recommendations. But I'm curious—what makes you think you can manage this apprenticeship?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "Mr. Ancunin, I understand punctuality is crucial, and I take full responsibility for my tardiness today. However, my dedication, work ethic, and ability to adapt under pressure make me a valuable candidate for this position. I've faced challenges in the past and have consistently proven my commitment to overcoming them. I'm not one to let a setback define my capabilities."

A white eyebrow quirks in response, a smug look on his features. “Clearly. The tired university student you are, I presume you know how to make one hell of a cup of coffee?”

“I-” You start, feeling yourself shrink under his gaze. “Yes.” You murmur, brows pulling together in confusion.

He leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his honey-pooled eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How about laundry?”

“Mr. Ancunin, no disrespect intended at all, sir-” You start.

“Astarion.” He says flatly.

“What?” Your voice catches in your throat, causing the word to shake as it leaves your lips.

“Call me Astarion.”

“Right, uh, Astarion,” You corrected. “I was hoping for an internship that would assist my legal career in flourishing. I didn’t anticipate I would be a personal assistant.” Your words trail.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “What a shame. I suppose there are many less desirable internships for you to pick from.”

Your mind races as you process the unexpected turn of events. Astarion's gaze remains fixed on you, a challenging glint in his eyes. You weigh your options, considering the potential impact on your career aspirations.

Taking a deep breath, you respond with a measured tone, "Astarion, I appreciate the opportunity to interview for this internship, and I am genuinely passionate about pursuing a legal career. However, I believe my skills and dedication would be best utilized in a legal capacity rather than as a personal assistant. I've worked diligently to excel in my academic pursuits and gain valuable experience in the legal field, and I'm eager to contribute those skills."

He tilts his head, the smirk on his face deepening. "Ambition, I like that. But you see, Tav, I value versatility. A good legal mind is undoubtedly crucial, but navigating the intricacies of the legal world often requires more than just legal acumen. It requires adaptability, resourcefulness, and an understanding of the broader aspects of the business. Consider this a test of your ability to handle the unexpected."

You take a moment to absorb his words, recognizing the challenge he's presenting. The internal debate intensifies within you — compromise for the sake of opportunity or stand firm on your premise. After a brief pause, you choose your words carefully, "I'm eager to prove my versatility and dedication to this role. If this is the path you believe will showcase my abilities, I am open to embracing the challenges it presents."

Astarion's eyes narrow slightly as if assessing the sincerity of your response. "Very well, Tav. We'll start with a trial period. Consider today's events as part of your initiation. Now, as for the legal matters, we'll get to those as the internship progresses. But for now, let's see how you handle some of the more... practical aspects of the job.” 

You nod numbly, and you’re confident you look silly sitting there with your mouth slightly ajar from the whiplash of the situation at hand. 

Astarion leans back, seemingly satisfied with your response. He gestures for you to follow him once again as he stands, leading you through a maze of offices and hallways in the prestigious law firm. As you walk beside him, you can't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and determination. This internship might not be unfolding as you envisioned, but you're determined to prove yourself in whatever capacity necessary.

The two of you eventually arrive at what appears to be a spacious lounge area, complete with an elegant coffee machine. It's clear that Astarion's definition of versatility extends beyond legal matters.

"Now, Tav," he begins, "We'll start with a simple task. Make me a cup of coffee."

You nod, moving towards the coffee machine. While you might be more accustomed to preparing legal briefs, you're not one to shy away from a challenge. As you navigate the machine's buttons, you glance over at Astarion, who has taken a seat in the lounge area.

The machine whirs to life, and you focus on measuring the coffee grounds and water precisely. A sense of determination fuels your movements. Astarion watches you intently, his unreadable expression giving away little.

Once the cup is filled with the scorching liquid, you reach for the creamer and halt your movements as he speaks again. “Black.” You turn to hand him the mug, seemingly awaiting his approval as he sips from the cup. You fidget with your hands in front of you, eyeing him with the same scrutiny he had watched you with earlier in your encounter.

He does not note on the coffee you had readied for him; instead, he is fishing into his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys, handing them to you. “You are aware of the apartments on Oleander, correct?”

Taking the keys into your hands, you gaze down at them in confusion. Of course, you knew that only the most affluent resided in them. There was a sinking suspicion of where this was going deep in your gut.

“Mine is the penthouse at the very top. You will do my laundry and clean it until it is sparkling. Understood?”

There was a new feeling sated into your bones. Anger. Not to mention the fact that he expected you to go into his home when he was not present. “I don’t feel this arrangement would be very professional.” You fire back, trying to hide the malice dripping in your tone. He was toying with you.

Astarion’s eyes still held that teasing gleam as he spoke. “That’s undoubtedly alright. We have many other candidates coming in later today. I’m sure one of them would be up to the task.”

You close your eyes briefly, taking in a large breath of air in order to keep yourself calm. You open them once more, smiling wryly down at him. “I’d be happy to.” You mutter through gritted teeth.

“Brilliant.” Astarion states, standing from his seated position. He sets the mug down on an end table. “Oh, and do try to improve on your coffee-making abilities. That was rather lackluster.” 

How the fuck do you mess up black coffee?

There was no doubt left in your mind about what he was doing. You needed this internship, though, and you were prepared to go to questionable lengths to secure it. “Of course.” You deadpanned, no amusement left on your face. What an arrogant bastard.

“You can keep that set.” Astarion gestured to the keys in your hand. “I expect you’ll be done before I return home. I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning.” The smirk never left his smug face as he spoke. He departs the room, surely to whatever big meeting is next on his agenda. Perhaps to terrorize someone else. You’re left standing there, dumbfounded at how wrong this entire day seemed to be going. 

As Astarion strides away, leaving you with the keys and the absurd task ahead, a maelstrom of thoughts swirls through your mind. You glance down at the keys in your hand, a symbolic link to the penthouse on Oleander that you are now responsible for. The weight of the situation settles on your shoulders, mixing with the frustration and determination that courses through your veins.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your composure. This might not be the internship you envisioned, but it's an opportunity nonetheless. You remind yourself of the stakes, the prestige of Ancunin Associates, and the potential doors this internship could open. Swallowing your pride, you decide to tackle the tasks ahead with a professional mindset. Even if he was not.

–

You hadn’t anticipated spending your day cleaning some corporate asshole’s million-dollar penthouse, yet here you were. No doubt, he had to have staff for this. So why was it being made your problem? The penthouse wasn’t anything that you weren’t expecting. It looked like it had been taken straight out of a catalog, and it seemed to be missing any warmth. There was nothing hung on the stark white walls, aside from small discreet security cameras tucked into the corners. You wondered briefly if he was watching you and decided he had to be. You were a complete stranger he had sent into his home by yourself. You mutter an expletive quietly, toeing off your heels by the front door. A few dishes are in the sink, and you figure that to be the best place to start.

As you tackle the dishes, the silence of the penthouse is only broken by the occasional distant hum of city life far below. The gleaming surfaces and pristine environment reflect the meticulous nature of the man who owns this place. You can't shake the feeling that every move you make is being observed by Astarion himself or by the unassuming security cameras.

While you scrub away at the plates, your mind replays the unusual turn of events. How did a promising legal internship morph into a personal assistant role with a side of housekeeping duties? The anger you felt towards the man came back in full force. You were well aware that you were being taken advantage of, but the need to prove yourself to Astarion gnawed at you either way. 

Think of the years of schooling, Tav. Of who you plan to be after graduation. You silently reminded yourself. 

As you navigate the unfamiliar kitchen, you spot a sleek tablet on the countertop. It seems to control various aspects of the penthouse – lights, temperature, and security. You make a mental note to familiarize yourself with it, realizing that understanding the intricacies of Astarion's living space might become essential.

The pristine silence is suddenly interrupted by the chime of an incoming message on the tablet. You approach it cautiously, noting Astarion's name on the notification. With a sense of trepidation, you open the message.

"Ensure you clean the living room thoroughly. I'll be hosting a small gathering there tonight. Impress me."

His words are concise, leaving you with a sense of urgency. The mundane task of washing dishes has evolved into preparing a high-profile space for an event you weren't aware of until now. A twinge of frustration simmers beneath the surface, but you push it aside, noting that you had only a few hours before the sun began to set.

You move from the kitchen to the living room, carefully dusting surfaces and arranging furniture to meet an unspoken standard of perfection. The penthouse, already immaculate, undergoes another level of scrutiny under your watchful eyes. You can't help but feel a sense of absurdity, thinking that a legal intern's day would involve ensuring the alignment of decorative pillows and the spotless shine of a glass coffee table.

As the day progresses, you are caught between bouts of irritation and determination. The controlled environment of Ancunin Associates has given way to the uncharted territory of Astarion's penthouse. The duality of your responsibilities — legal intern and personal assistant — blurs lines, leaving you grappling with the unexpected.

Stumbling into Astarion’s bedroom, you narrow your eyes at the scene before you. It was a change from who you had come to anticipate him as. Clothes were tossed carelessly to the ground, and upon further inspection, you were under the impression that one of these shirts could pay two months of your rent. You huff, gathering the misplaced clothes into your arms and setting them aside to be washed. You made quick work of putting his bed together, fluffing pillows, and tidying the sheets and blankets. 

Stepping into the bathroom adjoined to the bedroom, you prepare to toss out the small trash bin. Your eyes narrow, and you make a sound of disgust at the sight. Two used condoms were the only contents.

There’s no way in hell I’m touching that.

You grumble as you step back out of the bathroom, flicking the light off in your wake. You would settle on simply putting Astarion’s clothes in the washer and heading out. Surely he wouldn’t expect anything more of you? You had already spent hours here.

However, as you return to the living room, the notification chime on the tablet draws your attention again. Another message from Astarion, and the words cut through your plans this time.

"Make sure you check the bedroom and bathroom. Attention to detail is crucial. I trust you won't disappoint."

Your frustration spikes, but you suppress it, realizing that your choices in this matter are limited. Taking a deep breath, you return to the bathroom. You need this apprenticeship, Tav.

You gather the courage to dispose of the used condoms, not allowing yourself to dwell on the

contents of them. The situation's absurdity is not lost on you – an intern scrubbing someone else's bathroom, particularly a man of Astarion's means. You felt as if you were living in a movie.

The sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow through the expansive windows of the penthouse. Your eyes sweep the living room, confirming that it meets the standards Astarion expects for his gathering. Despite the challenging nature of the day, a slight sense of accomplishment settles within you. You may not have expected to play the role of a personal assistant, but you've embraced the challenge and proven your ability to adapt.

As you prepare to leave, the tablet chimes again, signaling a final message from Astarion.

"Lock up behind yourself. Be ready for a full day tomorrow. We have much to discuss."

The weight of the day lingers as you walk home. The anger festers in your chest, though you try not to indulge it. This couldn’t have been the first time Astarion has taken advantage of having a desperate college student under his thumb. You can’t help but think the people who had deemed this to be one of the best internships for criminal justice are full of shit. You grumble in distaste, your feet feeling as if they’re on fire from the miles you were walking back to your shithole apartment on the south side of town, ten miles from Astarion’s penthouse. At this rate, you had been walking for an hour and a half, yet you were only halfway there.

You lean down, slipping the high heels off of your burning feet and cradle them in your arms.

The cool night air hits your face as you continue your journey, heels in hand. The events of the day play over and over in your mind, and the determination to prove yourself mingles with the frustration of the unconventional tasks assigned to you. As you approach your apartment building, a mix of exhaustion and frustration boils deep in your chest. 

Opening the door to your modest apartment, you let out a heavy sigh. The contrast between Astarion's penthouse and your own space is stark, but a sense of resilience fuels your spirit. You toss the heels you had been holding aside and head straight to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Disheveled hair, tired eyes, but an unmistakable fire within them.

“Finally home?” A voice rings out, and you see Shadowheart leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, dangling two empty glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I figured we could celebrate.” You sigh, leaning against the bathroom sink and turning to face her. She raises her eyebrows, wiggling the bottle in a way that wordlessly says, ‘you know you want to’. You did, but your knees felt weak under your weight and your calves burned to the hells. 

“I’m not even sure if there is anything to celebrate.” You snort in response, shooting her an apologetic look. She finally takes note of just how tired you truly looked, and her shoulders slumped. 

“You didn’t get it? I just assumed since you were gone all day.” Shadowheart furrows her brows. “What happened?”

“No, I did get it. I think.” You huff, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Though it’s not at all what I expected.”

Shadowheart sits on the edge of your bed, listening as you fill her in on the day's events. The arrogance of the one and only Astarion Ancunin. “So he has you cleaning his house? I mean, truthfully, the coffee thing isn’t totally unheard of. But his used condoms?” She makes a sound of distaste deep in her throat, screwing her face up to match her tone of disgust. 

“I’m a mess, Shadow.” You mutter, retreating from the bathroom in a fresh change of pajamas. The thought of spending a second more cleaning up his messes filled you with dread and, after knowing Astarion for only a day, you knew with full certainty that your distaste for the man would only grow.

“Was he as hot as the tabloids make him look?” She asks teasingly.

“Really?” You mutter, accepting the now-filled glass as you sit back into the pillows on your bed.

“What?” Shadowheart chuckles. “I’m just saying it may be more manageable if you’ve got eye candy to look at while you spend your days doing his laundry.” Her tone was teasing, though you knew there was a hint of truth in her tone.

The groan that left your lips was exasperated, bringing the wine glass to your lips and accepting the bitterly sweet liquid as it rolled over your tongue.

As you sip the wine, a mix of exhaustion and frustration settles within you. Shadowheart's attempt to lighten the mood brings a small smile to your face, but the reality of the situation looms large. The taste of the wine is a welcome reprieve, a momentary escape from the days to come with Astarion Ancunin ordering you about.

Nevertheless, the conversation with Shadowheart provides a brief respite. “He looks like a god if I’m being honest.” You finally admit with a slight chuckle. “Like he’s been cut straight from stone. He just so happens to be the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.” 

You finish your glass and return it to her, smiling gratefully as she takes it. “You just so happen to be the toughest girl I know. It’s, what, a six-month internship? Just keep your eyes on the prize, Tav.” She reassures before letting out a yawn of her own. “That being said, I’ve got to be up early myself. I’ll make sure you’re actually awake before I leave.” Shadowheart says pointedly.

Once she leaves, you relax into your duvet, eyes closing as relaxation settles into your bones for the first time since you’d sprung out of bed that morning. No, nothing had gone particularly how you had hoped. Shadowheart’s words stoked the burning fire of ambition inside of you, and you felt eternally grateful to call her your friend.

Just keep your eyes on the prize, Tav.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #x reader #tav #reader #au!astarion x tav #au!astarion x reader #au #au!astarion

[angiemaniac]

The Durge Companion AU - Reaction to the dying Mindflayer

Option 1

Option 2

First: Begin here!

Previously: Chapter 2

Next: Chapter 4 coming soon

16 PAGES of two different paths! I wanted to see Durge react to the Mindflayer since he got inspiration from killing it.

Apologies this took a while. Personal stuff happened at home, and now I gotta job hunt. A Patre0n will be made to help support me and future art. For the mean time, I have a K0fi for anyone interested below for tips

EDIT: Patreon and Discord have been made!

#my art #bg3 #dark urge #durge #the dark urge #durgetav #astarion #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate tav #tav #oc: tavella #oc: tav #tavella #dragonborn #tiefling #durge companion au #durge bg3 #bg3 durge #tav x durge #durge x tav

[frantic-fiction]

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone. 

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart. 

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes. 

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity. 

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion. 

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines. 

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression. 

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room. 

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

*

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense. 

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

*

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.” 

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering. 

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

[comatosebunny09]

Okay, but modern art!student Tav infatuated with the milky-skinned, nude model they often sketch for class.

Even though the other students fawn over how unnaturally beautiful Astarion is, Tav always finds their eyes interlocking over their classmates’ murmurs. He always bears a playful, knowing smirk, and his gaze is soft sometimes when he looks at them as if he has the weakest spot for Tav and Tav alone.

Whenever Tav sketches the tattoo seemingly branded into his back into their notebook, they can’t help getting hit with random bouts of deja vu. Like they’ve known this model in a past life, though they can’t quite figure out the how’s and when’s of it. And the other students can’t understand why Astarion, in turn, is so taken by Tav.

Edit: I scribbled something last night.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #soulmate au #past lovers #astarion x you #bg3 #bg3 astarion

[meowsgirldrawing]

Batstarion 👌

Some with the twins (His dhampire kiddos)

Btw, this is part of the au that Astarion can turn into a bat without the ascended thing. As much as I love ascended Astarion's alternate sides, spawn Astarion is more my style personally. Especially when he's with his little bat pups. (～￣▽￣)～

#art #digital art #oc inserts #oc x canon #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate oc #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate fanart #astarion acunin #baldur's gate tav #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 astarion #dhampir #domestic au #batstarion

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Six

Summary:

Astarion surprises you with a night at the theatre that doesn't go quite according to your plan.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.7k Tags/Warnings: rough/angry sex, hair pulling, emotional manipulation, dubcon, bad BDSM practices, angst, daddy kink, reminiscent of Ascended!Astarion, discussions of domestic abuse (in Taming of the Shrew)

Hi. Hello. My sweets. My darlings. This is it. The chapter where you absolutely must mind the tags. Just know that I won't take you anywhere that we won't be able to come back from. Know that I, too, am an absolute baby when it comes to intense subject matter in fics. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. As always, shoot me a message if you'd like more specifics.

Photo credits: Zaria for Green Pussy Suit Astarion and Nephi Garcia for the incredible dress.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“In the library? Babes, are you insane?” Shadowheart's voice reaches a pitch you’re fairly sure only dogs can hear. You curl your knees into your chest and cover your face in your hands, feeling the exact appropriate amount of shame.

“I know, I know. All logic goes out the fucking window around him. All I can think is ‘mm, good dick makes brain go brr.’” You let out a frustrated sigh into your hands.

“Do you want to get fired?” She pulls your hand from your face so you can't hide from her pointed stare.

“Oh trust me, I ran about forty different scenarios of that happening through my head on the drive home.”

“Did you, now? And in how many of these did he also get fired?” Shadowheart presses, knowing how your anxiety can get out of hand.

“Like, two,” you groan and drop your head back onto the couch cushions. “I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I can't tell him no.”

“Wait, wait.” Shadowheart grips your knee, suddenly worried. “You can't tell him no as in it feels too good to stop? Or as in it doesn't feel safe to say no?”

“Nine hells, no, the first one!” you respond, horrified. She squints at you and you squirm under her gaze until you’re finally more truthful, both with her and yourself. “Well, I mean, mostly. Like it's not like that. But like also not not like that, you know?”

“I can assure you I do not,” she says in a flat voice, not interested in joking around. You sigh dramatically, trying to find the right words to describe how you feel.

“Like. Okay. Am I fully consenting to everything we do? Yes. 100%. Oh gods, yes.” Your cheeks tinge pink even thinking about it. “But like… am I going against my best judgment? Do I feel like I should say no? Does part of me kinda wish I would say no? Like… maybe?”

“Tav, that's not okay. You need to talk to him about this.” Shadowheart’s voice is soft with genuine worry. Which is ridiculous, because she’s focusing on the wrong thing.

“No, see, that's the thing. It's not actually a him issue, it's a me issue. Like there's something wrong with me, I see his most toxic traits and suddenly I'm like a horny teenager!” Your voice increases in pitch as you grow more hysterical. “How am I supposed to call him out on it when the only words that will come out of my mouth are ‘yes daddy, more please’?”

“Is there anything redeemable about him at all? Besides being good in bed?” She leans back, taking a sip of her wine and fixing you with an incredulous look. 

“I mean… yeah. He’s witty, and bantering back and forth with him is fun. He’s incredibly smart, as loath as I am to admit it, and I like hearing his ideas on things, especially his interpretation of Shakespeare’s text.” You don't even notice the smile growing on your face, but Shadowheart does. “And he’s got this unexpectedly soft side. Like he seems cold and aloof on the outside, but he cares, deeply. About his students, about his cat, about-”

“About you?” she interjects, and your smile falters.

“I don't know, Shade,” you say quietly, almost ashamed to look her in the eye. “I think so. I hope so. But it's not like we've been seeing each other for that long, he’s under no obligation to feel anything.” You practically swallow the last sentence, a truth you're reticent to voice. 

“And you?” she asks softly.

“Man, I don't fucking know. I just want to keep getting laid and not catch feelings, is that so much to ask?” you whine. She laughs, but you can tell that she's only humoring you.

“For you? Probably.”

***

It's been several days and your busy schedules have kept you and Astarion apart for most of it. Save the occasional tension-filled passing in the hall, you've barely interacted at all. You're almost beginning to believe that your whirlwind affair has come to an end when you find a mystery package at your apartment door.

It's made out to you with no discernable return address. You bring the box into your apartment while examining it, trying to ascertain its origin. It doesn't even really look like it was sent through the mail, it looks like it was dropped off.

You take out your phone and call down to the front desk. It rings a few times, then a somber voice answers.

“What dost thou require?” His voice is deep and crackled, like some ancient eternal being.

“Hi Withers, it's Tav in 3C. Do you know anything about this package that was left at my door?”

“I have inspected it, and determined it safe for you to open. It was brought by someone claiming to be a friend.”

“Can you tell me anything about this someone?”

“No.”

And the line goes dead. You laugh and shake your head. If Withers says it's safe, then it probably is. You’d trust that wrinkly old man with your life, honestly. You cut open the tape sealing the box shut and lift off the top.

Inside is something wrapped in tissue paper with a note stuck to it in Astarion's immaculate handwriting. 

Tomorrow evening The Rosewood Seven o’clock Wear nothing underneath

You let out a small involuntary moan when you read the last three words. You carefully unwrap the tissue paper to find a fabric that looks like it's made of starlight. You pull out the midnight black dress and go slightly breathless when you get a good look at it. 

It’s a backless dress with a sweetheart neckline and intricate gold embellishments that almost make it look like armor. It has a lavish gold neck piece attached by several gold chains that drip over the skin. The skirt is made of a weightless black fabric that shimmers with gold as you move it in the light. It almost appears to be cut into two panels with dual hip-high slits.

With a dress cut like this, you wouldn't be able to wear undergarments even if you wanted to.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about what he might have in store for you. You're not even sure what's running at the Rosewood right now, but it could be complete trash and you wouldn't even care. You probably won't even be able to pay attention, too distracted by Astarion sitting next to you for two hours.

You feel a pulsing between your legs at the thought. You think of his hand sliding up your knee while you struggle to keep a straight face. Or him reaching an arm around you, gently sliding his fingers into your hair before giving it a sharp tug.

Another moan works its way out of your throat and you follow it up with an annoyed groan. You can really get swept up at the most inconvenient times. It’s not like you don’t have any work you need to do or anything. You roll your eyes as you stalk off to draw a bath.

***

Waiting in the lobby of the theater, you’re feeling surprisingly nervous. The dress, though beautiful, is not particularly comfortable. With all of its various chains and pieces, you needed Shadowheart’s help just to put it on. It helps that she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to hair and makeup, so in truth you feel positively glamorous. 

When you see Astarion, however, everything goes silent. You’re certain that he’s posing for you the way he’s stopped to adjust his cuff. The cut of the suit he’s wearing is exceptionally flattering and you imagine running your hands all over the emerald velvet. His crisp white button down is almost sheer and you desperately want to pull him into you by that forest green silk tie. 

But you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. This is the first time you've seen him wear makeup, and the simple smokey eyeliner look makes his red irises pop. He’s decided to forgo his glasses, presumably opting for contacts instead to show off the makeup. He’s also swapped out his standard silver hoops for little daggers with a red rhinestone glimmering at the hilt. 

He looks up at you the moment you lay eyes on him, or more specifically, the moment your heart starts to beat out of your chest. He flashes you a devastating smile before striding up to you and pulling you into a deep kiss. You can’t even be bothered to care that the other patrons are probably staring as he slides his hand onto your bare lower back, his cool touch sending a shiver up your spine.

He pulls away from you just enough to breathlessly ask, “Are you ready to sit down?”

“Huh?” You’re distracted, too busy plotting a mental path to the bathrooms to fuck him. He lets out a winded chuckle.

“The play. House is open, would you care to find our seats?” His palm is still pressed against your back and you can barely form coherent thoughts. You still don’t even know what play you’re here to see. You just want—no, need—to be near him.

“Um, yeah,” you respond, still trying to get your bearings and remind yourself how to be a person. You let him lead you into the theater, and only once you're in your seats do you realize that neither of you grabbed a program. You pull out your phone to see if you can look it up, but service in the Rosewood is notoriously bad. Instead you just need to sit still next to Astarion, who looks like a dream and smells even better. 

He glances at you as your heart quickens again and his lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand behind your neck and lightly runs his finger along the seam between the golden collar of the dress and your flesh, sending goosebumps down your arms. He leans toward you until his lips are almost brushing your ear. 

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he whispers, his breath tickling your earlobe. You turn your face toward him on instinct, your chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. Your lips hover inches apart, anticipating the kiss, when suddenly a throng of noisy actors come barreling down the aisles. You snap away from Astarion as the cacophony of their shrieks of laughter, calls across the audience to one another, and drunken banter fill the house.

One of them clambors onto the stage and shouts, “For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!” He’s dressed in rags and appears by far to be the drunkest of them all. Three servingmen swarm him with various shouts of, “Will’t please your honor?” He shoves them all away and proudly takes up space center stage.

“I am Christophero Sly! Call not me ‘Honor’ nor ‘Lordship,’” he bellows as the rest of the players make their way onto the stage.

Christopher Sly… you’re wracking your brain to remember which play he serves as a framing device for. Most productions cut this scene because it’s long and completely irrelevant. You just can’t for the life of you remember which play he appears in.

The scene continues with their drunken antics and slapstick comedy as the players address Sly as “my noble lord,” making him believe he’s a king that they’re about to perform for. Eventually they carry Sly out on a makeshift palanquin as the “play within the play” begins. Two handsome young men in preppy clothes enter, holding a book and wearing glasses that aren’t too dissimilar from Astarion’s round metal ones. The one without the glasses speaks first.

“Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua…”

Tranio? Isn’t he one of the characters in Taming of the Shrew?

He knows you don’t like this play.

Well, if it’s all that’s playing at the Rosewood right now…

But if that’s the case why not just, like, see a movie?

You shift uncomfortably in your dress and cast your gaze towards Astarion. He smiles, taking your fingers and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before turning back to the stage. He keeps your hand in his, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. 

You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and you find yourself wondering what’s running through his head. Just when you think you have him figured out, he does something to surprise you. And honestly, not always in a good way.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the creative team at the Rosewood wouldn’t pick this show if they weren’t going to try to do something with it. 

But even still… is this text even redeemable?

You sit through the entirety of the show cringing as the audience around you laughs at flagrant displays of domestic abuse. The actors, several of whom you’ve worked with before, are trying their hardest to make the lines playful, but some things just can’t be recovered. Between the forced starvation, physical intimidation, and gaslighting, you wonder why companies even bother performing this play anymore. No matter how witty the writing is, it’s just too out of date to be a good season choice.

When the time comes for Kate’s final monologue, you watch in pain as the actress tries to wink-wink-nudge-nudge her way through lines like “place your hands below your husband’s foot.” She’s young, and you wonder if this is one of her first professional gigs. You get a little sad knowing that she’s probably just desperate to do anything, even if it’s trash.

Maybe you’re being a little harsh. All of the individual elements of the show—the acting, set, costumes, direction, lighting—were quite good. You just can’t get over how irredeemable this text is. Worth teaching, yes, and maybe even taking Act II out of context just for the fun banter and clever wordplay. But professional theatre companies should really just retire this one.

In the Lyft back to your apartment, you decide to get Astarion’s take on the matter.

“Do you think it’s possible to redeem a text like Taming in a modern age?”

He pauses for a moment, continuing to look away from you and out the window.

“I do, yes,” he finally answers. “I think it takes a skilled hand, but it can be successful when done well.”

You sit on his response, chewing it over. You decide to take a different route.

“I guess a better question is do you think it’s worth trying to? Like, what are we getting out of it anymore?”

“Is entertainment not enough?” he says with a laugh. You wrinkle your nose at him.

“Sure, if you’re a basic ass bitch. But I want my art to mean something. And I can’t think of what this play can possibly mean if it’s not ‘shrill women are annoying and should learn their place.’” You cross and uncross your legs, trying to keep yourself decent.

“Last I checked, you enjoy being put in your place,” he says in a low hum and your pussy betrays you with a clench. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re grateful that the dark car hides your reddening cheeks. “It’s different.”

“Is it, though? Ultimately it is a text about two dysfunctional people finding comfort in one another.” His sincerity catches you off guard, and almost makes you angry that he’s been taken in by the propaganda.

“That’s only a valid interpretation if you ignore half of what happens in the play. They’re not equally dysfunctional, Kate literally gets beaten into submission and pretends to be happy about it. Petruchio is exactly the same from the start to the finish, he has no fucking character arc.” Your hands start to shake as you try to keep your cool. You’ve had this conversation far too many times with men who think they can interpret out the sexism by simply glossing over Kate’s abuse.

The Lyft stops in front of your building and you thank the driver as you get out. Astarion follows you, and you’re not even sure if you want him to accompany you upstairs. But you remain silent as you walk past Withers and into the elevator.

“You’re overreacting,” Astarion says once the elevator doors close. “People are drawn to this play for a reason. The text is excellent, and no one truly thinks of Petruchio as an abuser.”

“Are you joking?” Your voice gets shrill and the similarity to Kate isn’t lost on you. “The whole thing normalizes his abuse. The fact that people don’t think of him as an abuser is the problem.”

“It’s a slapstick comedy,” he snaps, his voice growing stern. “Are you going to tell me that we need to cancel the Three Stooges because it promotes violence?”

“Don’t be fucking condescending,” you spit. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“How is it not the same? Suddenly because it’s a woman in the role it no longer counts? Are you implying that women should be barred from certain types of performance because of their gender?” He walks past you into your apartment and you throw your keys and bag on the counter, not even bothering to see where they land.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, now you’re just twisting my words,” you grumble, more frustrated than ever by your inability to match his eloquence.

“So use your own words,” he sneers, whirling around to face you. “How is it not the same?”

“It’s because- well, I- It’s different, just- argh!” Your head is clouded by your attraction to him, which has annoyingly only grown over the past few minutes of shouting. You’re suddenly reminded of the smug arrogant bastard that you first met. He lets out a jeering laugh.

“See? You can’t even defend your own point.” 

His sardonic cruelty sets something off in you and you angrily grab the lapel of his green suit. Your intentions are a complete mystery even to you, because as soon as you’re within inches of one another, instincts take over. You crush his lips into yours and pull him backwards until you thump against the door behind you. He paws hungrily at the dress, sliding his hand under the slit and around to grab your bare ass. You gasp into his touch, feeling equally frustrated and aroused that he even controlled what you wore tonight.

Your fingers make their way into his hair and you pull hard, breaking the kiss and leaving his mouth open, panting. His eyes are sparkling with a fire that you haven’t seen yet and a low growl manifests in your throat. He smirks and buries his teeth into your shoulder, something he usually asks bespoke permission for. You cry out in response, twisting your hands tighter into his silvery locks.

He unlatches from your shoulder and pushes his knee past the front of your skirt and up onto your bare cunt. You grind wantonly against the velvet as he kisses you with bloody lips. He grabs hold of the delicate chains of the dress and yanks, detaching them from the collar and making the entire bodice crumple and pool around your waist. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden exposure to cold air and he pinches one sharply between his fingers. Your hips roll into his leg as you groan, fully ruining his pants. He continues to bite around your neck and shoulders, placing little puncture wounds in his path, marking you as his.

You grab onto his tie and push him away so you can shimmy out of the rest of the dress. You’re now down to just the gold collar of the dress and your heels, a look you wish you could hate but don’t. You pull him across your living area and toward your bedroom, shoving him down onto the edge of the bed. 

“Thou hast hit it, come, sit on me,” he says, quoting Petruchio with a sinister grin. Kate’s retort falls out of your mouth reflexively.

“Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” you hiss as you straddle his hips, wrapping his tie around your hand until you’ve gripped it up to the knot. Your other hand violently unbuckles his belt, yanking it through the loops with a snap.

“Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he says with a caustic laugh, digging his nails into your ass cheeks. You tug sharply on his tie, bringing his lips close to yours.

“No such jade as you, if me you mean,” you snarl and silence him with an angry kiss. You don’t want to encourage his idiotic behavior, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said this wasn’t a fantasy you’ve had before. You fumble with the buttons of his suit jacket, trying to get him undressed as quickly as possible. You’re not sure if you feel more vulnerable or more powerful being undressed while he’s still fully clothed, but either way you want him naked, now. You get about three buttons into his shirt before you grow impatient, ripping it the rest of the way open and sending buttons flying. 

Good. Let him need to repair his clothes for once.

You push him flat onto his back and descend onto his chest, alternating kisses, licks, and bites. Your dull human teeth don’t have nearly the same effect as his fangs, but it just means you get to bite twice as hard in order to leave a mark. He writhes beneath your touch, and you feel a twisted satisfaction at the quiet little grunts and gasps you’re finally pulling from him. He’s rarely this vocal during sex, and it’s only serving to spur you on more.

His groans build until you capture his nipple in your teeth and bite down, causing him to shout and buck his hips up into you. In a flash he flips you around onto your back and he bears down on you, eyes dangerous. 

“Little love, do you think you’re in control?” he asks in a low growl, his hand gripped around your jaw. You sneer and slide your leg against the strained bulge in his pants. He hisses and your smile widens.

“Right now? Yes,” you coo, continuing to press your calf against his velvet-covered cock. You grab the tie still hanging around his neck and pull him close. 

“If you want it back, fucking take it.”

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?

He kisses you roughly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth biting hard enough to puncture the skin. He pulls back slightly, a drop of your blood running down his chin and a snide grin. He makes like he’s about to kiss you again but shoves your face away before your lips make contact.

This is the worst you’ve ever seen him—the most arrogant, the most condescending, borderline cruel even. And you have never been more turned on.

If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, licking the blood from your lips. “Go ahead, choke me, daddy.”

The feminist in you is horrified, but the little gremlin controlling your libido is having the time of its life. It squeals with delight when his hand closes around your throat, just barely constricting your breathing. 

“You insolent little brat,” he breathes into your ear, pulling up on your jaw. “I will absolutely ruin you.”

And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness.

“Do it, coward,” you spit, and he lets go just long enough to finish undressing from the waist down. He grabs your still heeled ankle and presses your leg up by your shoulder, stretching you wide enough to take him without any prep. You gasp as he fills you, the stinging pain outweighed by the gratification of finally feeling him inside you.

The only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly.

He sets a punishing rhythm, one knee on the bed and the other foot still firmly planted on the floor. He bottoms out with each long thrust and you grab hold of his hair to brace yourself. He winces with the pain but doesn’t slow down, and your moans grow high and loud as he continues to furiously pound into you. 

“Gods, fuck, Astarion,” you keen, your desire coiling in your belly and threatening to explode. “Keep going, daddy, fuck me please.” He grunts with the effort and your dirty talk seems to be having an effect as his pace falters. You jerk your hips up into him, chasing your orgasm, until finally it barrels through you like a runaway train. You pull on his hair as you come and that sets off his, his pulsing cock pressing against the clenching walls of your cunt. 

He stays deep inside you as the aftershocks reverberate through both of you, until the only sound remaining is your heavy panting. He drops his forehead to touch yours, a pleasantly tender moment after some of the roughest sex you can recall having. He starts to giggle and you follow suit, suddenly giddy. He pulls out of you with a squelch and walks to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up the mess you’ve left behind. He wipes you down gently, a surprising bit of aftercare you’re not accustomed to with him. He plants a tender kiss on your lips and you feel dizzy with affection for him.

You settle up against the headboard of your bed, his arm around you and both of you looking at your phones in a companionable silence. After a moment, he lets out a small chuckle. 

“What?” you ask, turning your head towards him quizzically.

“I’m just shocked that worked, is all,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your confusion grows and you furrow your brow.

“What worked?” you laugh with him, but something doesn’t feel right.

“The whole night, taking you to see Taming, getting into just enough of a fight to result in,” he vaguely waves his hand, gesturing to the edge of the bed, “all of that.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” You pull away from him and your stomach drops. Surely he can’t be suggesting what you think he’s suggesting.

“You get riled up so easily, I thought this might be fun.” He still doesn’t seem to have picked up on your heart pounding in your ears, which is frankly unusual for him.

“Are you saying… Wait, are you saying that you planned that fight? So, what, we’d have angry sex?”

“Of course, you don’t think I actually believe anything that I said, do you? Taming of the Shrew might be well-written, but it’s a rubbish play to produce.” He finally turns to you and sees that you’ve gone white as a sheet. “Oh, darling, don’t take it like that, you’re positively adorable when you’re angry, I couldn’t resist.” He tries putting his hand to your cheek but you flinch away like he’s burned you.

“Get out,” you say in a low voice, unable to even look at him.

“What?” He’s still laughing. He doesn’t get it. “My sweet, didn’t you-”

“GET. OUT.” Your voice has a venom in it that even shocks you. He stares at you in horror until you shoot him an icy glare. “Now.”

Without a word he stands and quickly puts his clothes back on. You stay in your bed, naked and curled under a sheet, until you hear the front door of your apartment slam. With shaking hands, you call Shadowheart.

“Moonmaiden’s delight, did you enjoy yourself? It certainly sounded like you did.” The sound of Shadowheart’s bubbly laugh usually makes you smile, but right now it seeps into your skin like poison.

“Shade, please come over,” you whimper, and the second the words leave your mouth, the tears begin to fall. You don’t hear her hang up, but you do hear a muffled, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” through the wall. You pull your knees further into your chest and sob.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #fanfiction #smut #professor astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 au #college au #bg3 modern au #astarion x tav #astarion romance #office hours #baldurs gate au #astarion angst

[angelltheninth]

Actor!Astarion Comforts You After He Has a Kiss Scene in His Latest Movie

Pairing: Actor!Astarion x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, kissing, insecurity, reassurance, acting, playful biting, modern au

A/N: If there's anything he would be, it's an actor.

Actor!Astarion always informs you when he's gonna be acting in a movie that will involve intimate scenes of any kind. Otherwise he would feel like he's doing things behind your back. That is something he would never do to you, you're his girlfriend after all.

Actor!Astarion makes sure you meet the actress he's gonna be acting with. Once is enough, just to make sure no one gets the idea he's single seeing as he used to have a bit of reputation as a bachelor and all. If anyone hits on him outside of the movie scene he always puts a stop to it fast.

Actor!Astarion gives it his all in any scene he's in, what kind of actor would he be if he didn't. He makes sure every scene is as authentic as can be, including the kissing scenes and anything beyond that. But at the end of the day he is just acting, he would never dream of really doing any of those things with anyone but you.

Actor!Astarion watches all of his movies with you. You're not sick of seeing his face are you? That would be pretty bad because he just got a really big really important role in an upcoming series. If it takes off he'll be able to get into all the fancy parties and you will be his plus one.

Actor!Astarion noticed you seem a bit uncomfortable while watching the kiss scene happening. He lets it play but he takes your hand in his and wraps the other around your shoulder, pulling you to his side of the couch. When the cuddles seemingly do nothing he knows he needs to talk to you about this.

Actor!Astarion reassures you that no matter how popular, smart, pretty or rich any one of his co-stars is all that they will ever be is co-stars. They could never replace you. Don't even start feeling bad about feeling jealous, but he really wants you to know he would betray your trust like that.

Actor!Astarion pauses the movie, not caring that it's almost over anyway because your feelings are more important. He cups your cheeks just like he did in the movie scene and smiles into your kiss, making it slightly deeper the longer it goes on. Until you tapped him on his shoulder, signaling you needed to take a breather.

Actor!Astarion didn't have enough yet, licking over his fangs and pushing you down so he can drag them across your neck. He never does this for anyone else, not a single person he acts with. The only one who will ever get to feel his fangs is you.

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion fluff #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur's gate 3 x you #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate fanfiction #astarion x female reader #baldur's gate x female reader #bg3 x female reader #fluff drabble #fluff blurb #modern au #actor au

[a-spawn-on-my-lawn]

Here is some more art for my BG3 Film Noir AU idea I posted about!

I am actually having so much fun with this & I am also planning to make a comic! 🤩

#BG3FilmNoirAU #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #karlach #karlach cliffgate #halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 halsin #bg3 karlach #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate fanart #baldur's gate au #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #nalae #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 art #bg3 fanart #myart #illustrators on tumblr

[gunslingerorchid]

Listen, I know I just posted a bunch of commisions that I bought, but this is too good not to share! Again, this is by @momotowan (I can't say this enough, go give him a follow! The guy is a beast when it comes to drawing.)

@tripleyeeet has totally been benefiting from my brain rot xD

#bg3 #astarion #lelia #zayis #astarion x tav #durge au #this piece made the brain rot worse ;v;

[thechaoticdruid]

🍿Watching movies with Astarion Headcanons!🍿

(Because I literally put this in a chapter of 'This Bites'.)

Astarion's favorite genre would obviously be horror movies.

All the gore and carnage really gets him excited.

He WILL give you a hard time for showing any fear.

"Really darling? After everything we've been through this is what reduces you to a shivering kitten. It's rather embarrassing sweetie."

He'll roll his eyes and pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. "I suppose I'll just have to keep you safe then. You poor sweet pitiful thing."

Of course if the horror movie has clowns anywhere in it he's the one acting like a terrified kitten.

But he won't admit it. "I was NOT afraid. I'm a vampire! I'm far more frightening than some makeup caked fool!"

Refuses to let you comfort him and just sits there, paranoidly looking over his shoulders.

Alien horror movies (especially the weird grotesque slimy alien ones) are also not recommended as they make him very nauseous.

You may end up having to clean blood off the carpet.

Vampire movies annoy him. Too many inaccuracies and some of the tropes don't make sense to him.

Especially the brooding male vampire lead who's so tormented because he has to kill people.

"Oh boo hoo you murdered a bunch of villains. Get over it. Killing is the best part of being a vampire! Fucking poser."

He'll hate watch some of the shitty vampire flicks with you tho

Lives for drama filled flicks. The more chaos the better.

Any comedy movie with meanspirited or immature humor is a win, it'll keep him entertained as long as it's not too stupid.

He doesn't get into nerdy fantasy movies too much. The man literally lives in a medieval fantasy world so he's seen a lot of the Lord of the rings type stuff first hand.

He'll watch them with you at least once tho.

Gets annoyed if you watch a nerdy flick with Gale because the wizard won't shut up about if what is going on in the movie is actually possible/realistic and keeps listing random geeky facts about his favorite films.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP GALE!"

Secretly likes mushy romance movies, but you'll never get him to admit it.

Only openly enjoys them if they have a lot of sex scenes.

Of course he's gonna tease you if you're the type to get embarrassed during those scenes.

Very subtly runs his hand over your thigh without even looking at you.

Has a smug smirk on his face while he does it too.

May or may not be interested in some as the kids say 'netflix and chill'.

Depends on his mood really.

Drinks a little bit of your blood while watching if you offer it to him.

Will ugly cry if a loveable dog or cat dies at the end of the movie.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion my beloved #astarion x reader #bg3 tav #astarion romance #astarion #astarion x you #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn reader #movies #Modern au? #modern/high fantasy au #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav headcanons #astarion x reader headcanons #gale dekarios #bg3 x you #bg3 x reader

[pursuitseternal]

Hi first of all, I wanted to tell you how much I love your fanfictions I'm always happy to see something new (ascended astarion and astarion spawn stories are my favourites but the others are captivating too). I was wondering if you could write a story where the original Tav dies and is reborn a few hundred years later and Astarion finds her again. Maybe in a more modern setting where the prudery thing isn't quite so… strong

I apologise for my bad English it's not my native language I hope you can understand it anyway

“Mistrial:” a Modern Faerûn AU

Astarion x Tav |E| 2.5K modern au

Ao3 link

Summary: Hundreds of years without her, Astarion still sits on the bench, Justice Ancunìn hear case after case. Until one day, that young prosecutor gets under his skin, until she confronts him after their trial, until ancient memories stir and things awaken.

A/N: Thank you to @myfavouritelunatic and @brabblesblog for their enabling and encouragement.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Justice Ancunìn, I have to object,” the little firecracker of a prosecutor ground her high heel into the tile of the courtroom.

Astarion shook his head, tired of her tone already on day one. “You don’t have to, counselor,” he rubbed two fingers against his silver-haired temple, “but given that this is already your twenty-second one today, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She looked at him with sharp eyes and folded arms. The little shit. He did not care for her already.

If this had been in the good old days when Faerûn was at its prime and most debauched, he could have her flogged for her tone and sent to cool in the stocks. And that would have been before he had been turned into vampiric spawn, before he had become hero of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life at his side. Helping him learn how to hide his immortality and vampirism from the public, learning how to still serve as Magistrate despite his… condition.

That was until time moved on, and his immortality won over the lingering bonds of love. He missed Tav, her brilliance and ferocity, her pointed ears and sweet blood, her passion in life and in the bed.

Like the blink of an eye, he moved on. City to city, career to career as hundreds of years continued their slow grind of time. Until now, now, he stared down from his bench in BGC, new finagled magic in this modern age like cars and electricity and internet. But law was law, and a judge was a judge

It was as if he never left, aside from the new spitfire attorney, just arrived from New Waterdeep, with a ferocity he would have once admired.

He just now found it tiresome. Irritating. He realized after a moment, she had the decency to wait on his final word on her request for objection. He shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at her. “Overruled, Counselor Ylfe.” He banged his gavel twice. “In fact, court adjourned until tomorrow,” he stood grumbling to himself. “At least I’ll be spared a twenty-third objection in so many hours…”

His pointed ears picked up on a high pitched scoff. “We shall see,” that lawyer snipped to herself. But that tone, that defiance and jabbing quality… something piqued his interest.

Stirred his ancient memory.

He finally groaned as he rested in his chambers, only moments after shutting the doors and sliding off those scratchy robes. Gods, he missed silks and wigs and velvets. Not this cheap crap everyone wore. He went to his cabinet, taking out a discrete green bottle and pouring himself a mug of its swirling ruby contents. He popped it in his microwave, one improvement on the campfire he would not begrudge using.

Not when it made his stash of blood warm for once.

But even as it hummed, his mind kept rolling over his day. Especially that stubborn, annoying, irritating prosecutor with her defiant eyes and jutting out chin and crossed arms and swaying, perfect hips, and……

“Justice Ancunìn, I figured you would finally have a moment for us to address how to best proceed civilly in your own chambers,” his head shot up, his gaze narrowed as he watched her stride on into his offices.

Her.

“What in the hells are you thinking, Counselor Ylfe?” he spat, fighting hard from baring his fangs at her. A habit eroded from nearly a millennia of practice almost overturned just at the sight of her. “You know any discourse outside of the courtroom can result in a mistrial?”

“This isn’t about the trial, this is about your abject disdain for me, personally, it would seem.” She did it again, crossing her arms and swaying her hips in that tight little black pantsuit of her hers.

Astarion let his eye wander. There was something about her… not many females cut so fine a figure in trousers, or slacks or whatever the fuck they were now.

Not since… her. The other her in his life. His true love. That was the last time he even gave a woman a second glance.

Her hair hung over her shoulder, but now, up close, he could see two pointed ears peeking through her crown of long and flowing hair. Elf. High elf.

He locked eyes with her, that piercing shade… his mind raced and wandered… flying through ancient history for some, the warmest of memories for him. Emerald Grove, Shadow Cursed Lands, the real Baldur’s Gate…

“Didn’t you hear me, Your Honor?” she snapped at him.

Astarion shook his mess of silver locks, smiling in a way that no longer hid his fangs. “I’m afraid I was… lost in the sea of my long and winding memories… darling….”

That made her freeze solid. Her smooth face drew into an inscrutable expression, her cherry red lips parted… “What did you call me…?”

Only then did he realize the slip of his own tongue, how that pet name he vowed never to use flowed right off of it. “D-darling.” He repeated, as shocked as she was at the impropriety. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ylfe.”

“Don’t be,” she instantly replied with a shake of her head. Then she smiled, even as her brows furrowed. She looked at him, at his pale face and silver hair and… dark brown eyes…. “Have you always worn contacts, Mr. Ancunìn?”

“How…” but before he could interrogate that true suspicion, his microwave dinged.

“You better get your drink, Your Honor…” That lilt in her voice was new, he noted.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugged. “I can always reheat it later. First I’ll have to apologize for my… behavior today.”

“I should hope so,” she grinned, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. “Treating a lady with such disdain… only to about face and call her darling the next moment… seems something only a true, black-hearted rogue would do…”

“What?” he went rigid. Bending forward, that old instinct to fight or fly racing through his nerves after centuries.

“I’ve never been a fan of contacts,” she smiled so easily as she leaned back against the top of his desk, fingers splayed on his files and papers. “Better if you just showed the world your natural eyes, Mr. Ancunìn….”

His nostrils flared, his breath racing and head swimming. But this time there was no fucking tadpole, he knew that.

“What’s your name…” he hissed, narrowed eyes leveling at her.

“I can tell you, unless you’re bent on letting your stash of blood from getting cold…. Astarion.”

His hand flew to her neck, bringing her up into his face, fangs bared, hackles raised, every long suppressed vampiric sense firing on all cylinders now as he smelled her. “Name,” he commanded.

“Taveria Ylfe,” she swallowed under his hold. “But those close to me have always called me Tav….”

“Tav,” her name was a gasp in his throat.

“And I know you,” she said, breathy and quick. “I didn’t know how… but there was something about you that made me… unsettled.”

“Twenty-two objections later and you call yourself… unsettled?” he smirked, lightening his hold, but stroking his fingers on her skin.

Her skin.

“Well, darling,” she purred, "lifetimes of perfect memory for our kind, and I should have recognized my lover with the crimson eyes and pointed fangs.”

Astarion shook his head, swallowing the rising ball of emotion that caught in his throat. “I’d cry, but it’ll make my contacts hurt,” he gave a wet laugh. His thumb traced on the side of her neck, two circle marks in her flesh, like moles or scars…

“You found them, the brands I’ve have on my flesh ever since you, Astarion,” she added, eyes batting shut under his touch. “I’ve looked for you in every lifetime, my true love with roguish swagger, red eyes, pointed fangs, and massive…”

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Ego?” he offered as an answer, but she shook her head.

“Cock,” she grinned as she bit her lip.

“I was hoping you’d say that… darling…” He hissed as her hand grasped at the gusset between his legs. “Looking for your evidence?” he growled, a roll of his hips into the pressure of her touch. So ancient and familiar. “You’ll get it, darling, if you want it…”

“I do, Astarion,” she sighed, fingers stroking back and forth on the cotton of his pants, feeling that rising erection instantly straining back.

A monsterous growl in his throat, a burning hunger in his belly, he grasped at the back of her neck, pulling her against his lips.

The age-old dance, the same taste. Closing his eyes, his body transported a millennia ago… as if he could smell blood and woodsmoke and magic in the air mixed with her scent. Had he suppressed so much of his senses he couldn’t recognize her scent? Had he ignored the same beat of her heart in her chest, same musical rush of blood in her veins?

He shook his head to let all that go, realizing her hands already tore through her own blazer and button down, clothing now cast to the floor. Already, she had shimmied off the desk, pressing harder into his kiss. He waited for no further invitation, hands instantly sliding her slacks from her perfect curves, his own clothing suddenly feeling too tight and too abrasive.

Astarion only wanted her skin on him now. After so long. He couldn’t move fast enough, his reflexes had dulled from neglect, his dexterity a fraction of what it once was with her. But it, too, slowly crept back, his hands making quick work of his own clothes.

Suddenly, those fingers remembered the smoothness of her skin, rekindled their dexterity. His hand clawed into her hair, the other stroked down her belly, backing her perfect body to perch on the edge of his desk. The gasp he drew from her lips as he sank two fingers into her folds woke something feral in him, something ancient. Vampiric.

“Tav,” he hissed, nuzzing against the music of her artery, rubbing along the stream of her blood in her neck. “May I, please…”

“Mmm, I want to see your real eyes before you take anything of mine, Astarion,” she purred, arching against him. One hand splayed on the desk behind her, she smirked and watched. Never had anyone removed contacts so quickly, so dexterously.

As he blinked, her heart poured open. That scarlet glare, that tilted head, those mussy silver curls. “I can’t believe it’s you…” she sighed.

His eyes went wide, shining in his unshed tears and well of emotion. “I’m so tired of words, Tav,” he replied, voice cracking with that exhaustion and unbridled desire now. “Just give me all of you, to lose myself in, to lose these long and draining years in, years without you.”

Not another word as said, nothing but the groans of their joining once more, the shudder of their bodies as they fucked, the creaking of the wood beneath her as he slammed his hips against it. Cock buried deep in her cunt, fangs digging into her neck.

Both parts of her were hot and leaking. Blood spilled from his mouth once more—warm and fresh and sweetened with her taste. Arousal leaked into the wood beneath them, her musk and sweat the only perfume he longed to smell.

He swirled his tongue over his bite marks, fresh bleeding wounds that swallowed those scars she was born with. A lasting brand on her skin as she had forever been on his heart, his soul.

He couldn’t bring her close enough to him, fingers clawed into her ass to keep her from sliding away with his frantic thrusts. And she had already wrapped herself around his waist, already scratched up the places of his back that weren’t riddled with scars still. Clutching him tightly to never lose him again.

Their lips were sealed together, locked as they sucked and moved and danced in their ancient kiss, the taste of her blood sending them both reeling into oblivion. She keened as her walls spasmed around his cock, that familiar ripple and beat of her climax pressing against his every wild and erratic thrust.

His forehead resting against her shoulder, the scent of her blood there was the last little push he needed, losing himself in the trembling warmth and comfort and pull of her body. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thrumming against her muscles as he came harder than anything for a thousand years. Forcing his head back up, he locked eyes with her, face twisting and arms shaking as he came. Lips pulled back to show those glistening and reddened fangs.

Her hand braced hard at the back of his neck, keeping her with him as his hips thrust, slowing as he emptied into her. At last he stilled, a foolish, young smile on his gaping lips, lips he licked clean.

He would tell her sometime, how she had made his undead heart remember how to beat and love again twice now. How she brought him back to life over and over again. But with that haze in her eyes, the way she clenched still around his cock, he knew this wouldn’t be the end of their reunion.

Thank the gods.

Lips curling as she met her mouth in a kiss, she drew him in again for more. “I have a hotel…” she whispered.

“And I have a penthouse, darling,” came his instant reply between her ravenous caresses.

“Hmm,” she laughed deep in her throat, their kiss still working slowly, unable to break apart once more. “As long as you keep it cleaner than your tent once was, I accept. Someplace for us until the morning when we return to court…”

His fingers, coated in the scent of her arousal, stayed her mouth. “Tch, surely even a young thing like you knows this will end in mistrial now,” he smirked. “Not even I can think of a clause that allows for lost soul mates to continue in court after such…” he glanced at the mess between their legs, “…debauchery.”

“Oh well,” she feigned disappointment, sliding off to retrieve her clothes. “Worth it…”

Suddenly his arms gripped her, pulling her by the swell of her ass, flush against his naked body one more time. “It’ll be days before either of us must return to court… long, exhausting, pleasure-filled days, darling.”

Tav dove up for his kiss, standing in her tiptoes to meet that smirk that haunted her for centuries. “You better hurry me away to your place, Astarion, or someone will find us here making up for lost time.”

Reluctantly and with a deafening sigh, he relented, busying himself to dress again.

“Oh,” she commented, that taunting tone in her voice, “and don’t think I missed how you never answered it your place was still a mess of chaos again.”

He turned, shaking his head as he refastened his belt. “Well, even if you are disappointed in that regard, I can assure you…” he gave her that look, those half-lidded eyes, that sharpened fanged smirk, “you won’t be left wanting in other regards.”

#astarion x tav #modern au #astarion modern au #judge astarion #lawyer Tav #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #vampire spawn #astarion spawn #spawn astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3

[sfehvn]

Purrr, kitties!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #x reader #astarion #bg3 #tav #reader #au!astarion #au!astarion x tav #au!astarion x reader #au

[angiemaniac]

The Durge Companion AU - Meeting Gale

TW: Lotsa Blood

Sorry for the long wait!! Here's the next chapter out. Did you guys think I was gonna kill him lol

More exclusives and early access on Patreon~

More interactions and stuff on here: Discord

#durge #the dark urge #dark urge #default dark urge #default durge #tav #tavella #astarion #gale #shadowheart #durge companion #durge companion au #durgetav #durge x tav #tav x durge #my art #oc: tav #oc: tavella #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate iii

[leighsartworks216]

My Dearest Prince

Astarion x male!Tav/Reader

Got this idea and frantically wrote it down before passing out last night. Another specifically male!Tav/Reader because I wanted it to be idk

Because this is a Royalty au, Astarion is not a vampire. Maybe I'll do another one where he is, one day

Warnings: arranged marriage, marriage proposal, secret relationship, brief smut, light hurt/comfort, idk how royalty works

Word Count: 1,971

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion could barely fight the smirk that dared to cross his face as you, the prince of another kingdom, came to stand before him. Something secretive shone in his eyes, translatable only by you, donned in gleaming royal armor, a polished silver accented by brilliant blue regalia. You fought back a grin as well.

With a hand over your chest, you bowed your head respectfully. Though of the same status, you were visiting his kingdom. Or, rather, the kingdom he would inherit as soon as he was wed.

"Your highness," you greeted, almost a purr. Astarion really couldn't fight his smirk as he offered his hand out to you. You grinned as you supported it from below and guided it to your lips, barely bowing down to meet it. You stared directly into his eyes, lips brushing against his gloved knuckles. Astarion thrilled, imagining your kiss against his bare skin. A whisper, so silent the courtiers and potential suitors would not hear: "My prince."

The moment doesn't last. You pull away, standing up straight, and his hand falls back to his side.

"You are a welcome sight within these walls," Astarion croons, chin raised haughtily. "I trust you will enjoy the night."

You grin. "I most certainly will."

With another low bow of your head, you retreat back into the throng - partygoers not here to celebrate, but to woo the young prince of Baldur's Gate. They batted their eyelashes and winked and purred low, but none of them caught his eye like you.

After years of doing this, you and Astarion had come up with ways to secretly communicate with each other without betraying your manners. 'I trust you will enjoy the night' was not a simple pleasantry, it was a preposition. 'I most certainly will' was an agreement, accepting the offer.

Astarion would have loved nothing more than to run after you as you discreetly slipped out of the ballroom. He would relish in pressing you against a wall and marking you up, claiming you right there where everyone could see you. Kissing and biting and sucking just so until you keened his name loudly, the echo reaching everyone who could not witness the spectacle.

Alas, he was trapped here. At least until such a time it would seem inconspicuous to retire to his chambers. He counted the seconds.

-

Quiet grunts caught his attention. He tossed his book aside in an instant and raced to the balcony. (It was mostly to distract his racing thoughts, though it didn't help much.) He leaned over the bannister with a bright smile.

You, now in relatively simple attire, pulled yourself up the side of the palace with the strong vines that had claimed the wall. His gardeners asked if he wanted them removed, but he just said they added a rather lovely element of nature amongst the polished marvel. Eventually they stopped asking.

In no time at all, you reached the top, hands on the bannister by his, holding yourself up as you smiled with boyish glee. "Good evening, my prince."

Astarion grabbed onto the front of your shirt, nails scraping against fine embroidery. He didn't give a damn about it. "How long I've waited to taste you again," he sighed, tugging you up over the rail. You eagerly followed him, feet barely on solid ground before he was pulling you inside.

You cup his face, hands slotting familiarly against his jaw, eagerly pulling him close until your nose brushed his. He tugged your body to press against his. "You looked so gorgeous in your finery, my love." Your hot breaths fan against his lips, you're so close. "I wasn't sure I could contain myself."

Astarion growled, desperate. "Please, don't hold back any longer."

Your lips crashed together, rushed and passionate. Noses pressed roughly to cheeks, lips and tongues trying to get you ever closer. It was not close enough. You whined against his lips.

As though in a dance, he pulled you with him to the bed. Your hands strayed from his jaw long enough to grab his thighs and lift him onto it, resting him so you could stand between his legs. You didn't stand for long, opting instead to lean on your knee pressed between his legs, pressing up against his crotch. Astarion groaned, rolling his hips against the pressure automatically.

Deft hands undid decorative buttons, slipping beneath the frivolous patterns to touch your skin. His hands were always so cold; you shivered as they ran over your stomach.

Within only a few moments, you were stripped bare before him. Your lips rarely disconnected, pants and longing sounds becoming lost in the other's throat.

He grabbed your hips and in one smooth movement had you laying on his bed as he knelt over you, as you had done to him before. The fabric of his clothes rubbed against your already-hot skin, igniting a fire in its wake. You hurriedly helped him undress.

Fully bare, he crawled with you to the center of the bed, guiding you with a hand that trailed along your side. Your head hit his pillow, and he pulled away breathless, trailing kisses along your jaw.

"Gods, I missed this," he whispered into your skin. "Missed you." He brushed a thumb along your nipple and ground his hips down, your cocks rubbing together and twitching with stimulation.

You dug your nails into his hip, guiding him as he continued. You whined and whimpered with each pass. Your other hand gripped tightly onto his hair. "Show me all the ways you've thought about me, my love," you breathed. "My body and soul are yours."

He groaned against your neck, biting where he knew the mark would not be seen. "I would have you here all night."

"And I shall not regret it come morning."

-

The sun hung low in the sky, slowly rising to wake the city. You and Astarion were already awake, and had been for most the night. His body was draped along yours, head resting on your chest with his arms clinging onto you. You played lazily with his hair, which was such a pretty mess after being tugged on so much.

These nights never lasted long enough. Secret rendezvous that only came a few times a month, if they were lucky. But soon enough, people would notice the prince's ongoing avoidance for picking a partner to rule by his side. They would notice his lingering glances and salacious smiles. It was only a matter of time.

He sighed against your chest as the morning rays crawled up his legs, but his mind was far from the events planned for today. Though, the subject of betrothal did not change. He turned his head to press a delicate kiss over your heart.

"You haven't told her yet, have you?"

Your whole body tensed. You always despised talking about your fiancée. "No." You press your face into his mess of curls. He holds you tighter. "I fear what would happen if I did."

He huffed bitterly. "You fear her disgust, learning that you lay with me."

"No." You pull back, cupping his cheek and guiding him to look at you. Your face is set in a strong frown. "No opinion of you could ever dissuade me; not hers, nor any kingdom's. If she despises the thought, then she will have to content herself with it every day for the rest of our lives."

His sharp eyes, blue with flecks of gold, study your face. The furrow in your brow. The line of your lips. The determination in your eyes. He sees the exact moment your features soften, as a melancholy takes over.

"I fear telling her would draw me further from you," you whisper, like speaking the words too loudly would make them come true. You brush your thumb along his cheek. "Forced to wither away in my own kingdom, never allowed to see your face again or kiss your lips. When we wed, she will have as much power as I, and if she knew of you... I fear she would deny me of you forever."

Astarion says nothing for a while. You can see the distance in his eyes as he formulates schemes, plans to free you from your engagement. Soon enough, he leans up and gently kisses you. He tastes of wine and citrus. You could drink it in forever.

"I could be your concubine," he murmurs against your lips.

You chuckle despite yourself. He smirks into the kiss. Your arms reposition themselves, wrapping around his waist to keep him safe and supported. "I would parade you around the city. You'd sit in my lap during meetings. My generals would have to translate my words as I etch them against your neck." Further solidifying your point, you trail your lips down to his neck, kissing languidly against his pulse.

He hums. "You make it sound so tempting, my love."

The sun shines upon his back now. You can feel the warmth lingering in his skin as you run your fingers along his spine. Your time together is waning. You roll over, taking him with you, until you lay on your sides. You curl around him, face buried in his shoulder, and cling to the minutes you have left. He cradles the back of your neck and wraps his leg over yours, pulling you ever closer.

He brushes his lips against your ear. "I could ask you to marry me."

"I am already betrothed."

"All they want is a wedding and a ruler; they don't care who you marry."

"We would be torn between our kingdoms."

"I know for a fact you have a sister you can pass the throne to." You huff against his shoulder. He grins. "Let her marry your fiancée."

You rub your thumbs into his still-warm back. You want to hold him forever. You don't want to pull away, don your royal colors, disappear back to your kingdom for another month.

You carefully pull your face back to meet his eyes, wishing to look at him and solidify his face further in your memories. He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"I would ask for your hand in a heartbeat," he whispers. He finds one of your hands and leads it to rest over his heart. It beats solidly in his chest. It beats for you. "And you would never be caged. You could travel as far as you wish, as long as you promised to come back. Every soul in both our kingdoms would know how utterly, irrevocably in love with you I am. Not a night would go by that you are not loved, wishing for a better life with someone else. You-"

You cut him off with a kiss. It is soft and passionate all at once. The sun casts her rays over your faces. Your cheeks are warmed with her gentle caress, as are your beloved's. Even when you pull away to speak, your eyes remain closed, taking in every other sensation of him - his scent, his taste, the sounds of his breaths, the plush of his flesh beneath your fingertips.

“Being with you is all I could ever wish for.” You chastely kiss him again, as though to remind yourself he is still there in your arms and open to all the affection you can lavish on him. “When I return to my kingdom, I will give up my throne and terminate my engagement. I would give up the stars in the sky to be with you, my one.”

He cups your face, running a thumb under you eye to coax you to look at him. Both of your eyes are glossy. For far too long, you have hidden your love away. “My dearest prince,” he breathes, “will you marry me?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

---

Tag List:

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#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #male tav #male reader #x male reader #alternate universe #royalty au #smut #hurt/comfort #light hurt/comfort

[comatosebunny09]

Figure drawing is surprisingly lively today.

A question hangs in the air. Something about relationships sitting on your classmates’ tongues. You’re in and out of the conversation. Tucked between your peers’ laughter and the gentle croon of new age music spilling from the speaker.

Your fingers are smudged from the soft pastels you chose as your medium today. Stained red like the irises boring holes into your head, stripping you down to the marrow.

You’re warm when you feel them on you again. Warm like the ivory glow of sunbeams pouring into the classroom. You can’t focus. Can’t get your vision transferred onto paper. Too hard to concentrate. Your skin prickles with heat. You can’t help glancing up at him to lay your curiosities to rest.

He doesn’t look away. Shameless as he watches you, seated pretty on a stool in the center of the classroom. Porcelain-skinned and lithe. Knees tucked beneath his chin, arms slack, encircling his legs to keep them together and up on the stool—a little modesty for today’s pose.

His expression is unreadable. Maybe a bit contemplative. And you don’t miss the slight cant of his lips and the crinkle of his eyes when he catches you staring just as long. He waggles his silver, groomed brows. Like what you see, they query. The heat blooms tenfold through your chest as your eyes return to your sketchbook. Like a grade-schooler caught eying their crush.

Your throat thickens. You wipe your hands on your jeans, hoping to dispel your nerves. Hoping to distract yourself from the ethereal beauty watching you like a best-kept secret. Like you are the sun he’s never basked in, and he wishes to savor every moment beneath it.

Truthfully, Astarion makes you nervous. Makes your heart pump over time, and your tongue feel all doughy in your mouth. Causes the hairs littered across your body to stand ramrod stiff, and you breathe a little shallower when he guides you into idle conversation. He’ll throw in a quip or two to break up the monotony of the classroom, but his focus always drifts back to you.

You’re not sure why he’s always had this penchant for you. Why he sets your nerves afire like solar flares exploding beneath your skin. You can never deny you enjoy the attention. While everyone else vies for his recognition, you capture his intrigue so effortlessly, garnering the envy of your peers.

Maybe somewhere in a past life, you meant something to him. Maybe he exalted you. Offered you the sweetest supplications. Held you dear in the circle of his arms with his lips pressed cold yet reassuring against your forehead.

You shake your head, banishing the cacophony your thoughts. Silly you. Past lives and all that. When the hell did you become such a romantic?

You take up your pastel stick anew. Figure you’ll get the line work down before class ends. However, it’s proving rather tricky with the subject of your piece staring you down like that.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #past lovers #soulmate au #astarion drabble #just musing #seriously i’m sorry my writing is all over the place sometimes

[sky-kiss]

Raphael x Tav College AU

A/N: Was talking with @molinaesque. Was consumed by the need for a coffeeshop AU. Also. Shadowheart and Astarion, my beloved.

The College is 30 Minutes from Here. It's Noon. He's Down Bad.

__________

“Darling, he’s back.” 

Astarion does not say this silently. Astarion doesn’t say or do anything silently, so there’s no real reason for Tav to be surprised. The elf cocks his hip against the counter, tapping a finger to a tune only he hears. The shop is bustling, but he’s chosen not to help. Shadowheart shifts beside him, chin resting in her palm. 

“You really should say something,” she says, also opting not to work. She leans back against Astarion, and the elf shifts to wind an arm around her. HR is going to have fucking field day. Again. “He’s…of a certain age. That much caffeine can’t be good for his heart.” 

“If he gets what he wants, the caffeine will be the least of his heart’s worries.” Her friend chews the inside of his cheek and considers. “I almost want her to accept, don’t you? He’s swanned about for long; he almost deserves it.” 

 “I am curious; he has that build, you know.” 

“I do know.” 

Tav shoots them both a dark look. She doesn’t need to see her reflection to know there’s a violent blush in her cheeks. They’re burning. She has half a mind to sink into the ground. Or pray for death. “Will you both please be civil?”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion says, “Of course not.” 

That one’s on her. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. Tav shakes her head, turning her attention back to the line. Professor Raphael is loitering near the back, glasses set on the tip of his nose. He’d confessed to her once, months ago, that he didn’t need them; it was purely for aesthetic purposes. People expected as much from a tenured professor, and he intended to play into those stereotypes. It hardly explains the rest of him. 

He’s handsome. In fact, handsome is an understatement. It’s unfair; it’s rude, and in darker moments, alone in the shitty studio Tav shares with Shadowheart, it makes her want to scream. The gods blessed academics with brains; it came at the cost of their looks. And then there’s fucking Raphael, in his tailored suits, with his perfectly mussed brown hair and pretty eyes, and her whole world view goes topsy-turvy.

Asshole. 

It’s another ten minutes before he reaches the counter. Astarion and Shadowheart have gone back to work (shocking), but she feels their attention shift to her. Tav clears her throat, painting on a smile, trying to look surprised. Like he hadn’t stopped in for a quick espresso before class that morning. 

“Professor! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” 

“Not,” Shadowheart chimes in, “That she’s complaining.” 

Tav considers the implications of firing one’s roommate. “We are always happy to see repeat customers.” 

He smiles, plucking the glasses from his nose. Tav tries to keep the bottom from falling out of her stomach. She fails. His hands are long-fingered and elegant, and he’s just…the whole thing is a lot. It’s a lot. “My dear, if you were aware of only half of the papers I've been asked to evaluate…you would understand my need for this…outlet.” 

“That bad?” 

“A massacre of the English tongue.” 

Astarion presses beside her, sliding the professor’s espresso (which he has yet to order) across the counter, “You know, our sweet Tav was something of an English expert.” She pinches Astarion hard. “Ow! It’s true. Gods, you vicious little beast! Perhaps if you need a second set of eyes…” 

Raphael cocks his head to the side. “A charming suggestion. Impossible, but charming.” 

“You see, Astarion,” she elbows him back towards the steamer. “He’s impossible.” Tav scrubs a hand through her hair. The color is back in her cheeks, and he must see it. The strange thing is he seems to have softened. “I’m sorry…he’s…they’re…” 

“I understand, my dear.” 

His accent does funny things to her insides. Like horrible, awful, dizzy things. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, indicating the coffee, “This one is on me; you’re here so often. And you have all those essays.” 

“No, I cannot accept.” 

“Please.” Something dark flashes in those pretty eyes. Raphael nods, holding her gaze. The bastard slips the bills into the tip jar, smirking at her. So proud of himself. Tav rolls her eyes. “Very clever.” 

“I thought it was an excellent move.” The professor tips her a wink. He turns to go.

“Professor?” 

He stops, chuckling. “Raphael, please.” 

“Raphael,” she brushes a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Do you um…live near here or something? The college is a little…” she makes a vague gesture with her hands. It’s meant to approximate the distance, but it…doesn’t. 

“Not at all.” Raphael holds up his cup in salute. “But I’m willing to sacrifice the time for the…quality of this fine establishment.” He dips his chin, dropping into a half bow that would look ridiculous on a less charismatic man. “Until tomorrow, my dear.” 

Tav stares after him long after he’s disappeared. Her head is doing that buzzing thing, which is probably why she doesn’t realize her friends have pressed in on either side of her. Shadowheart flicks Tav’s cheek. 

“You do realize what you have to do, yes?” 

She knows the answer. Oh, god, she knows what they’re going to say, and she dreads it. “Yeah. I know.” 

And the little shits say it together like it's a bad romantic comedy. “You have to fuck him.” 

“I have to fuck him.” 

#raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #au: coffee shop #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #shadowheart #astarion #my writing #it's crack #BUT I WAS CONSUMED WITH THE NEED #god it was liberating to write modern stuff again lol