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spiderstarion · 8 months

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✧ ೃ༄ੈ✩ the sun and the stars | astarion + tav/reader

"You've had a deep instinct to impress Astarion since the moment you met him. You're very aware of this instinct, and you can easily recall multiple situations in which you tried to handle things in ways that you thought might make the vampire proud of you, as embarrassing as that is. You never let it change your moral stances, but the more you think about it, the more apparent it becomes to you just how dangerous the hold he has on you is. You barely know him, and he could bend and break you with just his word if he wanted to.

You weigh these options in your head, but deep in your chest, you knew your answer the second he said anything to you."

Alternatively: you are a relatively experienced adventurer, but a very inexperienced romantic partner. Astarion digs it.

! this is part one to a two part fic! part two will be out sometime around september 17th, 2023. this fic was also cross-posted. you can find the links to the other postings at the bottom of this!

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You have been drinking for what feels like hours. You can feel your head spinning as you dance your way around camp, stopping every once in a while to speak to one of the very thankful tieflings littered about. This is fun, you think, probably the most fun you've had in years. Definitely the most fun you've had in the past couple of weeks.

You wander aimlessly around, clumsily, drink in hand, when your gaze falls on Astarion. He's standing in front of his tent, face full of annoyance, as he sips from the glass in his hand. A young tiefling approaches him and says something, and you see a very fake smile flash across his face. He rolls his eyes as she walks away. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you begin your journey towards him.

"Why are you moping over here all by yourself, are you not enjoying the party?" You ask, words slightly slurring together, stumbling a bit as you approach the deep burgundy tent.

A small smirk spreads on the sharp face of the pale elf, one that feels much more real than what he gave the tiefling woman moments ago, "woah, there, darling," he begins, sitting down his glass and gently steadying you by your shoulders.

"Perhaps you've had too much to drink tonight."

You roll your eyes, holding eye contact and taking another sip from your own cup in a teasing sort of defiance.

"It’s a party, Astarion, you're supposed to be having fun!"

He chuckles, a deep velvet song that travels effortlessly into your brain and settles itself in all the right places. You feel goosebumps begin to raise on your arms at the realization that his skin is touching yours.

"I'm not quite the type to be celebrated for heroism, my sweet," he starts, "I kind of hate this, actually."

Much to your dismay, he pulls his hands away, crossing his arms on his chest. Your skin feels electric where his hands just were, and you feel the need to yank them up and put them back.

You don't do that, though, and instead your brows furrow deeper as the statement registers.

"Really? I thought you'd be all for being celebrated, no matter the occasion." There's a hint of teasing in your voice, but it's a genuine statement. This scene seems like something Astarion would absolutely bask in.

He shrugs, a usually anxious gesture somehow made so confident by the tall man, "I don't know, perhaps I'm just hoping for some real fun to find me tonight."

You snort, a sound that escapes your body involuntarily and causes you, even in your drunken state, to internally cringe at the idea of what that must've looked like to him.

"And what does that mean? This is about as fun as it gets!" You proclaim, confident, though that doesn't last long as the look of humor that plasters itself across Astarion's face quickly makes you feel as though you're missing something. Your face falls.

"What?" You ask, eyes wide, "what's so funny?"

"Oh, you innocent thing," you can feel your cheeks and the tips of your pointed ears begin to heat, no doubt burning a bright red against your skin. Astarion leans in close to you, his cheek brushing against yours lightly. His hand finds its way to the dip of your waist, resting there so lightly you almost don't feel it through the fabric of your large shirt.

"I'm talking about sex, my dear." His voice is soft and warm against your ear, and you can feel his breath cascade down your neck in a way that sends shivers along your spine. You nearly drop your glass, trying to compose your face so the pure horror you feel isn't evident.

You can't help yourself, though.

"With me?" you ask, timidly, eyes desperately trying to focus on anything but him to relieve the immense anxiety building in your chest.

"Would you like that?" Your breath hitches in your throat at the question, and your glass hits the ground. It feels as though the world is spinning, and you instinctively reach up and grab at the fabric of Astarion's ruffled white shirt with both hands, gripping like it's the only thing keeping you grounded on Faerûn.

You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut as the vague scent of bergamot and rosemary fills your senses. He presses the pads of his fingers slightly into your hip, and you feel a deep heat begin to build between your thighs.

"I.." the words you're looking for escape you and you can't seem to form a single coherent thought. Astarion has always been unattainable. You're not the kind of person who attracts people like him. He's confident, beautiful, and he's never shown an ounce of interest in you before — in fact, you've always thought he felt very negatively about you, given the way he's always opposing your actions.

He lets out another breathy laugh, pulling away slightly so he's face to face with you, forehead less than an inch from yours.

"Open your eyes," he says, a quiet demand. You don't know what compels you to listen, but you force yourself to obey, opening your eyes. Anxiously, you keep them trained on the dip of his collarbone — you can't bear to maintain eye contact with him with the intense feeling currently burning a hole in your chest.

"Look at me, darling," his hand comes up from your hip, gently guiding your chin upward between his index and thumb, until you’re eye to eye with him. The embarrassment grounds itself deep in your veins, and you're sure you must look like a tomato right now with how hard you're blushing. It takes every ounce of control you have to not turn and run away from this feeling.

"I am going to leave and walk into the woods," he begins, "into the clearing near the lake where we washed our clothing earlier, do you remember?" His voice isn't condescending or teasing — you swear you sense a sort of affection lingering on the ends of his words – it’s completely genuine.

You nod at the question, eyes wide with fear and desire. You say a prayer that he won't notice how blown out your pupils are.

"Good. I'm going to walk to that clearing, and if you would like to join me, I will be waiting." He finishes his sentence with a quick flash of a smile before turning around, grabbing his glass, and wandering off into the woods.

You stand in that spot, completely dumbfounded, for what feels like a very long time. Your brain is running at a million miles an hour trying to comprehend what could have possibly just happened. You feel almost sober after that experience, and part of you is convinced that there's no way that could've been real.

You have a choice to make, and you weigh the options in your brain.

If you decide to stay here at camp and continue about the party like nothing happened, how would that affect your relationship with Astarion going forward? He doesn't quite seem like the type to hold this against you — he did give you a choice, after all — but you don't really know him well enough to be sure. What if you deny him this and he disappears? While you're not super close with Astarion, you do like him quite a bit and it would probably affect you more than you'd like to admit if he left. Plus, he's a good asset for the team. It would be difficult to get through the upcoming challenges that you're sure you're going to face without him.

Now, if you gave in to the much more desirable option and followed him into the woods...

You pause, visualizing the outcome. He would find out that you're a virgin, that's for sure. There's no way you could possibly hide it from someone as experienced as Astarion. You're a terrible liar normally, but in this situation you're sure it would be damn near impossible to play it off like you even kind of knew what you were doing. Maybe he wouldn't care... But what if he does? What if you go out there and he finds out and he laughs in your face? You shudder at the thought.

You've had a deep instinct to impress Astarion since the moment you met him. You're very aware of this instinct, and you can easily recall multiple situations in which you tried to handle things in ways that you thought might make the vampire proud of you, as embarrassing as that is. You never let it change your moral stances, but the more you think about it, the more apparent it becomes to you just how dangerous the hold he has on you is. You barely know him, and he could bend and break you with just his word if he wanted to.

You weigh these options in your head, but deep in your chest, you knew your answer the second he said anything to you.

Legs shaking, hands numb, throat dry, you shakily turn and look towards the forest behind your camp. You take a deep breath in, holding it in your lungs for a moment before exhaling and straightening out your posture, a determined look creeping its way onto your face.

Nervously, you begin to make your way towards the clearing.

You feel like a baby deer as you carry yourself through the woods, tripping and stumbling against every rogue branch and rock. There's a persistent heat that has made itself comfortable right in the core of your stomach, and the closer you get to the clearing, the more intense it grows. You can smell the salty breeze of the lake waft in your direction as you head towards it, and the cold breeze that follows after it has you shivering and rubbing your palms against your upper arms, trying to warm yourself.

You reach the lake, and it's an absolutely beautiful sight. The water sparkles and ripples against the reflection of the large full moon beating down against it, and it envelopes everything in a dark blue hue. Far against the expanse of water, on the very edge of the horizon, you can see a spot of land, adorned with bright orange lights that bounce off the lake and fill the area with warmth.

You feel like you're being watched, as you take in the sight before you, and you freeze where you're standing. Slowly, a hand reaches itself from behind you, wrapping around your waist and pressing it's palm flat against the bottom of your stomach. Cold lips brush against the outside lining of your ear, something sharp tugging at the skin for just a moment, before you hear him speak.

"There you are," he says, his tone full of approval as his other arm wraps itself around your waist to envelop you fully. Despite his cold touch, your face and sex burn white hot at the contact.

"I'm so glad you made the right decision," his right hand travels upward slowly, flat palm fully exploring the clothed expanse of your stomach before tracing lightly around the mound of your breast. He grabs it lightly, squeezing softly and rubbing in slow, small circles. You can't help but let your eyes fall shut, mouth hanging open at the electric touch.

"I have wanted you since the moment I first saw you, you know. All small and shy and pure," he chuckles, mouth ghosting against your skin as it travels down to your neck. He presses a kiss against your skin.

"You can barely hold a conversation without reverting in on yourself,” his voice is barely there, all breath as he kisses up and down your neck. Your fingertips buzz with anticipation and your mind races.

"Yet, the moment we enter battle," the hand lying against your waist begins to slowly make its way down the plane of your stomach, melting over the curves as it approaches the heat building between your thighs.

"It's like your bloodlust overtakes you. You become someone entirely different," his finger traces ever so lightly against your clothed clit, forcing a small gasp to fall from your lips as your legs open instinctually, "chest heaving, covered in blood, eyes lidded in an ecstasy I've only ever seen in brothels... There's something nearly animalistic about it."

His finger presses slightly harder against your clit, and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter as he rubs it gently, small noises falling effortlessly from your mouth. The hand he has palming your breast begins to journey upward, slotting itself perfectly into position around your throat – his long, dexterous fingers gripping the skin tightly, causing your breath to strain.

You can't help the way your hips buck up into the touch, and your hands shoot forward to wrap around his forearm, urging his fingers in their gentle assault against you. You try desperately to hold his hand in place and grind yourself harder against it, but he's much stronger than you. Instead, he pulls his hand away completely, turning your body to face his as he pushes you back by your neck.

You stumble and trip over the branches and stones littering the ground, but he keeps you upright as he continues to lead you backward. Your eyes flutter open, staring up through heavy lashes to meet him, and you can physically feel yourself tighten at the sight. His eyes must be ten shades darker than they usually are, his pupils blown, nearly wiping the dark red color out completely. You can practically taste the lust dripping off of his sharp features, his face stern and his eye contact ruthless. You typically find it extremely difficult to hold eye contact with Astarion for long periods of time, but you just can’t pull yourself to look away from the gorgeous sight.

You feel your back hit the rough bark of a tree somewhere behind you, and you grunt at the feeling. It’s sharp, and it stings through your shirt, but there’s little time to focus on the pain as, almost immediately, Astarion presses his lips against yours. A wave of panic surges through you, and you feel the ball of anxiety in your chest burn hotter, growing and growing, as he swipes his tongue against your lips.

He wants in, and, fuck, you want to let him in, but you falter. Your hands work their way in between your bodies, and you push at his chest lightly, mouth sealed, eyes open. He pauses, pulling away, hand around your throat loosening.

He looks at you through lidded eyes, completely blown out, fangs peeking out from beneath his top lip.

“Is something the matter?” He asks, his tone still holding a hint of the lust it did before. You swallow, the anxiety in your throat refusing to move as the heat of embarrassment begins to replace the burning desire that was building itself up in the core of your stomach.

“I…” You start to speak, but stop yourself again for the second time tonight. How do you even say this without sounding completely incompetent? You feel stupid for not having thought about this before you wandered out here after him. You feel like banging your head against the nearest hard surface for being so oblivious.

Of course he was going to kiss you. That’s what lovers do. It’s one of the first steps in any intimate encounter, sexual or not, and you – ditzy and airheaded as ever – couldn’t have even considered that this would happen before following him out here blindly and putting yourself into one of the most uncomfortable situations you’ve ever been in?

You can see he’s holding his breath, clearly expecting a rejection of his advances or some sort of big drop of information. As you open your mouth to speak, you can tell it’s not what he was expecting to hear.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You force it out, and the sentence hangs heavy in the air. Your chest tightens as you push the words out, and you nervously pinch and pull at the fabric of his shirt, eyes avoiding his at all costs.

He’s silent for a moment, “really?” he asks, astonished. You nod.

“But… you’ve had sex?”

You cringe again, bracing yourself for the worst as you slowly shake your head 'no'. Everything is still for a moment, and you manage to quickly flick your eyes up to get an image of the damage. Astarion’s mouth is open slightly in shock, his eyes scanning you for any trace of joking or deception. You can feel your face practically boiling under the heat of your blush, and you momentarily think that you’d probably enjoy the rare sight of the vampire rendered speechless if it weren’t for the unwavering insecurity you had swirling around this situation.

“Huh.” He breaks the silence, taking a step back, and your body slumps forward slightly, immediately missing the security of having something to lean on.

It’s nearly impossible for you to make out what’s going through his head. You watch his face carefully, doing your best to try and understand what he could possibly be thinking.

It’s silent for a long time. Your back is still pressed tight against the tree behind you, and the anxiety bubbling in your chest feels like it’s about to spew out any second.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice cuts through the quiet, a smile spreading across his face. The smile isn’t genuine or even mocking like you’ve come to expect, instead it seems extremely forced, almost like he’s uncomfortable with the way this situation played out. You couldn’t blame him, you weren’t very comfortable with it either.

“My apologies, then,” he says, turning on his heels and beginning to walk back toward camp. Your mouth falls open in shock, your eyebrows furrowing together. You open your mouth to call for him, but nothing comes out, and he quickly disappears into the dense trees.

After a moment, you begin to slide your body down the tree, slumping to the ground, defeated, and you stay there for a long time. Distantly, you can hear the sound of the party starting to die down. You do your best not to cry, but you just can’t help it as the waves of embarrassment wash over you. You feel stupid, you feel self-conscious, you feel frustrated. The emotion just crashes down on you like a ton of rocks.

You don’t return to camp until you’re sure everyone is asleep.

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✦ archiveofourown

✦ wattpad

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I am currently looking for beta readers and editors for my fics! i cannot pay you for this job, but i can give u access to my super cool discord server - full of BG3 and DND nerds - where you will get the coveted "buzz's beta" role. please, shawty, i'm desperate!

if you are interested in doing this please shoot me a message, either here or over on discord (username: buzzbey#4141 [case sensitive!]).

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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 2

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 7.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the little time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

Read on ao3

There’s a knock on your door the next morning, but you ignore it- too consumed by the throbbing pain in your head and the feeling of tiny knives stabbing at the back of your eyes. This is what you get for crying yourself to sleep.

At some point last night, you had managed to pull yourself off the floor and into the bed, still wearing your gown. You had barely thought to pull the pins out of your hair before you were curling in on yourself under the covers, pillow dampening under your cheek.

But there are no tears left this morning, only anger burning through your veins.

Anger felt easy, anger felt familiar. Anger masked hurt and gave it a purpose. You were hurt by Astarion because he made you feel special and you were angry at yourself because you had been too caught up in the fantasy and believed him. The two sentiments twisted and warped in your mind until you were left angry at Astarion for tricking you.

There’s another knock at the door and it infuriates you. Why couldn’t you be left alone to grieve? These people would have the entirety of your life to bother you. Did you not deserve one day to yourself? You pick up one of your shoes from the floor and hurl it at the door as you yell at the person on the other side to leave you alone.

Thankfully, your message must have been received, because for a few moments, there’s nothing but glorious silence. You let your eyes drift closed again, but your mind is too quick to turn back to last night- how easy it had been to dance with Astarion, how his arm had felt wrapped around your waist, the solid line of his body as he had pinned you to the wall and threatened you. And through all those memories is your new fiancé’s stupid, perfect, beautiful, lying face.

The way you see it, you have two ways of getting out of this wedding. Either you manage to escape or figure out how to kill Astarion.

How do you kill a vampire, though? You try to pull the stories you were told as a little girl from the recesses of your mind to see if you remember any weaknesses or weapons you can use against him. You’re supposed to drive something through their heart- a wooden stake. The elegant wooden bed posts are perhaps the most reasonable candidate, you just have to figure out how to saw through the thick wood. At this point, you’re desperate enough to start gnawing on one like a beaver. You’re studying the posts and losing hope at the feasibility of turning one into a stake when the dark haired woman from last night bursts her way into the room.

“Get out!” You practically screech at her, reaching down to pick up your remaining shoe to throw it at her. The woman simply dodges the shoe and continues wheeling in a cart of food.

“You weren’t answering the door, my lady,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice that makes you want to grab the butter knife from the cart and jam it into her throat. The way she looks at you makes you feel like you were the one inconveniencing her and not that she is complicit in your captivity.

The butter knife had you thinking again, though. It was not the best weapon by any means, but it was perhaps the best defense you would have access to. You rise from the bed and move toward the cart under the guise of investigating the food on it.

It is a lavish spread. Someone had obviously gone through great care to make sure you would find at least something on it appealing and your growling stomach is tempted by some of the sweet-looking pastries. Nevertheless, in your scheming this morning, you had already decided that one of your little acts of revenge will be to refuse food. Astarion can’t very well keep a prisoner who is dead. Or at the very least, it will be a great inconvenience for him and that thought fills you with the tiniest spark of joy.

You press your hands to the cart, continuing your fake investigation of the breakfast. The servant has her back turned to you as she remakes the bed and you take the opportunity to carefully slide the knife off the cart, concealing it in the pocket in the folds of your skirt.

“I’m not hungry,” you finally declare, as you settle at the little table in the corner of the room. You feel better, now that you’ve got your secret little knife with you- more prepared, and at least a small step further on your plot to get out of here.

“Lord Ancunin will be worried about you if you don’t eat,” the lady answers, but you can tell she is growing a bit exasperated by your antics. She prepares a plate of food anyway, setting it on the table in front of you. Passing over the food, you instead pick up the cup of tea she’d poured in an attempt to soothe your stomach.

“Astarion can worry all he’d like. I’m not going to let him fatten me up like I’m some pig he’s readying for slaughter,” you push the plate back toward her as you speak.

Astarion might have gotten what he wanted for now, but you were by no means going to make this easy for him. You were going to fight and claw and resist him in every way you knew how. A dark, vengeful part of you smirks at the idea of his pretty face marred by your claw marks.

“If he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” the maid says, though her face does soften a bit, full of pity. You hate her for that, for pitying you. Had you really fallen so far that you were seen as nothing more than a helpless little snack for a vampire Lord?

“At least let me help you out of that dress. You’ll feel better with a change of clothes,” she says and even though you’ve decided that this woman is your new enemy along with Astarion, she might be right that you would feel better in new clothes. You debate whether you should accept this offer of help or not, worried that if she were to help you out of your dress, she would find your precious knife tucked in the pocket.

She seems to notice your internal struggle and offers, “Or I could bring you a new dress and you could change on your own?”

You do end up agreeing to those terms, but quickly discover that you have vastly underestimated the difficulty of removing a ballgown. You weren’t used to dressing by yourself and the tiny buttons down the back of your gown seem too slippery and impossible to manage on your own. For a moment, you consider giving up entirely and just wearing this dress for the rest of your miserable life, but now that the idea of changing your clothes has gotten in your head, you want out of the stupid dress that is so full of reminders of last night.

You quickly tuck the knife underneath the pillows of the bed so that the woman cannot find it in your skirts before you swallow your pride and hesitantly knock on the inside of the door. It whips open almost immediately, the dark haired woman looking at you curiously, her long ponytail swaying behind her.

“Can you help me? I can’t get this dress off by myself,” you say, but you can feel your voice is tinged with embarrassment.

She enters the room again and undoes the slippery buttons on the back of your dress with dextrous fingers. Her speed is irritating since you had just spent the past half hour hopping around your room with your hands twisted behind your back like a fool.

“What’s your name?” you finally ask, as she’s helping to undo your corset.

“Shadowheart, my lady.”

“That’s a…” you struggle with the words, trying to be polite, “unique name.”

Shadowheart snorts out a laugh and you appreciate that she seems to have a sense of humor. “I’m not from around here.”

The dress she helps you into is soft and simple. The pale blue cotton is light and will keep you cool during the warm summer afternoon and the thin lace trim around the neckline is delicate and refined, hinting at your fiancé’s wealth. It’s the complete opposite of what you would have expected for the bride of a vampire. A part of you had even considered that Astarion might keep you dressed up in gaudy ball gowns for the rest of all time. He did seem to have a flair for the dramatic. Your initial pleasure with the dress sours when you realize this dress was just another reminder that as your husband, Astarion could completely control every aspect of your life, right down to the clothes on your back. Or the lack of clothes, though you shudder at the thought.

“We can go to a dressmaker soon and get you new clothes,” Shadowheart says, when she notices you plucking sadly at the material. “Or we can try writing a letter to your father and organize having your old clothes sent here, if you’d rather?”

Her offer makes you question if you might have been too quick to judge Shadowheart, who has been nothing but kind to you this morning, even when you have screamed and thrown things at her. Perhaps you could manage to turn her into a useful ally in your escape, after all. You couldn’t allow yourself to think that you might grow friendly with her over time. No, right now, all your mental faculties need to be dedicated to getting out of here before the wedding, before you would be legally bound to Astarion.

“The dressmaker is agreeable to me- though, it would be nice to have some of my old items sent here. Personal belongings and books and whatnot,” you answer and she gives you a small smile. Truthfully, you’d rather not have your old wardrobe sent here, especially since you planned on leaving before it would arrive. Those dresses hold memories that at this point, you’d rather forget. But, if you were to be stuck here forever, you would certainly miss your little collection of books and you also long desperately for the necklace your mother had given you before she died- it would provide a small bit of comfort in this very stressful time.

You hesitate to tell Shadhowheart that the necklace is the real purpose of your request. If your father was given any inclination how much that necklace meant to you or how much it was likely worth, it would certainly be missing if your belongings ever did show up.

“That can certainly be arranged, my lady,” she gives you another sweet smile as she guides you to sit so she can work on your hair. She looks like she’s debating whether or not to speak for a moment before she says, “Believe it or not, but everyone here really does want what’s best for you. This was just the only way for Astarion to ensure you kept his vampirism a secret.”

You scoff, immediately dismissing her words. You hadn’t missed the way that she had mistakenly called him Astarion rather than Lord Ancunin. There was a familiarity that was suggested at her use of his first name and it sat wrong with you- this idea that Astarion could be respected or, gods forbid, friendly enough with his staff that they would feel comfortable using his first name.

“But what about the woman he was drinking from last night? Why does she get to leave with her freedom?” You snap back at her, the hypocrisy of it all fanning the spark of anger within you again.

“The Lord has a longstanding agreement with several local people.” Shadowheart explains and when you let out a huff of annoyance at her answer, she continues, “There’s a level of trust and predictability there that isn’t present with you. You’re a wild card.”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” you grumble, though you aren’t entirely sure if there was any truth to your words. You hadn’t really had time to think about what you would do after the ball since you were too focused on trying to escape Astarion. Perhaps you might have told your father on the carriage ride home, but he would have probably used it as an excuse to send you to the nuthouse and finally be rid of you. You would have still ended the night locked in a room, though admittedly one with worse interior design.

Even after Shadowheart excuses herself from the room, you sit glumly over this realization. It seems predetermined that your fate was to be imprisoned- in the asylum, in this room, in a marriage to Astarion or a marriage to that rat of a man who had been with your father last night.

The escape efforts continue in your mind, but you grow half-heartedness as the hours continue to tick by.

Shadowheart returns a few hours later with lunch, a spread of meats and cheeses with breads and dried fruits. Your fingers pass reluctantly over the dates, which were always a favorite of yours, while you reach to pour yourself a cup of tea. It’s dark and rich and you only realize after you’ve drunk the whole pot that it’s filled the room with a hint of a lovely bergamot smell. Your heart twinges when you realize that Astarion has taken this from you now, too- that bergamot has become intrinsically linked with him in your mind

You spend time staring out the window at the view of the garden, watching the servants come and go as they clean up after the ball and you can’t help but wonder if your view is by design or if this room is just the most equipped to hold a prisoner. Since your room is on the top floor, the distance to the ground makes jumping impossible. The drop could potentially kill you or at least leave you so injured you wouldn’t be able to get very far. It takes about an hour to tie together the sheets from the bed and see how long you can fasten the makeshift rope, if maybe you can climb down the side of the building before you jump. Ultimately, you don’t have enough material and the drop would still be too far. You remake the bed, disheartened at your lack of viable escape options.

When Shadowheart returns a few hours later, she lets out an annoyed sigh at your uneaten lunch, replacing it with dinner, roast duck on a bed of fragrant rice. The aroma wafts through the room, but you hold strong, letting the bowl sit untouched on the small corner table. Once again, you greedily suck down the tea, grateful that you were given an herbal blend that smells of lavender rather than bergamot.

The lack of progress you’ve made in escaping today has you feeling defeated, and you resolve yourself to the fact that your only available option is to fight your way out. After retrieving your hidden butter knife from underneath the plump pillows, you wait by the door. Strength isn’t your strong suit, so the act of surprise will have to be your weapon. You aren’t entirely sure how much damage you can do with the dull knife, but a poor weapon is better than no weapon at all. Hopefully, you can subdue the next person who comes through that door and negotiate your way out. Shadowheart would likely be back to help you prepare for bed soon and as guilty as you feel at the prospect of using her as a hostage, your own well-being was paramount.

The doorknob twists and you pounce. It’s perhaps the worst or the best possible option of who has opened the door.

“Oh, I rather like being in this position with you. Tell me, dearest, what will you do with me now that you’ve caught me?” Astarion practically purrs with his beautiful, lilting voice.

You have Astarion pinned to the wall in the perfect mirror image of last night, your arm against his chest so that the knife is pressed firmly against the column of his throat. You don’t allow yourself to look at his neck longer than it takes to position the knife, too scared you will be distracted by the way the muscles curve and dip into that delightful hollow at the base of his throat.

But you do catch the two distinct puncture wounds on his neck. The crude markings looked as if a wild animal had ripped their teeth into him carelessly. They can only be one thing. Bite marks.

The twin scars were an obvious clue to his true nature, a birthmark left from when he was reborn anew as a vampire. The high collar he had been wearing last night had covered them but the scar tissue is jagged and rough against his pale skin and they stand out unmistakably now.

Ripping your gaze from his neck, you glare into his definitely-not-distracting eyes as he regards you with a hint of amusement that just serves to irritate you further. You were supposed to be intimidating here, not amusing.

“Really, what was the plan here?” Astarion seems to grow bored at your lack of a response, lips turning up at the corner as he lets out a breath of laughter, “To stab me to death with a knife that’s not even sharp enough to cut a slice of bread?”

Your arm holding the knife up to his neck wavers and Astarion’s fingers trace a gentle path across your arms until he grasps your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip. The pain makes you involuntarily open your fist and the knife clatters to the floor with a clunk. Astarion’s quick to move his boot to step on it so you’re unable to pick it up.

With the threat of the knife removed, Astarion still lets you keep him pinned to the wall. “I see you got at least something out of the breakfast I sent for you.”

“I don’t appreciate being locked in my room,” you snarl back at him.

“Yes, well, when you start to earn some trust, I’ll let you out. But you’re not off to a strong start with the knife, darling.”

Darling.

You think of how he had called you darling last night as he swept you into his arms and danced, how it had sounded like a hymn dripping from his lips that caused a sweet warmth to pool in your belly. Now, you practically hiss at him using the words, hackles raised in defense like a wild dog.

He pokes your cheek, lips curled up in a smile, “Very scary.”

“I hate you.”

“A shame, really. We could’ve had so much fun together,” Astarion’s hand sneaks down to curl around your back and rest against your hip while he talks, pulling you closer against him. The position is so similar to how he had held you while you danced last night and for a moment, you give in, letting yourself enjoy his touch rather than immediately shaking his hands off.

His voice is deep and sultry, hand tightening where it clutches against the fabric of your dress, “If only you hadn’t ruined my plans for last night… I would have come back from my midnight snack, satiated by blood, but starving for you. I would have taken you to stroll the gardens, fed you a line about how the roses were jealous of your beauty and I would have even cut one off for you for you to remember me by.”

You’re struck by how similar his plan was to your daydream last night, as if Astarion was intimately familiar with your deepest desires.

He’s leaning closer and the soft brush of one of his white curls against your forehead is nearly divine as his words continue to hypnotize you, “I would have kissed you, over and over and over again, until you couldn’t think straight.”

“I could’ve touched you,” he emphasizes his words by dipping the hand on your waist just a fraction of an inch lower. The warm smell of bergamot is flooding your senses and his mouth is moving so, so close to yours, only a hair’s breadth away from your own as he speaks in a rich, seductive voice. Your lips part in anticipation, breath hitching in your throat at the thought.

“Have you ever been touched before?” His gaze feels like a caress as it slides down your neck to your collarbones, gentle fingers tilting your chin up to refocus your gaze on his lovely face.

“No, not a proper little girl like you. I can’t imagine how pent up you are. I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.”

“Enough,” you shake your head, placing your hand against his chest to press yourself a step away from him. His eyes are dark and hooded as he follows your movement and you take a deep breath, trying to calm the flaming heat you feel licking at your face.

It’s cruel of Astarion to imprison you and then come in here and fill your mind with delicious fantasies. Perhaps this is his way of playing with his food- to visit you and shame you for how desperately you wanted him. It was cruel of him to demean you for your desire, not after he pretended to need you just as badly last night.

“You don’t get to mock me,” you say to him, once you’ve collected your composure.

“I’m not mocking, pet, I’m teasing.” He’s still leaned against the wall, arms casually crossed across his chest. “It’s what good lovers do to each other.”

“Lovers?” you splutter.

“I’m teasing again, dear. Gods, you make it so easy.” Astarion finally pushes himself off from the wall, leaning down to pick up the knife and tuck it in his own pocket.

You glare at him while he moves, attempting to assert your dominance over a situation that you were quickly losing control of.

“You haven’t eaten today,” Astarion breaks the silence, eyes softening a bit. He sounds genuinely concerned and his pretend sincerity has you wondering if you could be quick enough to grab the knife back out of his pocket and give him a good stab in the side. He doesn’t get to be concerned about you. Not when he is the one causing you distress.

“I wasn’t hungry.” Your stomach betrays you by choosing that moment to grumble. You know Astarion heard it. Damned vampire.

“My, my. Well, you’re either lying or you’re dying of some weird stomach condition. And as much fun as the latter would be, I’d really prefer you stay alive until our wedding.”

Refusing to respond to his taunts, you cross your arms over your chest and continue glaring.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, darling. That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion says, rolling his eyes. You know that he catches how you stiffen at the mention of blood.

“Oh,” he draws out the word all long and self-important now that he thinks he has you figured out, “So that’s what you’re worried about, that I’m going to drink from you. Dearest, as fun as it was chasing after you last night, I prefer meals that are a bit easier to catch.”

You remain silent, still, and Astarion takes a step closer to you, his fingers brushing affectionately against your upper arm. It’s nearly impossible to hold back the shiver that threatens to run down your spine.

“Just promise me you’ll eat something,” his eyes have got that stupid soft-ness to them again that makes you want to do the opposite of what he’s saying just to spite him.

You remind yourself that you can’t believe a word he says. Astarion has proven himself as a liar and a cheat. In fact, his whole act tonight is probably a part of his masterplan to sacrifice you for your virgin blood or something.

“I won’t promise you anything!” you cry, incredulous.

Astarion moves to leave but pauses in the doorway, hand curled around the doorknob. If he would just open the door, you could try to rush out around him.

“How do you feel about a nighttime wedding?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“Whatever pleases you, husband.” You hiss back at him. “My opinion on our upcoming marriage hasn’t seemed to matter so far.”

“Yes, well, you do forfeit some right to make your own choices when you exhibit poor decision making capabilities and sneak around, following scary monsters in the dark,” he snarks, which sets off a fresh wave of anger within you.

Astarion closes his eyes, letting out a deep breath. You feel a bit of pride that you seem to be getting under his skin just as much as he is frustrating you.

“You like roses, right?” Astarion asks.

“Yes,” you reply. The initial pleasure that he had remembered a detail about you from last night fades as you begin to grow wary about his motives in asking.

“Good, I’ve planned for there to be plenty at the wedding tomorrow night. I’ll be the handsome devil standing at the end of the aisle,” he shoots a wink over his shoulder before the lock clicks behind him. At this point, the familiar sound nearly makes you sick to your stomach.

—---

Shadowheart comes in to see you sulking a bit later and draws a bath for you. The warm water feels wonderful, but does nothing to tamper the heat that has been rising under your skin since the moment Astarion let you pin him to the wall.

You don’t sleep very well that night, anger and something else coursing through your veins. Astarion’s words from earlier stick with you in your dreams.

I would have kissed you, over and over and over again.

I would have used my mouth and my hands on you until you saw stars. Until all you could remember was my name, falling from your lips like a prayer.

And a day ago, you would have let him, would have been driven half mad with ecstasy at the prospect. But Astarion had to ruin that. Astarion had to ruin everything. He was the subject of all of your daydreams and the architect of all your nightmares.

You do manage to sleep, eventually, but you wake up hot and sticky with sweat, the taste of Astarion’s lips still a whisper in your mind.

And yeah, okay, maybe you do snag a pastry at breakfast when Shadowheart isn’t looking. She doesn’t say anything, but you know she notices. You can only hope that she doesn’t report it back to Astarion.

In the morning, you watch the gardens as they’re prepared for the wedding, observing how the ornate flowery archway that you suppose will be your altar is constructed at a moment’s notice. You feel like you are marching to your death as the wedding crawls ever closer, your chance of escape slipping further away with every passing moment.

Shadowheart returns in the late afternoon to help you prepare for the ceremony. The dress she carries with her is far simpler than you expected, less intricate even than your dress from the ball a couple nights ago. The dark material is offset with shimmery, golden thread embroidered into the material in beautiful floral patterns. You wonder if Astarion just kept this on hand or had managed to contact a dressmaker who could make this dress so quickly.

Shadowheart pins your hair up in tasteful braided style and you do have to admit that you look beautiful when you look into the mirror. That familiar rage is burning in you again. You don’t want to look beautiful for Astarion, you don’t want to drag this out any longer or harder than it needs to be.

You dread the thought of tonight. You were not as naive to the world as your father might have thought; you had heard the whisperings of other ladies when they discussed the horrors of their marital beds, heard the talk of greedy husbands and so much pain. On a normal wedding night, even the best of men could turn into a savage and you shudder to think what it might be like with a man who is already a beast. How much worse would it be for you?

But were you not a hypocrite? Had you not dreamt of coming undone on his elegant hands just last night? You force yourself to stop before you can continue down that train of thought and get carried away with silly, romantic notions. No, it was best to prepare for the worst. Tonight would be a worse torture than your two days locked in a cage. And you had to attend a stupid party about it first.

Shadowheart seems to be able to sense your nerves, probably because you’ve spent the whole afternoon alternating between fiddling with your hands and sighing.

She kneels down in front of you, staring at you with an intensity that lets you know her next words will be very important. “You know that I am your lady’s maid. That I default to serving you over the Lord, right?”

“Deep down, he is a good man, but if anything, and I mean anything, happens tonight that makes you uncomfortable, you call me and I will drag Lord Ancunin out of here bruised and bloody. I don’t care if it’s as simple as him attempting to hold your hand when you don’t wish him to.”

Her words comfort you even though you wonder how much time that would really buy you. After all, it was part of your wifely duties to satisfy your husband, to bear his children. Although you aren’t entirely sure if it’s possible to have children with a vampire, you’re going to operate under the assumption that it’s possible until you’re told otherwise as part of your ‘prepare for the worst’ strategy.

“Thank you,” you sincerely tell her because you want to let her know that her words have comforted you even if you doubt that she would be able to fight off a vampire.

“If you really wanted to help, you could get me out of this marriage,” you offer up, partially as a joke and partially to see if maybe the solution to your problems is really that easy.

“We both know I can’t do that,” Shadowheart says, because it never is that easy. Once again, she’s got that stupid, sad smile on her face again that makes you want to knock her pretty teeth out.

“Thought I’d try, at least.”

Your feet seem to have stopped working, so Shadowheart has to practically drag you out of the room and dump you in the garden. She’s, unfortunately, much stronger than she looks. Who knows, maybe she could take down a vampire?

The floral archway you had spent all morning looking at is even more breathtaking in person. The deep, red roses are braided in against beautiful ironwork. You hate Astarion for remembering that you liked roses, hate him for feigning kindness and trying to do something that you would like.

Astarion is standing at the end of the altar, as promised, and damn it all if he doesn’t look like Lucifer incarnate- the most beautiful angel hiding an evil and twisted soul. When you get closer, you can see that his waistcoat has matching floral embroidery on it.

So, you’re matching now? That’s what the world has devolved into. It takes everything in you to not rip the stupid dress off right then. But, you refrain yourself because you’re in public and you’re a lady (and definitely not because you were humbled by the button fiasco yesterday).

You practically snarl when you meet Astarion at the altar but he ignores you, his finger reaching out to trace along the petal of rose embroidered on your dress, right next to your collarbone. If he were alive, you would be able to feel the warmth from his hand.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“You have ruined roses for me,” you spit back at him. Astarion’s brow furrows for a moment before the man standing next to the two of you is awkwardly clearing his throat. You recognize him from the ball, as the man who interrupted your and Astarion’s dance. He must be Astarion’s valet, serving him as Shadowheart does for you.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” The valet tries to sound enthusiastic but he wilts a bit when you shift your glare to him.

You can feel Shadowheart standing behind you and you know that if you try to run, she’ll simply grab you and drag you back.

“The quicker this is over with, the better.” You say and can’t resist looking at Astarion and adding, “Though, I’m sure you know a thing or two about finishing quickly, darling.”

You can tell that Astarion’s valet is holding back a laugh at your comment.

“Continue, Gale.” Astarion finally instructs after a few seconds of stunned silence.

The man, Gale, holds up a stack of papers that he begins to read from. Oh my, were all of those pages filled with words? You might be here all night.

“What is marriage? A contract, yes, but also the blessed union of two souls, sealed together in eternal love. The marriage bond is sacred and divine, but we must not mistake it as pure. No, real love is never pure. It is messy and confusing and the both of you will make many mistakes as you grow together.”

Hang on, was this guy even married? Who the fuck is he to be out here spewing nonsense about the sanctity of marriage? And when did he even have the time to write this? You’re so confused by the situation that your anger at Astarion has managed to dissipate completely.

Gale is somehow still rambling on, minutes later, as you stare at him with an open mouth, “And although, the two of you are entering this contract under… less than ideal circumstances, we can only hope that your love will grow to flourish. In fact-”

Astarion finally cuts him off. “We can do without the fanfare, I think.”

Gale gives a disappointed sigh, grumbling about how he was just trying to make this a nice moment.

“Do you, Lord Astarion Ancunin, take this lady to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Astarion gives a dramatic ‘I do’ with a self-important little flourish of his hand. Even in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize that he is a showman above all and is incapable of turning down an opportunity to be over-the-top.

Gale turns to you, “And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you force the words out through gritted teeth because at this point, what choice do you really have?

You slide the rings on each other’s fingers and Astarion’s cool skin against your hand feels wonderful amidst the balmy summer night.

There’s no after-party, no fanfare. You simply say the words and sign the paperwork and leave immediately, content to go wallow by yourself in your room as you wait for Astarion to consummate your marriage.

You’ve half sent yourself into a panic as you pace, even if Shadowheart’s promise from earlier rings comfortably in your ears. You wish you hadn’t already wasted your knife yesterday. It would at least provide some false sense of comfort for when Astarion came for you.

You sit and you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Astarion doesn’t come.

You feel your eyes struggling to stay open and only when you catch your chin falling down to your chest do you snap yourself awake. This isn’t like you, to just take something lying down. The only solution left is to confront him. You jump to your feet, crossing the room with the most determination you’ve been able to muster all day.

For the first time, the door to your room is unlocked when you turn the handle. Surprised, you poke your head out, scanning left and right down the hallway to check that there’s not some sort of booby trap. That seems like something Astarion would do- offer you hope of escape and then callously snatch it away at the last moment.

Candlelight flickers in the doorway a few rooms away. When you peek into the room, Astarion is reading something, leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the desk looking like the arrogant asshole you know he is. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence at all, just turns the page of his book.

“The door was unlocked,” you say, because you aren’t really sure of how else to greet him. Hello felt far too simple after you had spent the past two nights pinning each other to walls and playing mind games with one another.

Astarion hums in affirmation, eyes still focused on the book in his lap. “Yes, I only had it locked in order to keep you here long enough for us to get married. Do what you’d like now. You are the new lady of the manor.”

It seems unreal, that the past two days of torture were ultimately going to amount to… nothing? Perhaps this was just another one of his tricks to catch you unawares? If you stopped thinking of him like a threat, stopped expecting the worst in him, or gods forbid, if you lowered your guard, it would be that much easier for him to trap you.

“So, I’m free to leave?” You try asking cautiously, expecting his red eyes to snap up and for him to hiss out an angry no, for him to laugh at you and snatch away your freedom right after he had teased you with the unlocked door.

“I’d suggest you wait until the morning, but yes, feel free to leave and continue on with your life however you please. Or stay. I really don’t care.” He says instead, turning the page of his book again. Was he even bothering to listen to you?

“Then why did you force me to marry you?” You cry out because nothing these past two days has made any sense to you. Nothing has made sense to you since you saw Astarion standing in front of you like a holy angel who had been blessed with all of heaven’s beauty, when all you knew was that this man had been made to ruin you.

And now, everything about Astarion is a contradiction. You hate him and yet you crave him. He offers you hope while crudely stabbing through your back with a knife. He imprisons you and shackles you to him by law and offers to let you go free. Even now, as you stare at how the candlelight sends shadows dancing across his pale skin that make his jawline somehow appear even sharper, you aren’t sure whether you want to kiss him or kill him.

“Well, I doubt anyone would believe a new bride when she says her husband is a vampire. They’d chalk it up to a newlywed squabble or perhaps think that you just don’t understand the sensuality of a good bite. And if you do choose to leave, the longer we aren’t together, the more people will assume you’re spreading nasty rumors because we’re estranged.”

That… actually makes a lot of sense. You had been too caught up in your panic and your anger to look at this situation with any real rationality.

But now, faced with the choice, where would you go? If all the freedom in the world was yours, what would you do with it? Certainly, you wouldn’t go to your old home, with your angry father and unsympathetic brothers.

You would want a garden, you think, perhaps one to rival the Ancunin’s. You would want to fill your days with reading and gardening and walking. For the first time, you wonder if perhaps the life you’ve always wished for has been offered up to you on a silver platter. Your mind had been so tainted with your hatred for Astarion that you didn’t even imagine that perhaps you could be happy here. That perhaps you could be happier than you even were before.

“I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” your shoulders drop in realization, fingertips nervously running along the pretty embroidery of your dress. It feels like an admission of defeat as you stand in front of him, as if you’ve been eviscerated and are trying desperately to keep your insides from falling out on the floor in front of him.

“Stay here then,” Astarion answers and he looks so bored with the conversation that the familiar fire of anger is burning in your veins. How dare he callously act like his actions have had no consequence on your life? How dare he act like he didn’t have the legal authority to control you as your husband if he wanted to? How dare he act like he hadn’t flipped your world upside down the moment he first swept you into his arms?

You force yourself to take a deep breath, to soothe the anger that sits deep in your chest and you finally decide to bring up the issue that’s plagued your mind all day. “You didn’t come to my room tonight.”

“Do you want me to?” He looks genuinely shocked and finally closes the book and drops his feet from the desk. He takes a moment to collect himself before leaning forward, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. “I know I’m irresistible. There is still plenty of time tonight for me to ravish you, if that’s what you’d like.”

You know it’s an act, know he’s probably teasing to get a rise out of you. But you can help the panic that bubbles in you and you immediately shout a refusal to his offer.

Astarion leans back in his chair, hands coming to rest under his chin. His fingers are long and slender and oh, so elegant as they press together as if in prayer. This man, who could destroy faiths and desecrate holy ground with just the flick of his pretty wrist.

It dawns on you that the gold wedding ring you had slipped onto his finger hours ago has already mysteriously disappeared from his hands. And though it might be hypocritical of you, who removed your ring almost immediately, you can’t help but be a little hurt that he apparently wasted no time in casting you aside, either. Have you already been so cruelly disregarded?

“I don’t go where I’m unwelcome, darling.” He curls his lips up at the corner in a devilish smile, “I’d much rather wait until you’re so desperate that you beg me to have you.”

You’re determined not to give Astarion the shocked, embarrassed reaction you know he’s itching for.

“And what if I want you to be the one to beg?” you ask him instead. His eyes flash with a wicked gleam, so red you can’t help but remember the blood running down his chin in the moonlight.

“Well, that can certainly be arranged, darling.” Astarion keeps you locked in his fiery gaze for another moment or two before he sighs and breaks the tension. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, so I suggest you go to bed. Get some beauty sleep, not that you need it.”

And yeah, maybe you do have to hold back a laugh at that stupid line.

“Goodnight,” you say, turning to go back to your room.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” Astarion calls after you.

And for the second night in a row, you dream of crimson eyes and elegant hands that have you waking restless and unfulfilled.

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

Notes:

For the record, I absolutely love Gale, but lets not pretend that he wouldn't go SO over the top if he was allowed to officiate a wedding.

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading! ETA for the third chapter is next Sunday, 12/31.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #reader insert #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #til death do us part

248 notes · View notes

mooshywrites · 1 month

Text

Echoes of Love and Loss ~ Chapter List

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Masterlist

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“I thought I had lost you”

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Halsin x Fem!Reader

Summary - Halsin has finally confessed to long harbored feelings he has had for you. This confession tumbles the two of you into a long night of passion, but when you awake, something seems ever so slightly off. As the weeks fighting the absolute trail on, you began to realize that what you’re feeling isn’t just a bout of exhaustion or sickness. Will fate be kind enough to protect you until you can find a way to tell your Druid?

Warnings - Angst, jealousy, contains smut, pregnancy, miscommunication, death, happy ending

~ A/N - This is my very first series so it’s very near and dear to my heart. It’s given me the confidence to get a little more creative with my next ventures so I hope you’re excited for what’s to come ~

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~ Part 1 -

~ Part 2 -

~ Part 3 -

~ Part 4 -

~ Part 5 -

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154 notes · View notes

annikin-annotates · 5 months

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Family Ties

Hi hello, good morning friends. I’m giving you a steaming serving of Ascended!Astarion x Spawn!Tav to soothe (or anger?) your souls. I hope you enjoy this one shot as much as I did writing it. With that being said, I’m not paying for ya’lls therapy bills. I don’t think this one is too traumatic, if anything, it’s tame.

TW: Gore, Recapping of the ritual, Ascended Astarion being his bastard self, brief mentions of birth and pregnancy, having to give up a child (for their own safety).

Word Count: 2.6K

‘I’m doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we are both safe, forever.’

She watched on in silent horror as the scene played out before her. “No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” Astarion hissed, as he ripped Cazador out of his coffin, his body splaying out awkwardly on the floor.

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spat indignantly as he pushed himself from the floor to a kneeling position, still reeling from the force of being thrown.

Astarion laughed heartily. “Hah! I’m not the one in the dirt,” his eyes darkened, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth, for the first time in two hundred years he held all the cards, he had the upper hand; and it felt good. He stared Cazador down, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. “I am so much more than what you made me,” he looks to her, a silent plea in his eyes, “I can do this, but I need your help.”

There was no question that she would help him, she would have done whatever he had asked her to do, “All right, what do you need me to do?” she asked him, her fists clenched at her sides. Gods, she would have set the world ablaze if only to see him smile.

“I need your eyes,” he paused for a moment, the air was so still around them that it was almost suffocating. “Use the parasite - link your mind to mine so I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his.”

“You would not dare!” Cazador seethed, though his voice betrayed him - that self-righteous air he had traded for something more human, fear.

“I would, and I will,” his voice was laced with fury. Two hundred years of suffering surfacing, she could see it in the way his hands shook as they held the knife. His eyes softened as they found hers again. “Help me do this, please.” Astarion looked to her pleadingly, crimson eyes glassy and full of desperation - he needed this. He needed her.

They recoiled slightly as their minds melded together, becoming one as the pain subsided and the world came back into focus once more. The weight of the dagger felt heavy in his hand, she could feel his fingers shifting nervously along the hilt. She could see Cazador from his perspective, cowering on the floor before Astarion, his hands raised in front of him; as if a pleading look would put the pain of the past to rest.

She could feel how Astarion hungered for power, and it was all within his reach, wealth, power, freedom - it was intoxicating. She trusted him, trusting him was the right thing to do - helping him achieve the only thing he wanted was the right thing; if it was the right thing to do, then why did it feel so wrong? Why did standing idly by and watching a man be carved apart to feel the pain that he inflicted upon so many feel so wrong?

And so the cycle would continue.

—

He was not hers anymore, that much was clear; Astarion had changed beyond recognition. While yes, he looked like Astarion and most certainly sounded like Astarion, he was not him, not in the way that mattered. Loving gazes now traded for looks filled with hunger and thirst, for both more power and blood. The man she had fallen for on her unexpected journey was as good as dead, a colder - crueller thing having taken his place. No, the Astarion she loved was nothing if not merciful.

For a time she had lulled herself with a false sense of hope that once the power became less novel, he would return to her. That his softness would begin to peek through again, he would smile again, that’s all she wanted. He had become a monster disguised as a dashing prince, but he was the very thing that mothers warn their misbehaving children about. The dark shadow that stalked pretty maidens and handsome young men down dark alleys, draining them of all they are - of all they could be.

With the same hands that gave him freedom, he sentenced her to a fate worse than death, an eternity of servitude. The worst of it all was that she did it, she helped him with her own two hands, she allowed him to ascend. And when his greed came again, all hungry eyes and jagged teeth; she gave herself to him, and he took from her, hungrily and without mercy, the choices she could have made, ripped away.

He hid her true position with flowered words, ‘My Dark Consort,’ his honeyed voice would whisper to her in the cover of darkness. The words sounded as wrong now as they did back then. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now, the die was cast and she had no choice but to lay in the grave she had dug.

And what a grave she had chosen.

She was glad she could not see herself in the mirror, what would she see? The sadness that clung to her eyes, or the bloodthirsty beast that now wore the skin of a woman long gone. She wasn’t sure she would even recognise the person staring back at her, a hollow husk of what she once was. She had sharper reflexes, eternal life and beauty, all the jewels and dresses she could want, and yet there was an ever growing emptiness that made home in her.

What good was eternal life if you couldn’t live for yourself?

—

Silence usually blanketed the palace, a quiet so thick it felt as though no creature could break it. The sort of quiet that told you to run and never look back, that made your ears ring, a bone chilling, deafening silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the stillness of the palace, the usual quiet that the night brings becoming forfeit.

Her hair clung to her forehead as she hissed and groaned through the pain, bringing life into the world felt as painful as taking it. It felt as though a wild animal was fighting to stay within her, its claws digging into her, like it knew the type of environment it was being brought into. She couldn’t blame it, though it did not have a choice. She gasped as relief washed over her, chest still heaving from exertion.

That eerie stillness came crashing back down on the palace, hanging in the corners of the room like an unwanted voyeur. With the quiet came a familiar feeling that wrapped its claws into her heart and squeezed, dread. There was no noise coming from her child, why was it not crying? Her baby should be crying, there should be an ear splitting wailing filling the room; her eyes began to water, a lump forming in her throat.

She could not bear to put another loved one in the ground.

A shrill cry tore through the room, forcing the silence back into exile once more, as if the small thing now in her arms had heard her prayers. It was a little girl, a daughter, and she was perfect in every single way that mattered: ten fingers, ten toes and a beating heart she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers.

Had she always been this cold? Is this what she used to feel like to Astarion? Warm and soft, and so fragile.

She held the babe close to her chest, taking in every inch of her; her sweet, sweet little girl. Her finger shakily stroked the softness of her cheek, her breath hitched in her throat as her little eyes opened - two green irises stared back at her. Her long, dead heart fluttered in her chest, tears pricking the corners of her eyes; those green eyes were his, a little piece of the man she loved. From that moment on she vowed that no harm would befall her little girl, her sunlight.

It was hours before Astarion entered their shared chambers to meet his daughter, the bed sinking slightly the only thing that pulled her from her loving trance. She angled her body slowly towards him leaning into his form, she felt him go rigid at the contact - she did not care. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping child in her arms, this tiny thing gave her eternal life new meaning. “Meet our daughter, my love,” she whispered, softly brushing the edges of the soft blanket she was swaddled in away from her face.

She tore her gaze away from her world to look at Astarion, whose eyes had softened a small bit; before turning steely once more. “A daughter? Does she have a name?” he asked with raised brows, his voice too loud, too cocksure. He reached for the child, taking the babe from her arms before she could protest. Little brows furrowed and she let out a small whine of disapproval before settling into her fathers arms; she could have ripped his throat out for disturbing their child’s rest.

She shook her head. “No, but I think the name Juniper suits her,” she paused for a moment, imagining what her life would have been like if none of this had happened. Would she have returned to the grove where she grew up? She cleared her throat softly, “It reminds me of the berries that grew by my home as a child.”

Astarion scoffed at the suggestion, it made her blood boil with contempt for him - a feeling that had become all too familiar over the last two decades. “My dear, my - I mean our daughter needs to be named something strong, fearsome, something like…” he paused for a moment, looking deeply into the eyes of their daughter. She hoped that when he looked at her that he saw the ghost of himself, she prayed it would make him rethink the person he had become. “Maitenirr. Now that’s a name fit for an Ancunin, isn’t it my darling?”

A scoff threatened to fall from her lips, she swallowed both the anger and vitriol that rises in her throat. How dare he? How dare he snatch her child from her arms and name her. How could he not see that he held the sun in the crook of his elbow? Did he not understand that the small bundle was hers and hers alone? She nodded in agreement, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes tugging at her lips. She knew better than to go against his judgement. “Of course my love, what a lovely choice.”

Astarion had taken the privilege to name their daughter, it made her heart twist to hear a name with such a dark meaning put to a child. Bringer of Death, he told her that she needed a name that was as strong and as fearsome as the family she was born into, the throne she was now heir to. But her child was the embodiment of the sun, if holding her was as close as she would get to feeling the sun's rays on her skin, then that was okay with her.

With each passing day, she wondered how someone like Astarion managed to have a hand in creating something as perfect as their daughter. She could see so much of him in her already, they had the same noses, they shared pointed ears, she smiled in her sleep like he does; like he used to. The more she grew, the more she realised they had the same mannerisms too, always quick to fuss and even harder to soothe.

The more Maitenirr grew, the more things became apparent about her; she loved the darkness and it seemed to like her too. She would reach out to shadowy corners while in her mothers arms, babbling away to them like they could hear her - like they were sentient. It was a secret best kept between herself and the shadows, for as long as possible.

She couldn’t keep Maitenirr’s ability away from her husband for much longer, she had begun to conjure things - beings not of this world, from the shadows. She needed to devise a plan to get her daughter to safety; she would never forgive herself if her guiding light was dimmed by her fathers hands. She would protect her child if it was the last thing she did, from everyone; including Astarion - especially Astarion.

If she was to expedite her daughter somewhere safe, she would need to be cunning about it, she would need to outfox a fox. It consumed her every waking moment, numerous plans scrapped; she almost thought about calling in a favour with Raphael of all people. There was one person in Baldur’s gate that she could trust to get her Juniper to safety, she prayed that they would do this act of kindness for her.

—

"Please, take her. Take her to safety, do not tell me where. If he comes to me I will have no choice but to tell him. Please, he will ruin her if he finds her gift," she pleaded, pushing the bundle into his arms. Giving Juniper away felt like ripping her heart from her chest, exposing the softness of a person long dead, Juniper was a weakness she couldn’t afford to have exploited.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do,” he told her, taking a step back, his hands coming to gently push the child away. She could smell the fear that came off him in waves; she could see it in his eyes.

She looked at him, her eyes full of terror and sadness. “I do, Wyll. Of course I do, but it needs to be you. If he looks for her, which he will; I cannot know where she is. I will be the first person he comes to,” her voice shakes. “I know I ask a lot of you, but please, protect my daughter. Give her a fighting chance, Wyll.”

He sighed, taking the child into his arms. “I will make sure she gets to safety, you have my word,” he swore, his voice solemn. The moment he took Juniper into his arms, she had to fight the urge to snatch her back from him, it took everything in her not to scream: she is the only good I have found in this world, please don’t take it from me. She blinked back her tears, no, this was better. She would not sit idly by and watch another innocent suffer at the hands of a monster that she created.

“Thank you, Wyll. you have no idea what this means.” Her child would have a fighting chance at a life untainted by cruel hands. She turned away slightly, drying the tears that had begun to spill. Now was not the time for tears, she would have eternity to shed them, now was the time to dig deep - to be strong, one last time.

“Her name is Juniper, if there is one thing from this life that I can give her - it's her name,” she added, backing away from the both of them. Small hands reached out towards her, a dissatisfied grunt tumbling from tiny lips. She looked around nervously, she didn’t have much time, she rushed to the child one final time, pressing a kiss to the patch of white amongst the rest of her dark hair. A small piece of him.

“Your mother loves you, more than you will ever know. Giving you up is my greatest sacrifice, I love you, my Sunlight,” she whispered into her hairline before stepping back several paces, she looked to Wyll once more. “Get her out of here, Wyll.” She made her way up the main staircase, away from the door, she dared not look back.

The vipers fangs have bared, she must protect her brood.

Thank you for reading, Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it really brightens my day and gives me the boost to keep creating!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

#astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion my beloved #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #f!reader x astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin

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kryptid-writes · 4 months

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Always and Forever

Having known Astarion long before he was turned, an unexpected reunion with the man you once loved stirs up a whirlwind of emotions.

1.7k (angst&fluff)

To say your life had gone from uneventful to spiraling chaos in the course of a single day is an understatement. Having been abducted by mind flayers, surviving the crash of a nautiloid ship, and having a damn tadpole wriggling around your head, you’re now working with a group of unfortunate souls doomed to the same fate as you unless you can find a healer.

These strangers have all been rather welcoming in their own sense, some more than others. All of them except for one, a pale elf with a serious attitude problem. Since the moment you ran into him, he’s been very distant, always traveling behind the party or several paces ahead, never making eye contact, and avoiding conversations by all possible means.

What puzzles you is why he only acts that way towards you. He's had no problem engaging with the others. What had you done to piss him off? After all, you’ve been perfectly friendly, even offering to share your rations, an apple and a bottle of below average wine that he had so blatantly rejected without saying so much as a word. Instead, he just walked away to his tent, burying his nose in a book he suddenly found oh so interesting. The whole interaction has left an unpleasant taste in your mouth that wasn’t entirely the fault of the wine.

As night crept upon us, conversations died down and one by one everyone retired to their tent. Eventually, you follow suit, but sleep did not bless you this night. You stay awake, staring at the roof of your tent, pondering why the elf seemingly hates you so. The look of distaste on his pale face paints your mind, but the more you picture it, the more unsettled you feel.

On a subconscious level you recognized something in him. His sharp features, silvery voice, and charming smile felt so familiar, yet so foreign. Then it dawns on you. He’s someone you knew long ago. Of course, it’s been nearly two centuries and he looks a lot different now. You remember the way the sunlight brought the golden hues out of his brown hair. It was longer at the time, more neatly groomed. It was a beautiful contrast to his green eyes that were as deep as the forest itself. His skin was a warm tan from his time outdoors. Oh, how he loved the sun.

Astarion. How could you not have seen it before?

You step out of your tent, needing a breath of fresh air to clear your head of it all, and there sat in front of the weakening fire is the man you had once known so intimately. In a moment of courage, you quietly approached him, taking a seat by his side.

His gaze never left the fire, the warm glow reflecting in his dark, crimson eyes. Surely he knows you’re there, but perhaps he will continue to pretend you don’t exist. Perhaps that’s all he wants from you, to be left alone. But you’d be damned if you don’t say something. You have to know. You look into the fire, willing it to give you strength.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Your eyes stay fixed on the flames, waiting for some sort of response, if one was even to come. Astarion doesn't respond at first, your hope of getting any sort of response dwindling by the second.

“Indeed it has,” he finally replies, his voice uncharacteristically somber. The sweet man you once loved now looks as if the world has broken him into a million pieces, the warmth in his eyes long gone.

“It’s been, what? 200 years?”

“201, yes.” His gaze never falters from the fire, as if he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye.

“I almost didn’t recognise you. You look… different,” you try to say delicately, but the scowl on his face tells you he doesn’t take kindly to that comment.

“Yes, well, a lot has happened since then. I’m not the man you once knew.” His voice is cold.

“Fate is a cruel master, is it not?”

“That it is,” he replies with a somber expression. He exhales deeply from his nose, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

What… happened?” You ask cautiously, scared that he may scamper off like a wounded animal at any moment.

He sighs, his piercing eyes finally meeting yours, as if truly seeing you for the first time. It still makes your heart flutter as it did so long ago. “I suppose I do owe you an explanation.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to share on his own accord.

“Do you remember the last night we spent together? That night at the tavern?” He asks.

“Of course I do, how could I forget? We had a lovely evening together at the tavern and spent, well, a rather intimate night together. One of many. I fell asleep in your arms, but when I awoke, you were gone,” your lips tug into a frown.

His expression mirrors yours, painting a mournful look. “I remember that night clearly despite it being many centuries ago. I had business to attend to, you know how it was. I meant to return to you before the sun rose, to hold you in my arms once again. But as it seems, fate had different plans for me.” His eyes dull as he speaks, like his mind has wandered far from here.

“I was attacked. A gang of vagrants. A tribe of wandering ‘Gur,’ took issue with a ruling I made. They beat me to death's door. When Cazador appeared, he chased them off and offered to save me. To give me eternal life.” He looks to the sky for a moment, as if the stars would give him the chance to change the past.

“Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the streets’, I took him up on the offer.” He sighs.

“It was only afterwards I realized just how long eternity could be… an eternity without you.” His gaze meets yours, the pain in his eyes saying a thousand unspoken words.

You fall quiet, at a complete loss for words. You thought he had left you in cold blood. The love of your life gone in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. And perhaps the anger made it easier to accept, perhaps that’s why you’d let it consume you for so long. Finally hearing the truth after so many decades of anger, hurt, and confusion, leaves you with a deep feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” you say quietly, the urge to reach out and comfort him tugs at your heart strings, but you resist, scared of how he may react.

He nods in acknowledgement, sitting in silence for a few moments.

“As it would happen, I became a slave, a vampire spawn kept by the Szarr family.” He looks at you with genuine care for the first time in centuries. “You must know I tried to get back to you. I tried to escape many times in hope I could see you just once more. But Cazador had a cruel sense of obedience. But being away from you when you were just within reach? That was the true torture.”

“Astarion…” Your voice comes out a weak whisper, stolen away by grief. Your heart truly breaks for him.

“The thought of being with you again kept me going. Even 200 years later, you’re my glimmer of hope in the darkness,” he says, letting his eyes fall closed for just a breath.

“Then why? Why avoid me when I'm right here?”

“Just look at me!” He snaps, centuries of pent up self hatred breaking through. “I don't need a reflection to see what I've become. A monster. A freak of nature driven by a lust for blood.” Angry tears prick his narrowed eyes. “The gentle, carefree man you once knew is dead. I’m a shell of the person you loved.”

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. Maybe it’s true, maybe the man you once knew is dead, broken by the world, but perhaps you could learn to love this version of him too.

“Astarion, you’re not a monster-”

He cuts you off before you can even finish. “You don’t know what I've done! The people I led back to Cazador, sentencing them to their death. There must have been a thousand of them, and I remember each and every one.” The chains of his actions weigh heavily on him. His body trembles, a whirlwind of emotions that he has repressed for centuries, now clashing together all at once in a miserable symphony.

“You did what you had to to survive.” You place your hand on his, the feeling of his soft skin bringing back so many memories. “That doesn’t make you a monster.”

“Could you…” He takes a deep breath, his voice shaking with nerves and doubt. “Could you still love someone like me?” His face softens, no longer hiding his vulnerability.

“Of course I could. I do. Star. My Star.” You intertwine your fingers with his. Your hands still fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.

He smiles a real genuine smile, possibly for the first time in centuries. “You… you still love me? Even after everything?”

“More than you know. I never stopped loving you. Even two centuries later, you’re who I dream of each night. some part of me hoped that one day I'd be in your arms again. I’ve never even taken another lover, no one could compare.” You lean your head against his shoulder, a gesture he gladly accepts.

“I love you too. I always will.” He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, quietly humming in content.

There's a comfortable silence that hangs in the air like a warm blanket, only broken by the soft pops of the fire and the occasional howl of the wind. For once, the world felt quiet, like it was only the two of you. When the morning dawns, so will the burdens that we carry: the tadpoles, the new form your lover’s taken, the years of conflicted emotions, but tonight none of that matters. All that matters is you’re back in Astarion’s arms once again.

A/N: I’m so sorry for my long hiatus, I got swept up in school work. But my semester is over now which gives me more time to write!

Masterlist

#Astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav

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amywritesthings · 7 months

Text

the better strategy. / astarion x tav

summary: After successfully saving Druid Grove, Astarion has one goal in mind: secure his safety. His strategy? Seduce Tav. But what if that plan goes horribly wrong and he falls for his own game? pairing: astarion x tav (female, she/her) word count: 3.9k tags: tiefling party reimagined, act one spoilers, non-sexual intimacy, astarion's pov, allusions to astarion's past, selûne!tav // mature for thematic elements

part two. / masterlist.

PART ONE: THE ATTEMPT

“I can’t help but notice you’re not indulging.”

The minute the conflict within the goblin camp was over, the second the dust settled in the grove and the victory was imminent, Astarion knew precisely the trajectory he would need to take.

Call it his innate instinct — it wouldn’t take many brain cells to understand just who led this group of afflicted tadpole carriers, for better or worse, after such a battle.

At first he assumed Shadowheart would be the one he’d eventually stalk in the daylight, with her mysterious artifact clutched tightly to her chest. The follower of Shar, however, has about as many problems as her braid has sections.

She would not lead this group to triumph.

Lae’zel? Strong, but lacking in people skills.

Karlach? Strong, relatively agreeable, but suffering greatly from her fiery defect.

Wyll? Too many contracts, so little time to absolve them.

Gale? Not a chance in any of the Hells.

Tav, however…

Calm and collected Tav. Skilled and cunning Tav. Diplomatic and equitable Tav.

Brilliant in all shades of red, peppered across her skin in blood spatter — that Tav.

From the beach where he held a knife to her throat all the way to securing a victory for the refugee tieflings at a grove that never deserved her help, he’s watched this elven woman go from a nobody to a savior overnight.

Everyone vies for her attention. Everyone wants her approval.

Even now he witnesses her flutter through the throngs of beggars invading their sleeping space, trying their hands at flattery and praise.

(Incredible, that her ego hasn’t shot to the heavens with the gods and goddesses themselves.)

So when she finally — finally — stops in front of his tent after her lap around the camp, he knows he must catch her attention.

Keep it. Suffocate it.

He holds an empty goblet for the sake of saving face amongst the traveling tieflings, not quite willing to divulge his little secret so willingly to strangers.

Tav stops walking to stand before him when she catches that he's talking to her. “Am I not?" she challenges, holding up her goblet. "I’m drinking.”

“Not as heavily as others,” he quips, blinking his attention to the downtrodden no-name tiefling to his left still going through the motions of war and loss.

Tav’s eyes follow Astarion’s, resting there on the tiefling for a moment. Astarion blinks back to watch her expression soften — empathy.

(He hates it when she does that.)

“No, I suppose not,” she begins to reason. “That being said, I must admit I was not born with an iron stomach like Gale — or given a gifted singing voice like Alfira — or find myself in the mood to expose my talent of strength like Lae’zel.”

He can see it in his peripheral — Wyll and Gale sharing a bottle of wine, discussing the parameters of magic while crowding a most-eager Alfira as her slender fingers strum well-loved strings. Shadowheart sits quietly to the side of Halsin, nodding her head to the steady stream of tunes, and Karlach whoops and hollers as Lae’zel takes down yet another tiefling opponent in a series of arm wrestling matches.

Astarion hums indifferently. “But you were the one who secured the demise of those leaders. They all should grovel at your feet.”

“I recall seeing a fire bolt or two ignite from your hand,” Tav teases, returning her attention to his face. The licks of light from the fire compliments her complexion so well. “It wasn’t an effort finished alone.”

“It was an opportunity for violence,” he reasons. “I wasn’t about to squander it.”

“Is that so?” she asks, seemingly unconvinced by his removed reasons.

“Besides, fighting and swordplay is all well and good, but you were the one to spin the spider’s web to convince that rigid drow to believe we were rallying to her cause,” he tut-tuts with his tongue. “I didn’t think you had it in you to lie.”

After a brief huff, Tav shakes her head. “Not my best strategy.”

Astarion’s brows slide high. “No? I beg to differ.”

“I just needed to buy more time so no one would get hurt,” Tav explains, and Astarion wants to outwardly groan at her heroics. He doesn't. “I had no interest in aligning myself with someone who wanted to bring so much pain. Zevlor led his people well — they ought to be the ones you praise.”

Gods, he really likes her best when she’s focused on battle. Feral, merciless, bold — not whatever this at the end of the fight. She’ll list the damned stray dog for valor before herself.

Still, Astarion catches himself before he can ruin his own performance and sharply inhales. He puts a knowing smile back on his face, voice smooth like tainted honey nectar.

“You could still stand to take a little credit, my sweet,” Astarion replies, “but if you’re not willing to take it, then allow me to personally pay it forward.”

The dance is as old as time itself. Astarion steps from the makeshift rug of his tent, finding himself in the plush earth beneath their feet. The party rages on around them with copious laughter and impromptu music and sloshing ale, but the vampire hears nothing, sees nothing, smells nothing — except her.

And, if he’s calculated correctly, she only sees him.

Jogging up to him after missions to check in on his opinion as if she truly gives a damn. Glancing back when she’s talking to all sorts of lowly creatures as if his opinion means anything to alter her otherwise fortified decisions.

He tries to goad her into the worst possible ideas — no, this person doesn’t need help; no, this idiot can rightfully get fucked for creating their own problems; no, we’re not accepting a mere thank you for payment of our services.

(It’s any wonder she has any gold in her pockets at all.)

Sometimes she listens. Sometimes she’ll demand payment — though, if he had it his way, Astarion would turn these godforsaken degenerates upside-down and shake them stupid until Tav drains them of every last coin for acting like she’s anything but a saint.

Sometimes she stands up for herself, and Astarion can’t help but giggle when these little leeches scramble to reroute back to her good graces.

If he was a lesser man, if he didn’t know better, then the vampire would have an insane thought behind these random acts of acknowledgement: that she values him.

Somehow, in some way, even after he’s managed to violate her trust, her body, her blood — all for his gain.

For his survival.

Now he’ll offer something similar as a sort of payback for her kindness. Unfortunately, his talents are something of a one-trick pony: take a ride, any ride, and he’ll provide the best bloody night of your life. Cazador all but forced it to be a guarantee.

In the end, offering his body to Tav will secure his position in this merry band of misfits.

It will keep him safe — even if he feels the bile rising in his throat as he prepares himself to bite his lip and play coy to her every desire and whim.

(He can prove she’s just as vile as the rest.)

“Pay it forward?” Tav asks as if she doesn’t already know.

“Everyone appears occupied,” he begins, each word dripping with intention. “I can’t imagine they’ll miss us for a spell.”

His crimson eyes find hers, searching for the answer he needs: desire – for him, for stress relief, for a chance to use a willing body to let go.

“There’s a clearing not far from camp,” he purrs, taking yet another step as he ducks his chin to meet her gaze. “You can see the moon brilliantly. And the trees will catch your pretty little cries, so I implore you to be as loud as you’d like.”

Yet he’s met with widening eyes without a single thought behind them. Her lips part, close, then part again. Astarion waits for the telltale signs he’s memorized for the last agonizing two centuries — quickening of breath, dilated eyes, shifting in her stance.

“I promise it will be a night you shall never forget.”

He smirks with haughty confidence, his swagger undoubtedly catching her eye. He won’t touch her , not yet — it’s always best to make the anticipation —

Wait.

There: her eyes widen a fraction larger, lips parting with a sharp inhale.

Then her nose scrunches as if… amused, and he’s lost the script.

The hells?

“Astarion,” she starts.

“Yes, my dear,” he coos, keeping that seductive air about him.

“I don’t…” Tav gives a small smile, apologetic in nature. “I appreciate what you’re offering. Flattered, even, but I’m not someone who…”

Astarion stops moving forward, taken aback by the hesitance in her voice. For someone so headstrong in their decisions within this group, this is the first he’s seen her so… girlish? Up until now, he’s never seen Tav react to anything without conviction.

He senses a running theme between such an annoyance and the unwavering faith of a cleric.

“Am I meant to use our wiggling little friend to complete that thought for you?” Astarion presses, fluttering his fingers parallel to his temple for dramatic emphasis.

Tav sighs, and he hates it. “It’s hard to find the right words.”

“Then we needn’t use them,” he persuades airily. “That’s what bodies are for.”

Gods, she gives this look — and by now, he knows it well. The same knowing stare she gave that wretched little gnome who dared speak ill of her even after his rescue. The same knowing stare she gave Wyll when he threatened to attack their fiery friend.

The game is up.

Astarion feels… cold. Rejected?

He didn’t wish to sleep with her in the first place, but he’s never been outright denied.

“Is the gaudy wizard that eats magic trousers more your type, then?” He flippantly twists the problem away, raising a brow of feigned disinterest. “Or perhaps it’s the bloodthirsty Githyanki who gets off on smelling sweat.”

Tav snorts, rolling her eyes in a way that makes his stomach churn.

Does she think him a joke? Not attractive? Not worthy of sleeping upon her bedroll?

He runs through a list of grievances the cleric may have with him when she finally finishes the lingering thought: “I’m not someone who deals in one-night trysts.”

Tav explains slowly, cautiously, as if trying to spare his feelings. Astarion would be offended if he wasn’t so confused.

“I recognize many of us are seeing these hours as our final to live. Yet I find no comfort or pleasure in sleeping with someone I barely know.”

“But you know me better than most,” Astarion argues under his breath, jutting his chin back. That isn’t entirely a lie — Tav’s has taken the inner workings of his past, his plight, and the monster itself in stride.

Tav is the one to take a step forward this time, her cup half-drunk from the wine Halsin poured. Suddenly another feeling twists in the vampire’s sated gut: surely she’s letting him down gently because she’s interested in that beast of a man.

(The druid is certainly less jagged around the edges, teeth and all.)

“Not well enough for something like that, though,” she replies, her smile light.

Astarion’s brows knit as he considers his options. His usual form of seduction hadn’t worked. Should he spin a story, a web of lies, to make her think she truly knows him? Should he push a little harder, make promises of delight and pleasure, to—

“I’d like to see this clearing you speak of, to see the moon. Connecting with Selûne would be wonderful to experience with you near,” Tav adds, interrupting his inner monologue, “if you’re still willing to show me.”

Oh.

That’s so…

Odd.

Why does he suddenly feel so out of place and odd?

“I…” Astarion has half a mind to wave her off, to say it’s a massive waste of his night when he could get his quota filled by someone else in this camp. Yet he’s compelled to stay, to stare, as he takes in her expression. “...if that is what you wish.”

Is this a game? Play ignorant, then arrive at the clearing for sex?

He can’t read her. He can’t place her smile into any sinister category. It only widens, bright like the moon above, and she brings her goblet to her lips.

The vampire finds himself watching as her neck bobs with the gulp she takes.

“Shall I see you once everyone rests?” Tav asks, suddenly having the upper hand in a situation that was supposed to be his and his alone.

All the vampire can do is nod, sensible not to say anything that will jeopardize the private meeting, and smiles with a strain when she walks away to talk to the tiefling moping on the edges of the camp.

Of course she talks the sad sack into joining the party.

Of course she fucking does.

There’s still a chance she might want him.

All this talk about not wanting to rush things or explore another person could have been for show. She’s the diplomat of this group of imbeciles, lest he forget. She probably couldn’t afford to look interested in him, much less anyone else, so not to cause tension.

No worry — he’ll come prepared, may the cards fall where they must.

Astarion creeps past his tent, shedding his white tunic to hang on a sturdy branch a mere foot’s step away from the clearing in question. His pale skin practically glitters and glistens in the light poking through the treetops, his complexion a stark contrast to the scars and lines of a body that’s only recently belonged to him.

He leaves his trousers on. He’s not a goddamn animal, after all.

“Astarion?” a rushed whisper sounds to his right, so the vampire turns in all his slender glory.

“You came,” he greets, grinning ear to ear with his entendre.

The wood elf stares back at him from a thick cluster of trees, notably confused by the way her brows knit and her nose scrunches. She assesses his vivid nakedness, but doesn’t make a comment — not yet.

Well, she doesn’t particularly look lustful.

Then her attention disappears entirely when she realizes just how clear said clearing is: a damn near perfect circle, where he’s prepared a small blanket held down by sizable rocks he’d found by the river while everyone started heading into their tents for sleep.

To an innocent eye, it’s nothing more than a midnight picnic.

If he had anything to say about it, then it would certainly become that. The only road block is Tav as she nears the makeshift lovebed in the center of the clearing.

“You didn’t have to use your blanket, you know,” she mentions, and Astarion is yet again left sputtering for a suave answer.

How the hells did she know that was his blanket and not that wretched Gale’s?

“It isn’t mine,” he tries — smooth, very smooth.

Tav makes a noise as she sits down on the blanket, head turning as she studies the lack of patterns or love in its weave.

“I saw this in your tent,” she argues without conviction. “Lae’zel hates blankets. Mine are all accounted for. And Gale—”

“Alright, yes, it’s mine,” Astarion interrupts, peeved she’s more interested in playing detective than commenting on his broad chest.

The vampire awkwardly meets her on the blanket, sitting down with his heels dug into the dirt.

His legs stay in a raised triangle, knees to the sky, while Tav sits tall and crosses her legs under one another. Her slender fingers sit in her lap, annoyingly so, and Astarion stares at them to calculate a way he can smoothly bring them into his.

All he needs is to wriggle his way into this bizarre outing, to find what makes her tick, and he’ll be safe. It’s the only word running through his head at lightning speed.

Safe, be safe, make yourself safe—

Her gasp is light, possible to miss, but it takes him right out of the mantra to look up at Tav. Her smile is practically glowing as the moonlight bathes over her body, generous and… beautiful.

“You’re right,” she murmurs. “This is… beautiful, at this time of night.” Tav pauses, searching the constellations. “It’s so hard to pray, really, at camp. I don’t wish to offend Shadowheart.”

“What does Shadowheart’s approval have anything to do with your praying?” the vampire asks, feeling surreal that this is what her pillow talk has started with. Prayer. Religion.

(He’d gotten himself at least somewhat hard at the sight of how pretty she looked in the midnight air, ready to try his hand again, but now it’s all but softened with flattened disinterest.)

“Well, she worships Shar — the twin sister of my goddess, and they are not friendly.”

“So?”

“So,” Tav explains slowly, dipping her chin to observe him at her side. “I don’t wish Shadowheart to see me as an enemy just because of our differences in worship. But now you’ve shown me a place I could visit where I can properly speak to her — so thank you."

Astarion must look perplexed as all hell, because Tav studies his face, his naked torso, then back to his face again. He sits up straighter, unable to hide his annoyance in his rigid movements.

Tav shifts in her seat as well, but before she can continue her soft little chat about useless goddesses and Shadowheart’s temperamental feelings, Astarion clears his throat.

“Do you mean to tell me we are really not going to…?”

Tav’s lips purse, and Astarion’s gaze drops to them. They’re plush, soft – they wouldn’t be the worst to kiss. Hells, she looks soft. Her neck was delectable; her blood divine. It wouldn’t be the worst lay of his miserable little life.

“Sex,” he bluntly states, slashing straight through the bush instead of beating around it for the one-hundredth time when Tav doesn’t ask. “Are we not having sex tonight?”

Tav rears her head back, pulling away from him with a lean. “I… thought I already said we weren’t, back at the party—”

“Yes, and playing coy is all well and good, but I know you hold a candle for me, darling.” Astarion gestures around to the nothingness that surrounds the clearing. “No one is here to judge. No one is listening. It’s just us, so if you want—”

“I don’t.”

Talk about a sobering response.

The vampire squints, and finally — finally — Tav raises her chin with what can be considered a glare.

It’s cute, he’ll give her that.

“I already told you that I don’t simply sleep with people to do it.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s never any good when it’s not with someone you care for, now is it?” Tav replies, exasperated by his poking and prodding. “Is this what all of this is for? The blanket, the… lack of a shirt?”

Astarion leans in. “Was it not obvious to you?”

“I thought you were overheated in the night!” she reasons, the blush on her face creeping up her neck to her cheeks. He sees it. He fixates on it. “I thought you were genuinely being my friend.”

Friend.

Oh, that one stings — he hates that it stings, that somehow he’s disappointed in himself for kicking the hornet’s nest when he had mostly been in her good graces up until now.

“If.. that’s all you wanted from me tonight, Astarion,” the wood elf slowly begins, curbing her temper with each word spoken, “then perhaps it’s best I leave—”

“No.”

Before he realizes it, the vampire grabs ahold of her free hand to stop her from pushing to her feet. His pale hand cages her wrist in, anchoring her to this shared spot, and he feels… well, not great.

But he can’t screw this up.

He cannot, under any circumstances, have her hate him.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology feels disgusting on his tongue, because he doesn’t quite mean it. He means a fraction of it, however, and that’s enough to push a genuine tone in his voice.

“Please, just… sit with me, then.”

He continues to hold her wrist, taking it as a good sign that Tav hasn’t ripped it from his grasp yet. That, or she’s just giving him the nicety treatment she gives to all of her companions.

Slowly the woman lowers back to the blanket, and he realizes a beat too late that she’s turned her palm to face his.

What?

Tav sighs heavily and turns their hands with a delicacy that feels too sacred for an undead such as himself. Astarion’s palm faces the mercy of the moon when his long fingers, one sinful digit at a time, let go of her wrist.

She doesn’t move away.

“Intimacy is a gift so many people crave,” she begins softly. “I know I do. I know all of us do. It’s why we choose to stay together.”

“The bloody tadpoles in our heads are what keep us together,” Astarion flatly argues, but his voice is tighter as her fingers draw against the life line of his palm.

She huffs with a laugh. “That, too.”

She sits her fingertips atop his palm, hovering. A lump forms in his throat.

“I like when physical intimacy is just that — intimate. That’s not to say Lae’zel’s views or your own are wrong, but… just isn’t how it works for me.”

Astarion is immobile. Lost, quite frankly, in the sensation that’s so little yet feels like it could move mountains.

He’s terrified to breathe, to think, as she continues to press her hand gently to his.

“For me?” she continues. “This — knowing you have my back, and I have yours? That you sit here in front of my goddess and allow me a moment to think — that is intimacy.”

He exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, before raising a defeated brow. “And this is pleasurable, for you?”

“Is it not for you?” she returns straight back like a rapid-fire arrow to the gut.

The vampire doesn’t know how to answer that. Yes, this feels… nice, but it also feels wrong. Like he’s holding a lamb before the slaughter.

She is too trusting.

This world, as horrific as it is, will swallow her whole. He will swallow her in a singular gulp, right down the gullet, before she can process his inevitable betrayal.

Yet what does that say about him — holding her hand, allowing her to manipulate his palm at will, in front of a goddess he doesn’t believe in? This is her sanctuary yet he does not burn.

When she returns her gaze back to the moon with the wonder of a person who doesn’t believe in eternal damnation for merely existing, Astarion cannot help but stare.

Not at the moon, no.

At her.

Astarion’s fingers experimentally curl around hers, testing the boundary.

He notices the way she smiles not long after.

It takes a second too late to realize that he is smiling, too.

Well — shit.

#baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #amywritesthings #the better strategy #baldurs gate 3 fic #baldurs gate fanfic #baldurs gate fic

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tragedybunny · 8 months

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Seen - Astarion x F!Reader

Just a fluffly Astarion drabble.

An insistent tug at your sleeve, you remember how that gesture annoyed you not too long ago. Sometime into your relationship, when it was all just quick tumbles in the dark, and going your separate ways after, he’d started doing it. To you it was more of Astarion’s attention seeking, a way of saying “look at me” if he felt like he wasn’t the center of the world for a few minutes.

Coming alongside you, he’d tug at your sleeve, drawl out one of his pet names for you, and follow it up with a crude joke, or a whining complaint, or words that felt like they were there to fill the air just so you’d hear his voice. If you weren’t so soft for him, you could easily imagine turning and snapping at him to stop demanding your attention constantly. Instead you’d patiently go along with whatever it was he had to say, sometimes laughing, sometimes playfully scolding, and forgetting that it was sometimes entirely grating to be halted in your journey to feed his ego.

That was before though, before the words he spoke to you in the graveyard that night. “I feel safe with you. Seen.” Now you see that gesture for what it means. “Please see me, I don’t feel like you see me right now. And I’m so scared you won’t.” And all the words that follow aren’t prattle, they’re the reassurance you still do.

Today you’ve wandered the streets of the lower city, finding another place he’d go to collect victims for Cazador, the nightmare that’s not yet fully over for him. You’re almost back to the Elfsong when you feel that familiar tug. “Darling,” reaching over, you take his hand as it falls away from your sleeve and turn to face him.

“This has better not be a complaint about how far we walked today.” You smirk as you tease him, never letting go of his hand.

“Ugh, it’s not a complaint, it’s a well reasoned protest,” he’s fighting a smile though. Because you see him, because he knows you’ll never stop.

Arms wrap around his neck despite the stares from passersby, and you whisper in his ear. "Poor you. How about I make sure you get a little snack when we get back?"

Tightly, returns the embrace, like he never wants to let go. "Sunlight, you're going to spoil me." The words are supposed to be his usual flirtatious cadence, but sincerity has crept in. Safe and seen, always with you.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #my fanfiction #my writing #baldurs gate 3 fanfic

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dark-tides-in-faerun · 6 months

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Forever Mine (1/1)

Spicy Astarion x You one shot, where our favourite sassy vampire thinks you’re flirting with someone else. That’s it. That’s the whole plot.

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin

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tatterings · 6 months

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Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 9, "A Flourish of New Growth"

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit (THE SMUT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR)

Tags/warnings: 18+, SEX, making out, emotional talk, frotting, top astarion, bottom halsin

Word count: 11,000

Header art by @solmesia. Proof/beta read & edited by @solmesia and @bloodlessbhaalbabe. Thanks to you both <3

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips.

Fic under the cut <3

“Protect my way back to you, my heart,” Halsin had said, his words’ gravitas not lost on the pale elf.

Astarion could comprehend that sensitive, druidic magic held the fragile portal open. He understood Halsin’s hesitance, his uncertainty if he could pass through, given that vampires were accursed creatures for which the gods have abandoned. What could Astarion offer the Oak Father as sacrifice, as supplication, to convince Silvanus to allow him to accompany the druid?

Astarion reeled, both from the vision of Halsin disappearing into the portal, and from the emotional hangover from being in the presence of the man who had peeled scabs from his scars and kissed them closed again. He swayed slightly in place, his eyes focusing not on the portal, but beyond it, as he stood amidst the ruckus of battle. Astarion felt sick to his stomach; that rotten bile he had felt when Halsin had rushed into battle yesterday returned. He realized now, parsing through his racing thoughts, that it was heartache. Over Halsin.

A fire bolt had struck the portal as Astarion stood frozen in place. He felt the bitterness rise to his throat as the portal flickered, threatening to close, its near-translucent light shimmering, flickering dangerously before it stabilized. His lips pulled taut to a thin line.

In a show of catlike agility, Astarion simultaneously turned on his heel from the portal and dropped to one knee and nocked an arrow in his short bow. He faced the hordes of shadow-touched monsters, and took aim at the sorcerer who had cast the firebolt. He let loose the explosive arrow and struck his mark. The creature’s robes burst into flame as it fell back several yards. Astarion sneered, fangs glinting as he watched the creature writhe in the agony it deserved for its boldness to attack the portal and Halsin’s way back to him. His partner’s way back to him.

Partner. What a strange concept; although he and Halsin had only just discussed the idea last night. The security afforded by the term had brought levity to his heart and mind he hadn’t felt in 200 years. Pure resilience had won his hard-fought survival during that time, and had been crafted by blocking up his feelings behind a wall. Each sexual, physical conquest had added another brick, and each session of torture had applied more mortar.

Astarion descended from the rock outcropping in shadow, slipping behind a cursed Harper and slitting its throat. Before the wretched creature could fall, Astarion had already moved on, slipping his dagger between the ribs of a cursed Githyanki a few yards away.He moved as an inaudible plague through the waves of enemies. His vampiric bloodlust was the embodiment of agility, of perfect stealth, of divine brutality; he was an apex predator with skills honed far beyond what nature had deigned to create.

His freedom had been won by fickle fate; not by feelings, not by begging for his freedom, pleading for any mercy from Cazador. And yet Astarion had considered, while wrapped in Halsin’s arms the last night, that the fragility of allowing himself to feel could offer a different sort of freedom. As he and Halsin had nestled their bodies in the bedroll, he had accepted the other elf’s offer of partnership. He had felt pixies flap their wings in his stomach at the idea of trusting another being with his safety.

The clothing of the slain Gith was a sufficient rag onto which he wiped the creature’s cursed blood from his blade. How odd, that he and Halsin were so tied by blood, here in these lands; Halsin’s offer of his lifeblood as nourishment had been genuine, out of concern that Astarion would starve in this place.

The druid was correct about the corrupted blood of shadow-cursed fiends. So, each night when Astarion went to feed, he fought to not also feed his own skepticism. His distrust of someone who seemed so genuine. But the druid made his dead heart feel as though it fluttered. No one prior had looked out for Astarion, said a kind thing to him. Halsin was the only one; the only one to have a bleeding, noble heart full of endless kindness. Far more benevolent and helpful than any god could ever be.

Another wave of shadow creatures appeared from the darkness; thick, thorny vines lashed out at the party, and snarls erupted from beasts half-rotted and half-burned by the ravages of the curse. More Githyanki who’d been dragged into the blackness appeared, lobbing attacks at the portal; and likely attacking his party members as well. But the vampire’s bloodlust was for those attacking the portal, and not for his friends who could stand their own ground.

Each time an arrow or spell struck the portal, Astarion felt his throat close. He had no faith in the gods to offer help; even Selûne, who arguably could have defended the portal by herself. Loathe though he was to admit it, and as much as it pushed the bile from his throat and into the back of his mouth, Astarion placed his faith in Halsin - his partner. And Halsin had placed his own faith in Astarion.

The vampire felt a fog fall over his eyes as he shot an arrow across the battlefield to fell a creature attempting to climb the rocks. He nocked another to aim and shoot at a charging, curse-ravaged dog. It lodged in the hound’s open maw and felled the creature mid-gallop. His blows were automatic, instinctual, and smooth. He was a dancer whose choreography had been honed to perfection through the symphony of fading mortal pulses. Astarion was jolted from his blood haze as the portal widened with a crackling buzz.

“It’s done!” shouted the druid Halsin, his broad shape appearing from the light. His shadow concealed most of the small body he held in his arms. The portal shrank and closed behind him with a fizz.

Astarion seemed to be made of mist as he weaved between the few foes remaining on the battlefield; he launched himself from the ground to the top of the rocks, landing on his feet with his feline grace. The rest of the party felled the remaining shadow creatures before coming to Halsin’s side.

The large druid lowered himself to a kneel, gently placing Thaniel’s small body on the cold stone. “I have him…but something is wrong,” Halsin said to Astarion, who loomed above them both. Halsin’s voice had wavered with concern. His sun-kissed face was smeared with scarlet; his hot blood dripped from a gash on his chin. Claws had been pulled across his exposed shoulders and through the armor on his chest, leaving cuts both deep and ragged, as though he had shaken a creature loose from his shoulders. On his broad cheeks and forearms, purple bruises blossomed. The druid had not healed himself while inside the Shadowfell.

His hands shook over Thaniel’s body as the boy lay limp on the stone, but only a crackle of green magic fell from his hands. Even Astarion sensed that the sort of magic afflicting Thaniel couldn’t be resolved through the efforts of a healer.

Halsin bent further to lift the fragile boy into his arms. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his breath labored and short. “Help me bring him back to camp; something is dreadfully wrong. Some part of him is missing. He is…hollow.”

Astarion felt the bile finally rise into his mouth.

*****************

Though Halsin could have easily carried Thaniel’s limp body back to camp alone, his companions - his friends - had insisted on helping. Wyll and Lae’zel had taken the lead, torches in one hand and weapons in the other, ensuring their trek was safe. With what little magical power Shadowheart had left, she had cast minor healing spells on both Thaniel and Halsin to stop the bleeding from their deepest wounds. Karlach had held damp cloths in her hands, steam rising from the rags. She had dabbed them on Thaniel’s frigid hands and feet while they walked, trying to raise the boy’s low body temperature. Gale had held a moonlantern towards the rear, accompanied by Astarion, to ward off ambushes from behind.

The druid had walked silently with the group, the only noise having been the sizzle of steam from Karlach’s rags, the jangling of their armor, and the crunch of the pathway beneath their feet. Each adventurer had been exhausted, body and soul, and eager to return to their bedrolls. Had the arch druid truly known how fiercely the darkness would fight back, he would have called upon Jaheira and the Harpers for aid.

When the group had returned to camp, Halsin could assess Thaniel’s condition - there was nothing any of them could do to help him this night. They could search for an answer in the morning. Lae’zel had not waited long after Halsin’s explanation to trudge to her bedroll. Gale had left soon after staking the moonlantern in the soil by Halsin’s tent. Shadowheart, once she had confirmed that Halsin did not need her help, had also retired to bed; the druid had heard her flop onto the ground, armor and all, in a dull clunk. Despite his insistence, Karlach had stuck to the Halsin’s side as he examined Thaniel. After being reassured that she could not offer any aid in her current battle-worn state, the Tiefling had accepted Halsin’s order to go to sleep. Before Wyll had stumbled to bed, he had set up a small tent for Thaniel right beside Halsin’s, under the direction of Astarion - “A little to the left, darling, give them some breathing room”. Scratch had settled inside the tent, curling beside Thaniel’s cool body and resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Astarion had left Halsin’s side last. He offered no comment as the druid examined Thaniel; he sat in silence beside Halsin, cleaning out the underside of his sharp fingernails with his dagger. The arch druid appreciated his company, but guilt racked him when he observed the grime and blood crusted spatters on Astarion’s face.

“Please Astarion, go and rest. Do not stay here for my sake,” Halsin said, placing a hand on the vampire’s thigh. “I will hold vigil for a while longer, then you are welcome to visit with me. Although I cannot offer my blood,” Halsin met Astarion’s eyes with a meek smile, “I shed much of it in the Shadowfell.” The vampire only shrugged in response and nodded at his words, before he slipped away to his own tent with a soft, “As you wish.”

Halsin had since left Thaniel under the watchful eye of Scratch, whose tail flopped gently when Halsin had patted his head before leaving. He sat alone in his tent, fluffing the pillows into a pile to prepare for his trance.

But the crunch of gravel and the sound of someone gently clearing their throat caught his attention. “Knock knock, darling,” chirped a soft voice in a faux-whisper. Astarion lifted the tent flap, his curls brushing along the top as he entered. The vampire had taken the time to clean himself and change into his comfortable camp clothes. In his arms he held a small burgundy velveteen pouch, pulled closed with a golden string.

Halsin’s arms and legs felt as though they were weighed down with bricks. He ached from physical and emotional exertion and his injuries. He wished nothing more than to lie down, but as Astarion entered his tent, he felt as though he had downed a gallon of the most energizing tea. The sight of his partner pulled a wide smile to Halsin’s face and a warmth to his chest. He shifted to lean against the pillows and patted on the bedroll beside him.

“My heart, I am overjoyed you joined me tonight. Despite the lack of blood for you this evening,” Halsin said sincerely as Astarion settled beside him. He was always enamored by the vampire’s graceful composure when he was not caught off-guard; and as equally enamored by his awkward, less-planned out nature when he was not wearing his aloof mask.

“Oh come now, surely you don’t think I like you for just your blood?” Astarion asked, with a playful smirk, his quip an obvious joke to divert attention. “I do quite enjoy your body heat, too.” The vampire leaned against Halsin’s shoulder for emphasis and squeezed his pectoral muscle. Halsin jerked in response; Astarion’s slender fingers had accidentally pressed on one of his wounds. His brows furrowed in pain, but no anger formed inside him; it was a simple mistake. And yet, at Halsin’s severe expression, the vampire seemed to shrink beside him. His slender fingers dug into the bedroll. Halsin’s chest now hurt for more than one reason - his partner’s hypervigilance.

“Ah, I will survive Astarion,” Halsin said softly, placing his palm on top of Astarion’s hand, “I just ache all over; a minor inconvenience. Nothing to worry about.” Astarion’s shoulders seemed to relax. The vampire’s gaze darted to the pouch he had placed in his lap.

“So what did you bring, my heart?” Halsin said, his voice taking on an effervescent cadence, “I suppose it’s not honey to drizzle on my neck this evening?” He said with a chuckle, squeezing Astarion’s hand lightly.

A smile crept onto Astarion’s face and he shook his head at the lighthearted jest. His gorgeous curls bounced around his ears, which flushed slightly at Halsin’s teasing. The light from the lantern inside his tent cast a golden halo around Astarion’s white curls, making him seem ethereal, even more unnaturally beautiful. Halsin’s thumb rubbed against his delicate hand, and the druid’s heart skipped a beat when Astarion squeezed back.

“Well, let’s be honest with ourselves, Halsin,” Astarion started, his voice sharp, but ringing with humor. “You’re an exceptional healer, but I believe you have the humility to admit you’re in a rather pitiful state at the moment.” His teasing sent another chuckle to Halsin’s lips. He found Astarion’s sass endearing nearly every time, and frustrating only occasionally.

The vampire continued, pulling his hand from Halsin’s grasp to gesticulate as he spoke. “And, with Shadowheart equally exhausted, I thought I would be kind enough to offer my skills before an infection sets up in…all of that,” the vampire drawled, waving his hand at the wounds on Halsin’s chest and shoulder.

Halsin shrugged, then winced at the movement as it pulled on his wounds. “I did not want to consume the precious few healing potions we have left,” Halsin said with a defeated sigh, “Especially for wounds which I should have easily avoided.” The druid chuckled slightly and tilted his head to Astarion. “I hoped they’d serve as a reminder to take some lessons in agility from you once I healed.”

Astarion’s face flushed slightly, his lips pursing together in a smirk, then curving downward into an exaggerated scowl. “Here you are again being a self-sacrificial, stubborn old bear,” he said, landing a gentle, affectionate swat on Halsin’s biceps. “With all the rot about this place, it’s foolish to leave your cuts open to fester. But fortunately for you, I won’t let you do anything too foolish. I’m quite skilled with a needle and thread. I can suture the worst of your wounds shut for now.” His shoulders rose almost to his ears; the vampire was clearly more frustrated than his jokes let on.

Halsin’s head fell slightly, eyes dropping to the tent floor. He had already loosened his hair from his ponytail; his thick auburn locks fell into his face. “Again, you demonstrate your wisdom, my heart,” he said with a sigh. The druid tilted his head to look into Astarion’s eyes. “Kagha once accused me of being a sheep in bear’s clothing,” Halsin admitted with a bitter laugh. “And perhaps she is right. Perhaps my wild shape should be a sheep. Or perhaps a wild ass.” The druid smiled at Astarion, who let out a genuine laugh. It was soft, melodic, like a wind chime in a spring breeze.

“I would choose the latter of those two,” Astarion said with a wry grin, “Donkeys are nasty little creatures; they don’t ask before they bite.” The vampire leaned in to tuck loose hairs behind Halsin’s ear. “And you’re as stubborn a wild ass.” He got quiet for a moment, his ruby eyes studying Halsin’s face. “I wish you’d develop a harder heart. Shall I go seek Dammon to see what he could forge for you?”

It was Halsin’s turn to laugh, and his chuckle burst from his lips. The vampire continued as Halsin’s laughter died down. “I jest, of course, but you do need some mending, Halsin,” Astarion said, his jovial tone becoming intensely somber. “Now, do you want to stall more or may I stab you now?” The vampire grinned, patting his sack of needle and thread.

Halsin chuckled again, nodding his head. His ear still tingled where Astarion had brushed it when he tucked his hair back. “I place myself in your skilled hands,” Halsin replied with confidence. Astarion was far kinder than he let on, and the druid’s fondness for the vampire seemed to grow each day. Astarion was perhaps rough around the edges, but his heart was pure diamond, despite his insistence that his soul and heart were black as coal.

The druid unfastened the buttons on his vest, wincing as he slid the material from his shoulders. He glanced at the wounds on his chest - three of them oozed blood despite the battle being over hours ago. They would likely leave marks too, joining Halsin’s other scars that told the story of his life. But these would be special to him; they would bear evidence of both his success in retrieving Thaniel, and be markers of Astarion’s caring touch. Halsin took a deep breath and shifted to a cross-legged position, facing his partner.

The vampire averted his eyes back to the pouch of embroidery materials and busied his hands with preparing his tools. Astarion held the needle over the lantern flame, sterilizing the instrument. It grew red-hot before Astarion shook it to cool it. He slipped a thread of embroidery floss through the eye.

The vampire studied Halsin under half-lidded eyes, an unspoken question between them. Halsin nodded in response and patted his lap. The slender elf shifted to nestle in the hole between Halsin’s crossed legs. They sat, chests touching; Halsin’s hot-to-the-touch, fully-haired chest to Astarion’s clothed, cooler one. The vampire settled his knees at each side of Halsin’s ribcage.

Halsin did not shift nor speak; he did not want to break the vampire’s concentration. Astarion’s eyebrows were knit together in concentration, his lower lip pressed firmly underneath his fangs. The druid focused on his breathing; he knew tensing up would only increase the pain. His focus was steady, and as the needle punctured his skin for the first time, he reacted only with a slow exhale of his breath.

Astarion’s cool fingers nimbly pulled the thread taught, crossing to the other side of the wound to place the needle once more. Again, Halsin tried to focus on his breath, but the beautiful man in his lap, whose face contorted into a grimace as he treated Halsin’s wounds, was a wonderful distraction. Astarion finished his stitches on the first wound and dug for scissors in his pouch to cut and tie it off. Halsin peered down at the vampire perched in his lap.

“Thank you, for your kindness, Astarion,” Halsin said, smiling into Astarion’s curls as he pecked a kiss onto the vampire’s head. Astarion seemed to lean into his kiss, like a cat leaning in for a scratch of its chin. The druid could cover the pale elf’s body in kisses and it still would not be enough.

Astarion’s head shot up, one brow raised upwards. “Well, don’t get used to it, Halsin,” he said, his lips in a pout. “I learn from the lessons of others - look what kindness has gotten you.” He pierced Halsin’s sun-kissed skin with the needle to start sutures on the second deep wound. Halsin grunted at the pain; he hadn’t been prepared.

The druid closed his eyes, steadying it once more. “Astarion, I…want to say that I am deeply sorry,” Halsin said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. The pale elf paused, needle in hand, to meet Halsin’s eyes. “I will never again endanger you like I did at the portal. I care far too much for you to have you risk your own life along with mine.” The druid made out the concern in Astarion’s eyes; it wasn’t evident in any tears, but in the way the ruby eyes softened and rounded. The vampire’s shoulders lowered from his ears, and his hand fell slightly, needle still in his fingers; it was clear that he was not used to hearing apologies.

Halsin continued, bringing one of his hands to rub the tense muscles at the base of Astarion’s skull. “Thankfully, I have a brilliant partner whose sense of self-preservation is leagues stronger than my own,” the druid said with a chuckle, causing Astarion to jostle in his lap slightly. He placed his other large hand on the small of Astarion’s back. “And perhaps he could help me become more moderate in my foolishness?”

Halsin’s stomach flipped at the hint of a smile that began to form on Astarion’s plump pink lips. The druid couldn’t resist pulling gently at the smaller elf’s earlobe with his finger and thumb, before he bent forward to place a kiss on it.

“Oh my dear Halsin, you forgot to mention one thing,” Astarion said, holding up a finger. Halsin tilted his head in confusion as he pulled away. “I’m your brilliant, beautiful partner. Who fortunately knows his way around a needle and thread in the interim until his oaf of a druid learns to not let himself get carried away.” Astarion’s smile became genuine, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “But I still have some more work to do, so hold still.”

Halsin laughed heartily at Astarion’s words, and finally settled down, leaning back against the pillows again. The druid felt the affection in his heart grow hot, spreading through his body and down to his groin. Despite that their touch wasn’t sexual, Halsin felt himself swell at the thought of his future with this clever, beautiful man. He tried to shift nonchalantly, delicately, so that Astarion would not feel the erection beneath him.

“So, Astarion, where did you learn your embroidery skills?” Halsin asked, a deflection to distract from his attempts to rid himself of his hardness. Astarion’s hands paused above Halsin’s flesh and he exhaled in a sigh. His cool breath on the wound brought chill bumps to Halsin’s skin. The smaller elf’s body stiffened in his lap; the druid felt ashamed of once again finding a sensitive topic of conversation.

“To make a 200-year-long story mercifully short,” Astarion said, his lilt flowing in the blithe manner he adopted when he begrudgingly discussed the past, “Cazador was a penny-pinching bastard; we were rarely, if ever, given new clothing. I’ve mended my wardrobe more times than I can count. What I couldn’t mend, I had to steal.” His expression was severe; the contrast of the deep shadows and the light of the lantern stressed the creases on his face.

Halsin listened soberly to Astarion’s voice, wincing as the needle pierced his flesh and the thread pulled through. The slight swish of the thread, the crackle of the lantern’s wick, and his own occasional grunts were the only sounds heard in the seclusion of Halsin’s tent. He cradled the back of Astarion’s neck, but held his hands still; Halsin knew this was a time to provide shelter for the vampire, as strong and stoic as the stones of the Grove.

Astarion continued, bending closer to examine Halsin’s chest; his head blocked the direct light from the lamp. The vampire’s cool breath ruffled the curly hair on Halsin’s chest. “The tailoring skills were as helpful for mending rips and tears as they were for cuts and scrapes, which occurred occasionally when our…guests were less than willing to come with us. We would pickpocket thread and needle for both purposes.”

Astarion quieted again, tying off the last of his stitches. Halsin fought the growl forming in his gut as he ruminated on how the sadistic bastard would send his spawns on missions without the most basic necessities. The vampire lord did far worse than that far more regularly, as far as the druid could guess. Astarion’s mannerisms spoke volumes of Cazador’s cruelties, and it made Halsin’s heart ache as much as his body currently did.

Astarion’s lips pursed as he leaned back to observe his handiwork. Halsin’s hand darted out behind him, wrapping around the smaller elf to brace his lower back. As his calloused hands brushed against Astarion’s finely-mended shirt, he felt the vampire shiver slightly. His ruby eyes darted across Halsin’s shoulders and chest. The druid had found himself lost in those eyes dozens of times or more. Halsin followed his gaze.

As he studied the sutures, which started on his collarbone and ended nearly at his nipple, Halsin became increasingly impressed. Despite a red crust forming along the edges of the wounds, thick blood still oozed around the stitching of the deepest wound. Overall though, the thread pattern was tidy and careful, yet also functional. Indicative of immense care put into their creation. Halsin felt heat rush to his face and, much to his embarrassment, his groin again.

“I will give ample credit where it is due, Astarion. Your stitches are both more functional and prettier than any I could have managed myself,” he said with a wry grin. “Relying too much on the Oak Father’s blessed magic instead of practical skills has its repercussions, it seems. Thank you, my heart, for spending the evening with me, and for your skill with needle and thread.”

Halsin beamed at the vampire, his white smile shining brightly against his tanned skin in the lantern light. Astarion peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, his eyelashes fluttering on unusually flushed cheeks. The vampire seemed proud of himself, but had apparently decided not to gloat. His delicate hands had already set down the needle and thread, and hovered slightly above Halsin’s torso, brushing against the thick chest hair.

The druid met his eyes, his stomach fluttering with affection for the other man. Words alone were not enough of a show of appreciation. One large hand pressed against Astarion’s lower back to hold the smaller elf against his torso; the other tangled in Astarion’s curls. Halsin placed tender kisses along his brow. “I care for you so much, Astarion,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the pale elf’s ear.

Halsin exhaled slightly as he felt Astarion’s tented pants poke into his own erection. Then he felt resistance from Astarion shifting slightly. The druid banished the thoughts. He released his grip on the small elf; both hands still supported his back. The shadow cursed lands were typically chilly; but at this moment, Halsin felt as though he were in a sauna.

“You’re very sweet Halsin, thank you,” Astarion said, ears nearly as red as his eyes. “But, I’m not quite finished, if you’ll humor an idea.” The elf leaned back into Halsin’s hands, shifting his hips as though Halsin’s hands were pressing a pressure point. The druid rubbed the point with tenderness, delighting in the fluttering of Astarion’s pale eyelashes as he helped the vampire release the knot.

Astarion seemed to lose himself for a moment before he blinked quickly and returned to the moment. “How familiar are you with, erm,” Astarion started, pulling one hand from Halsin’s chest to tap his chin with a slender finger, “the properties of vampire saliva?”

Halsin’s hazel eyes went round, one thick brow arching upward. “I must say I am unfamiliar with it. Although, I did notice that the bite wounds from your feedings seem to heal quickly,” the druid admitted.

Astarion tilted his head back, studying Halsin through his eyelashes. “Of course you noticed, you’re an erudite man. In essence, the saliva has clotting properties to help seal the wound once we’ve gotten our fill.” The pale elf’s hand dropped back to Halsin’s chest as the vampire’s plush lips pulled into a taut line. “Or, they can help our own wounds heal faster. Cazador…never provided healing salves or potions. If we could not steal them, we were left to lick our wounds like dogs.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

The druid felt his fingers curl into Astarion’s back muscles; he intentionally loosened his jaw, else he would risk breaking a tooth with how hard he clenched his teeth together. He inhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry, Astarion,” he said, trailing his fingers up and down the smaller elf’s back. He felt chill bumps rise even through Astarion’s shirt, as well as what felt like ridges of scars. Halsin felt his pupils dilate and a growl form in his throat. If that bastard whipped him, I will rip out his throat myself, he thought.

“The past is the past,” Astarion said flippantly, waving his hand between their bodies. “I only brought it up to offer the same to you. There is one cut in particular that could benefit from my attention.” He dropped his finger to point at the longest laceration. It still oozed slightly.

Halsin exhaled, releasing his anger at Cazador along with his breath. “That would be most appreciated, my heart,” Halsin said, wise enough to know it would be unwise to ask for more details.

“Well then, lie back darling. It’ll be easiest that way,” Astarion said with a coquettish smile, exaggerating the risque potential in the situation. He gently pushed against Halsin’s broad pectoral muscles; the druid reclined against the pillows behind him.

*****************

If Astarion’s heart could beat, it would have thumped from his chest. Instead, he felt pressure there nearly as firm as the ache in his groin, which he had successfully ignored while closing Halsin’s wounds. How odd it was, to feel himself grow hard during a non-sexual act; he thought at the time it was the innuendo implied by piercing Halsin’s flesh. But as he saw the result of Halsin’s wounds cleaned and closed by his own hand, Astarion realized he had become aroused by simply caring for the man. After Halsin had returned through the portal, Astarion’s gut had twisted at the sight of Halsin’s flesh; his life blood had wept from the ragged wounds.

He had immediately felt a gnawing urge to help Halsin, and had cursed himself for carrying no spare healing potions. Astarion understood how it felt to be compelled by another; Cazador’s orders made his body obey as if they were his own desires. But as the vampire had gently tended to Halsin, he felt just as compelled to protect this man, to touch him, to feel the druid’s body against his own. But this urge was a choice; a desire.

It was an intoxicant that both rattled Astarion’s nerves and sent heat to his groin. Astarion settled his hands on either side of the druid’s torso, unable to resist sliding his fingernails along the ridges of his ribcage. It slightly unnerved him to see his own fingers tremble as they explored Halsin’s body. The vampire lowered his mouth to the start of the gash, along the large elf’s collarbone. Halsin’s large chest twitched at the sudden cold of his tongue.

Halsin’s torso arched upward as Astarion dragged his tongue along the claw wound. He lapped down from his shoulder to his collarbone; the stitches were rough against Astarion’s tongue. They were far more precise and careful than those he had ever done for Dalyria; and certainly those he had stabbed into Petras. On Halsin, his sutures were delicate patterns, beautiful even amongst the angry, red skin surrounding the threads. The wounds had dried almost instantaneously behind where his tongue had been. The druid’s body shivered from how the chilly saliva dampened his chest hair.

The druid seemed restless underneath him; Halsin’s hands trailed up Astarion’s spine, rubbing circles into the vampire’s muscles with his thumbs. Astarion nearly bit his tongue as he resisted arching his back in response. Halsin always seemed to find exactly where his muscles had knotted, and his practiced fingertips always loosened his tension. The pale elf could not recall a time in which he had touched Halsin and did not leave his arms feeling giddy. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

He lapped his tongue lower onto Halsin’s broad chest, curling the tip of his tongue as he licked. The druid writhed beneath him, similar to how he had during times Astarion had fed from him. The vampire wasn’t sure how long he had been lapping at the druid’s body, but he was sure that he enjoyed it. Feeling the much larger man wriggle beneath him at only the slightest flick of his tongue, made Astarion’s head spin with pleasure.

Astarion wanted to see more. To do more. To watch Halsin lose his composure at his masterful touch. He traced his tongue lower along the druid’s chest, far past where the wounds were, onto his undamaged flesh. His ministrations pulled a whistling hiss from Halsin. The druid’s hands had stopped wandering, and had settled on Astarion’s hips, fingertips gripping tightly.

Halsin lowered his chin to make eye contact again with Astarion. The druid had crescent indentions in the soft skin of his lower lip; he had been biting them as Astarion tasted his skin and his blood. Halsin lifted his hips into Astarion, the full weight of the vampire on top of him.

Astarion’s face flushed as he felt the solid, thick bulge of Halsin’s cock throbbing beneath his own. Halsin’s hands shook as he raised them to rest on Astarion’s ass, the tips of his fingers kneading on his skin. The vampire’s leather trousers became tighter in response. The druid’s heady expression, his lips parted and strands of hair stuck to his forehead, sent another pulse of need to his groin and a storm of anxiety to his mind.

Even with all the wounds, Halsin was a stunningly handsome elf. Astarion tilted his head, ruby eyes scanning the druid’s body; perhaps the wounds made him more handsome - the evidence of his intimidating nature in battle. It sent another pulse of need to his cock, which he automatically pressed against Halsin’s with a roll of his hips. The druid’s erection twitched in response.

He is exquisite, Astarion thought. He wanted to touch Halsin everywhere; watch his face contort in ecstasy, hear his pleasured whispers. As his mind swam with thoughts, he realized how deeply he desired Halsin, in more ways than they had previously experienced. Astarion longed to drown in Halsin like a cleric of Umberlee in the ocean, to be reborn again.

The idea of ceding control to the druid was an alarming yet terribly delicious concept. An urge that made the vampire roll his hips against Halsin’s swollen arousal. A whine escaped his plump lips at the friction. Halsin’s hands tightened on his ass cheeks, pulling at him from above. The druid’s mouth parted in a ragged exhale.

“Thank you, for caring for me, my heart,” Halsin said, his voice breathy, his hands quivering against Astarion’s muscled rear for a mere moment. Halsin’s shaky fingers soon lifted to rest against each side of Astarion’s face. One thumb brushed lightly over the vampire’s bottom lip. The other tucked a stray curl behind his red-flushed ear.

“For more than just the stitches…Thank you for also being by my side through all of this,” the druid said, his voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “And I also forgot to thank you for the kiss…at the portal.”

Astarion’s chin dipped down, Halsin’s eye contact becoming too much to bear. He felt his cheeks become warm from both blushing and the soft caress of the druid’s thumbs. “I…thank you, too. I rather liked it,” he started, before raising his gaze back to Halsin, “Although I would have preferred it to not have felt like it was our last kiss.”

Halsin chuckled heartily, bobbing Astarion up and down on his barrel chest. “Then may I make it up to you, my heart?” he asked gently, his fingers carding through Astarion’s curls. The druid’s honey eyes seemed to have misted over. Astarion’s brows furrowed as he tried to study them closer; was Halsin fighting back tears? “I would like to taste your lips. I want to kiss you with the reverence that you so truly deserve.”

Astarion felt faint, overwhelmed by all that was the arch druid Halsin: his amorous words, tender eyes, and now his strong arms, which had shifted to the pale elf’s back to embrace him once more. This feeling, whatever it was - infatuation, desire, lust - made the vampire anxious.

Astarion settled down, calming himself by meeting the gentle gaze of his partner, before nodding slightly. His lips parting without uttering a word as he lowered his face to Halsin’s, capturing the druid’s mouth in a kiss. Halsin’s lips felt like fire against the coolness of his own. Astarion traced his tongue along Halsin’s bottom lip, over the scars that lingered there.

Halsin returned the kiss greedily before his lips flittered along the vampire’s jawbone, down to his angular chin. His blunt teeth nibbled at the tender underside of Astarion’s neck before his wide, hot tongue pulled across the pale elf’s throat. Astarion felt as though he were molasses under Halsin’s ministrations; he felt himself melting in his mouth. Halsin lapped at the circular divots scarred on Astarion’s neck, suckling the ivory skin to raise a bouquet of blossoming bruises to its surface.

Astarion felt as though he had spent the night drinking; his head spun as he groaned at Halsin’s love bites, and his hips seemed to act of their own accord, pressing into Halsin’s. The friction made him feel as though he were going mad with desire, and he blinked away the stars with a sultry whine.

And yet, Astarion’s hands trembled as they pressed against the undamaged patches of skin on Halsin’s chest. Astarion’ couldn’t fight the rigidity that formed in his entire body. Halsin pulled away from Astarion’s mouth as soon as he felt the pale elf’s jaw quivering in his kiss.

“I…it seems like you want this,” Halsin panted, nearly out of breath. He placed his arms under Astarion’s, embracing him gently. “But I sense your hesitance. I do not wish to make love to the phantom of the person for whom I care most. I can abstain, Astarion.”

Halsin gently kissed the curls that stuck to the vampire’s sweat-covered brow and placed his forehead against Astarion’s. The druid inhaled and exhaled slowly, his hot breath blowing on the sweat beaded on Astarion’s neck and his damp shirt. The pale elf shivered at the contrasting temperatures of Halsin’s scorching embrace against his own undeath.

Astarion blinked quickly, squinting his eyes to hold back the wetness forming in them. For centuries he hated the idea of anyone touching him, and the sensation of touching anyone else. But as Halsin had disappeared into the portal, Astarion had felt a ravenous rot of anguish and grief twist his soul. He could have lost Halsin. Astarion himself could have been killed, whilst defending the druid at that bloody portal. Since then, the vampire had been brooding over the concept of his own mortality. At any moment, Cazador could capture and kill him, or his body could twist into a mind flayer.

Fate had never been kind to him, but could he accept its cruelty once more, by not chasing the opportunity for a genuine connection? For true intimacy? Astarion clenched his fingers, digging his nails into his palms, as if he could crush the life out of the anxieties that taunted him. He wanted to touch Halsin; More than anything in Faerun and the heavens and hells, save his own freedom. Whatever was left of his soul ached to feel something with the handsome, gentle wood elf. Did I not just spend a morning fighting for just that - my freedom to be intimate with my own partner?

Astarion broke eye contact with the druid as his fear lurched in his stomach and clawed at his chest. It sneered at his hope, insisting that the druid’s soft-spoken proclamations of dedication were falsehoods. Merely surface-level lies that were a roundabout means of possessing Astarion’s beautiful body.

The vampire did not want to believe it. Astarion brought his ruby eyes back to Halsin’s. Do I not deserve, at long last, to experience pleasure? Kindness? With someone who is interested in me, as a person…or at least someone who claims to be? Astarion felt as though he were drowning in his thoughts as he scanned Halsin’s face, searching for answers, for a life preserver to which he could cling. He desperately wanted to believe that Halsin was everything that he had shown himself to be. The vampire’s tongue could not form words, so instead he ran it across the pointed tips of his fangs.

As Astarion had sat silently, lost in his thoughts, Halsin remained patient; he did not push him to speak The large elf sat quietly and raised his hand from the small of Astarion’s back to his shoulders. Halsin rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers on Astarion’s back muscles, which felt tense from pulling his short bow.

A sigh fell from Astarion’s lips at Halsin’s warmth and tenderness.

“Halsin, I,” Astarion began, swallowing thickly, “I was…distraught at the idea of losing you today.” The large druid tilted his head, gazing at Astarion with eyes that had misted over slightly. Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, circling his thumbs now on the muscles under Astarion’s shoulder blades.

“I can’t…I can’t go another day without having explored…you. Us. And what we can experience together.” Astarion’s words were clumsy, stammering. He spoke quickly, as if he were afraid he would forget his words. “But it is still a challenge for me. To let go,” the vampire admitted, dropping his sight away from Halsin’s eyes.

Astarion jumped in surprise as his head and torso were pulled against Halsin’s chest, his cheek tickled by the druid’s thick chest hair. Halsin’s heartbeat was loud, steady, and comforting. The pale elf closed his eyes and felt his muscles loosen slightly in Halsin’s embrace. The druid’s fingers slid along his porcelain neck, up into his curls, gently trailing along his scalp. It brought goosebumps to his skin.

As Halsin prepared to speak, the vampire felt his words vibrate in his chest before they escaped his lips. “You do not have to let go,” Halsin said, placing a kiss on the smaller elf’s curls. Astarion’s arms wrapped around the larger elf.

“I have been in many situations that robbed me of my control,” Halsin continued, his rumbling voice soothing Astarion with its soft vibrations. “And those were frustrating and uncomfortable enough. I cannot imagine how 200 years of that would feel; besides perhaps the anguish of all of Nature’s most wrathful storms converging all at once.”

Halsin’s cock twitched as Astarion nuzzled into the soft skin under his chin. “But Astarion, please know that I want nothing more than to be your safe harbor in those storms,” the druid said, seeming to push his own desires aside. Halsin placed a curled finger under Astarion’s chin and pulled the vampire’s face up to meet his. A sweet smile crinkled the druid’s crow’s feet. Astarion’s blood-moon eyes went soft, attempting to memorize every wrinkle, scar, and eyelash on Halsin’s handsome face.

“Astarion, I care for you beyond reckoning. I want you for more than your body… more than your battle prowess, or your companionship by the campfire,” Halsin said, his deep voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I want to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin blinked away the wetness in his eyes and raised the pad of his thumb to Astarion’s cheek. “Whether our intimacy is in sex, or in another equally magnificent form…I just want to be with you. I just want to be yours, and for you to be mine.”

The pale elf felt his lips part, and a weight lifted from his lungs. He swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing as he choked back tears that verged on breaking loose. Halsin’s heartbeat thumped forcefully against his palms, as steady and reliable as the druid himself. Astarion’s mouth closed and opened several times before he could form words.

His eyes drifted from Halsin’s, down to the druid’s thin lips. Halsin’s lips, his face, and his entire body were scarred with battles in which he’d always been on the side of good, the side of kindness. The druid seemed to be a fount of kindness itself, overflowing to pour steadily into Astarion’s empty, broken cup.

“I…want that too, Halsin. I want you. I want us. I want this,” Astarion said, his breath shaking as he spoke. He leaned towards the druid’s face, his open mouth placing a gentle kiss on Halsin’s. The pale elf placed another, capturing Halsin’s lower lip in his; the druid moaned in response, squeezing a fistful of his white curls.

Astarion could wait no longer. He laid claim to the scorching heat of Halsin’s mouth, of his tongue. He nipped at Halsin’s top lip, then the bottom, tugging gently at it between his sharp fangs as he pulled away. Halsin’s mouth followed Astarion and captured his lips in another kiss, deepening it, tasting the vampire’s tongue, slightly coppery, before pulling away.

Halsin beamed at Astarion, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It stirs my heart to hear you say that, Astarion. I would like all of that very much. But…I want you to have control over our intimacy. For as long as you need, until you are comfortable in sharing that opportunity with me,” Halsin said, his eyes glowing golden, shining at Astarion in the dim light of the tent like a cat’s eyes lit by a torch. Astarion nodded weakly, perceptible to Halsin only because of the gentle grip his fingers had found in the pale elf’s hair.

“So if you’ll have me,” the druid continued, his voice almost a growl, “I am at the mercy of your touch.” The sparkle of Halsin’s amber eyes outshone the stars as he maintained Astarion’s gaze. Astarion’s hands wrapped around Halsin’s bare waist, fingers curling into the druid’s hips, anchoring himself to the bliss of this reality.

“I would like that,” Astarion replied, a shyness in his voice that even he wasn’t prepared to hear. His lips curved into a smirk, his fangs flashing in the lamplight. He placed another needy kiss on Halsin’s lips and leaned forward, sliding his hands along Halsin’s skin, raking his fingers through the chest hair. The vampire marveled at how perky Halsin’s nipple was as his finger brushed against it. He felt his mouth water.

The pale elf pulled away, peering at Halsin through half-lidded eyes as his finger tweaked at the druid’s nipple. Halsin’s teeth had captured his bottom lip, as if he were holding himself back from ravishing Astarion. The vampire bent slightly and lowered his face to Halsin’s chest.

The druid did not protest as Astarion swirled his tongue around the pert, peachy flesh; he only threw his head back, his lips parting with a pleasured sigh. A smile crept to the corners of the vampire’s mouth. He pulled tenderly at Halsin’s nipple with his blunt front teeth, drawing a hiss from the druid. The vampire exhaled onto Halsin’s nipple, his cool breath making it somehow even harder.

Halsin hands were chaste, merely holding Astarion firmly in his lap; the druid otherwise seemed content, enthralled even, to be toyed with at Astarion’s whim. The vampire needed more. He needed to see what Halsin would do under his masterful touch.

He rolled his hips into Halsin’s, grinding their erections together through their clothes. The druid’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the delicious friction, which pulled a lustful moan from both men. Halsin’s hands drifted from Astarion’s thighs to his hips, slipping under Astarion’s loose linen tunic. The druid’s thick thumbs dug into the v-shaped muscle at the vampire’s hips as if Astarion would float away from him. Halsin pulled away and leaned back to peer at Astarion, his thick eyebrows raised upward. It was a question, unspoken - is this okay?

The vampire gave a small nod, goosebumps rising along his skin. Halsin’s grip squeezed momentarily on his hips - his hands were comforting, and so warm around his body. If his heart had a beat, Astarion was sure it would have doubled its pace when Halsin had asked him for yet another sign of consent. The druid was agonizingly gentle, unnervingly kind. Astarion worried his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin waited, his lips parted as he panted for breath, for the vampire to continue their passion; he held to the small elf’s hips only to stay grounded in their intimacy, not spurring Astarion on, nor discouraging his affection. Halsin’s amber eyes fixed on Astarion’s. His clothed cock throbbed beneath the pale elf. He was a loyal soldier awaiting a command, a servant expecting a request, a lover allowing a moment to build. The tenseness between them was a short bow string pulled taut; ready to either let loose or snap in two.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion realized it was his turn to be in control. True control, akin to that of a stage director, opposed to his experience as lead actor who commanded the stage at the whims of someone else. But now, with no master except his own desires, Astarion was elated to experiment. The rush of the power was intoxicating, sending throbs of pleasure to Astarion’s aching cock. The vampire released a sigh he did not know he had been holding. Halsin inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, his hands trembling at Astarion’s sides in anticipation.

The bow string snapped in two.

In a single movement, the vampire slipped one hand behind Halsin’s neck, his auburn hair slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He pressed his mouth, open and greedy, against Halsin’s, who returned his passion eagerly. Astarion’s other hand darted to Halsin’s trousers and deftly pulled out the laces.

The druid’s girthy cock pulsed at Astarion’s movements as it fell free from its confinement. Halsin groaned at the sensation of Astarion’s cool palm gripping his shaft. Halsin was fully erect, weeping in need already, his tip flushing a deep red. Halsin’s cock was uncut, his foreskin allowing Astarion’s hand to glide along its length. Astarion savored the sensation like it was the blood of a sacrificial virgin.

“By all the gods Halsin, you’re beautiful,” Astarion said, his lips parted slightly. The tips of his fangs were visible, glinting in the lamplight. Halsin was thick, and the firmness of his erection in his cool palm made the vampire’s own cock throb with unabashed desire. The druid moaned again, pulsing in the vampire’s hand, his hips swaying slightly beneath Astarion. In response, the pale elf offered a couple slow pulls from the base of Halsin’s shaft to the tip.

“Fuck,” was all Halsin could manage, his head falling back as he panted into the air. Seeing the druid come undone at his touch gave Astarion luxurious shivers of satisfaction from his scalp to his cock.

Halsin, true to his word, kept his hands as still as he could. His large fingers still dug into Astarion’s hip bones through his leather trousers, shaking with yearning. The large elf met Astarion’s gaze with his pupils blown out, his lips slightly parted as a moan slipped from his mouth. Astarion’s palms were slick with sweat and his fingers fumbled as he used his free hand to unfasten his own trousers.

The vampire’s arousal sprung free from his pants and bobbed in the air. Astarion hissed at the coolness surrounding his cock and thrust his hips closer to Halsin. He wrapped slender fingers around them both, shivering with the pleasure of Halsin’s heat against his erection. Halsin locked eyes with Astarion as the vampire pressed their cocks together.

“Astarion, every part of you is magnificent,” Halsin praised through labored breaths. “Your touch, I-” The druid’s words escaped him as Astarion shifted his hand to rub up and down their lengths. Halsin’s loose hair fell in front of his ears, onto his shoulders, sticking to his sweat-dampened chest. He glistened in the lamplight, like some sort of apparition.

Astarion struggled to not lose himself at Halsin’s appearance, at the tenderness and longing in the druid’s gaze. He pulled a few slow strokes for them both, his mouth open in a pant as their cocks rubbed against each other. The undersides of each of them slid against the other; the swollen shafts shifting as Astarion pumped his hand around them.

Halsin’s mouth fell open, the words he attempted to form trapped behind his tongue. His thoughts, praises, and curses seemed to escape him as Astarion flicked his thumbs over their slits. Pre-cum dribbled down their shafts as Astarion languidly circled his thumbs down the glistening heads, lubricating them further. The vampire’s strokes were smooth, his firm grip gliding over their mutual hardness as their foreskins pulled back and forward with his pumping hand.

Astarion looked to his own hand as it encircled both of their cocks; he relished in the sight of Halsin’s arousal next to his own. Halsin followed his gaze down; the druid’s sex pulsed and felt like it had grown harder at the sight alone. Halsin was thicker, but Astarion had a luscious curve that promised to hit all the naughtiest places. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that even Halsin’s shaft was sun-touched and as tan as the rest of his skin. The vampire, of course, was pale as a full moon, except for the head of his cock, ruddy with the rush of blood.

The visual contrast was striking enough that Astarion realized it had been a moment since he stroked them together. Halsin had not rushed him to move, but his hips were pressed firmly upwards in need. Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled upwards again, more pre-cum beading at the tip of both their shafts. The vampire had tried similar positions before, and had plenty of experience with men; but in this moment, he forgot all of them. He and Halsin existed alone in this new world, one of pleasure and of comfort, and he wanted to explore it completely.

Astarion maintained the pumping rhythm with one hand, drawing more guttural moans from Halsin’s lips. With his other hand, he teased Halsin by swirling his fingers under the flared head of the druid’s cock. His fangs peeked from his upturned lips as the druid groaned at his touch. The druid’s contortions and hushed murmurs of rapture were irresistible prayers; Astarion felt like the god before whom Halsin supplicated.

Astarion’s cock quivered in need, more slick pre-cum spilling from its pink tip, dripping onto the vampire’s hand as he pumped both of their erections steadily. The druid peered hungrily at Astarion’s cock like it was a feast, and he was a ravenous dinner guest. But Halsin showed immense self-restraint, his hands still curled around Astarion’s waist, allowing the smaller elf to enjoy complete control.

The vampire basked in Halsin’s attention, in his own gratification, and in the pleasures he bestowed to his partner. Astarion bit back back the curses that he, too, wanted to let loose; the tip of his own fangs pierced his bottom lip.

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips. Halsin’s noises were foul. They were erotic. They were delicious.

Astarion savored the change of pace, the tantalizing tease of edging. He wanted to see how far he could take the larger man; how far he could take himself. The pale elf struggled to compose himself against the luscious friction. For once in his long life, he wanted to prolong the indulgence, the satisfaction, and the climax. It was a taunt; it was an indulgence. It was the ambrosia of a divinity all his own, brought to reality as he explored his hedonism with Halsin.

Astarion’s vision blurred as Halsin’s hips strained under him. The druid was eager and aching to thrust into the vampire’s palm but unable to, with how fiercely his knees trembled, and with Astarion’s weight in his lap. A rumble began in Halsin’s throat, and Astarion nearly climaxed from both the sound and the power he had over the man beneath him.

Other lovers had moaned his name of course, or more often, slurred it. But how delectable would it sound coming from Halsin’s lips instead? Astarion’s chest tightened. He had to find out.

He distracted himself from the daydream by sliding one hand from their shafts to cup Halsin’s balls, pulling yet another rumbling moan from the large elf. The druid’s sac was heavy in his palm, the curly hair tickling against Astarion’s milky skin. The vampire slid two fingers along the seam on Halsin’s sac, then pressed slightly on his perineum, back and forth, until he drew a moan from his partner. Astarion grinned in satisfaction.

Halsin’s hips shifted again underneath Astarion, his well-muscled thighs pressing up against him. The druid gazed at Astarion through half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his brow onto his cheek. The pale elf relished in Halsin’s unkempt appearance; his lips were parted, his brows furrowed, his hair stuck to his forehead. He was gorgeous.

The vampire’s fingers rolled Halsin’s balls gently, again causing the druid to squirm underneath them and let loose a string of oaths under his breath. His fingertips softly pulled at Halsin’s sac, his nails grazing the tightened skin. The druid seemed to melt at the vampire’s ministrations; Halsin could hardly speak. However, Astarion read lips well enough to pick up the words “Oak Father” on the druid’s mouth.

Astarion shook his head again, clucking his tongue in playful admonishment. This man will ruin me, Astarion thought. He loosened his grip around them both.

“Oh, dear Halsin, the gods have nothing to do with this sin,” Astarion hissed, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as he made locked eyes with Halsin. The druid’s pupils were blown out, his irises still glowing slightly, his nostrils flared and lips parted as he clung on the precipice of climax.

“When we are together, you’ll say only my name,” Astarion purred, basking in the reverence in Halsin’s eyes. They were clouded by lust and something else, far deeper: a fervent, warm, honey-sweet affection. Astarion squeezed their shafts again for a momentary tease, eliciting a succulent whimper from Halsin’s lips.

“Gods,” Halsin practically sobbed, and gripped Astarion’s hips tighter when the vampire loosened pressure around his cock. “Please…”

“Ah ah, to whom do you beg, darling?” Astarion’s voice was firm. Commanding. Authoritative.

“To you,” Halsin corrected feverishly. His bottom lip quivered as he gazed into Astarion’s wine-red eyes. His body quaked beneath the vampire. “My heart, my everything. My Astarion-”

Astarion captured Halsin’s lips in a growl of his own. It was obscenely erotic, to have such a stoic, eloquent man undone by his hands. His stoic, eloquent man. Astarion crushed his lips onto Halsin’s harder, his tongue exploring the druid’s hot mouth, which opened readily at the vampire’s touch. Halsin’s lips were luscious, but the druid needed to breathe; Astarion pulled away, saliva stringing between their lips before dripping down onto Halsin’s chest.

He wanted Halsin to be his; for now, forever, for as long as he could swim in the bliss he felt in Halsin’s companionship. Astarion pumped their cocks steadily, firmly, occasionally wincing as his palm grazed the sensitive flare of his own cock.

He smirked when he pulled the same reaction from Halsin, and repeated the gesture gently to make the druid writhe again. Halsin’s breath came out in such delicious whimpers, breath ragged with pleasure that grew with each touch beneath Astarion’s skillful fingers.

Halsin’s head fell backwards, his auburn braids stuck to the sweat on his brow. Astarion felt the druid’s sac tighten in his palm as a low moan escaped him. He was close now.

“Pray to me, darling,” Astarion whispered against Halsin’s gasping lips.

And pray Halsin did, with a wrecked cry of his name. The druid’s hips convulsed as he climaxed, a thick rope of cum spilling over Astarion’s elegant fingers.

Astarion used Halsin’s spill as additional lubricant, panting as he pumped himself to climax. His sac tightened, his balls felt like they would burst from pressure as he came closer to his climax. The pale elf met Halsin’s gaze before his vision blurred; the druid surprised him as he captured his lips in a passionate kiss and explored the pale elf’s pliant mouth with his hot tongue.

Halsin’s attention pushed him to orgasm. Astarion’s ears rang as stars burst behind his eyelids as he, too, coated his hand with his seed. The pale elf’s head swirled, but he felt himself smile back into Halsin’s lips, the feeling of warmth of the other man’s palm against his cheek. This, Astarion decided, was perfection. This was bliss. This is how sex was supposed to be, what it should have been. What it could continue to be.

Astarion felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall. This little death, this drowning in Halsin’s affection, this exploration of something new was stronger than any intoxicant Astarion could imagine. And he knew that, and Halsin, would be far more addictive.

Halsin pressed a palm to Astarion’s chest, breathing deeply with the pale elf as he slowly floated back to the world. If his cold heart could have done so, Astarion felt as though it would flutter at the druid’s gentle touch. Halsin wrapped his arms around Astarion’s torso and leaned back into the pillows, pulling his partner with him. Astarion felt the weight of Halsin’s arm draped across his back. The druid’s large hands stroked the vampire’s tense shoulder muscles through his now-sticky shirt.

Post-climax bliss, something Astarion had experienced rarely over his lifetime, still fogged his mind. The vampire’s hands settled on Halsin and were tickled by the druid’s chest hair. He found relaxation in the steady thump of his beating heart. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he nestled his face under Halsin’s neck; the heat from the druid’s skin felt soothing on his forehead. Even though his shirt was damp and forehead slick with sweat, the vampire always ran cool to the touch.

The druid’s thumbs rubbed down both sides of his spine, rumpling Astarion’s shirt. Halsin’s motions were slow and intentional; it struck Astarion that massage, too, is an art of healing. As was lying beside, on, or with his partner. Just like this. The vampire lost himself in Halsin’s gentle carress, intent on keeping this moment alive for as long as he could.

Halsin was the first to shift from their position; he pressed Astarion to his chest in another embrace, then held the smaller elf in an unusually firm grip. Astarion raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion, to stare at his partner. Halsin’s face was expressionless, unreadable. The vampire’s mouth parted as he prepared to ask Halsin’s intent as the druid’s hazel eyes met his own.

Halsin did not give his partner a chance to speak, and placed a brief kiss on Astarion’s lips, only to pull back and pepper the vampire’s face and neck with kisses, tickling Astarion’s sensitive skin. The pale elf felt a squeak escape his lips as he squirmed in Halsin’s grip. The druid captured the vampire’s wrist and held it firmly, kissing Astarion’s fingers, then his palm. Halsin seemed to delight in planting tickling kisses along Astarion’s pale wrist. Halsin nibbled in the crook of Astarion’s elbow, up his sleeved biceps, and back up to his collarbone, holding the vampire firmly as he squirmed in his grasp. Astarion felt himself erupt into laughter, genuine laughter and joy, as the druid mercilessly planted ticklish pecks along his neck and chin.

After what seemed like an eternity of delightful torture, Astarion felt the grip on him lessen. Halsin shifted the placement of his large hands onto either side of the pale elf’s face. Astarion couldn’t resist their warmth, and leaned his face into Halsin’s palm; his eyes were closed, pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He allowed himself to live in this moment far longer than he ever allowed himself to indulge before.

As his eyelids flitted open, Astarion met Halsin’s gaze, softer than the vampire ever thought possible. “Astarion…” Halsin whispered, bringing his lips meet his partner in another kiss. It was a soft, tender exchange; chaste and sweet, like their very first had been. The pale elf pulled away just enough to speak.

“Halsin…” Astarion said softly, just centimeters from the druid’s lips, “thank you.” He lowered his head back to Halsin’s chest, his face and ears flush. He felt the druid nuzzle his face into his hair, and Halsin’s hot breath blowing through his curls. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he fell into a trance to the sound of Halsin’s heartbeat.

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 1 month

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Safe and sound (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It had been a rough fight. Rougher than the ones before, coupled with many feelings of guilt afterwards, but may everything holy be damned if Halsin wouldn´t be there for you.

warnings: hurt/comfort but more comfort than hurt, afab reader

word count: 1.2k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You had failed them. You had failed all of them. The thought ran in circles around your brain as you dragged yourselves back to the camp, where help would be waiting. Karlach was hoisted up by Gale and Wyll, the three of them quiet as they walked in front of you. And all the way up front, Astarion and Lae´zel, who somehow still found the energy within themselves to bicker about your current predicament. A predicament that was your fault. You decided to infiltrate the base of the cult of the absolute. You had made the plans. You were so sure you would be more than capable of defeating them. And you had failed them. The cult almost ended the journey for your party. How could you not obsess over it as you all limped back to where Shadowheart and Halsin were awaiting you. The two of them immediately rushed over to tend to the most severely wounded party member first. Which gave you enough time to make your escape. As much as you could count yourself lucky that you had been wounded relatively little, it was also source of most of your distress. Ignoring Scratch, who happily jumped around you in an attempt to lighten your mood, you walk away from the camp to a little clearing, where you let yourself slide down against a tree. Which is where Halsin finds you. With closed eyes and trying to take deep breaths to calm your thoughts once and for all. What´s done is done now. Next time would go smoother, you´d be smarter, you´d be the one to protect them and get hurt, if need be, instead of the other way around.

Lost in your borderline obsessive thoughts, you don´t recognize the pattern of the steps that break twigs and crunch leaves.

“I know what I did wrong, Lae´zel. I should have listened better to all of you.” You concede to the presence that looms over you, which you assume is the Githyanki fighter.

The words provoke a heaviness in Halsin´s heart that he wants to believe he hasn´t felt in a while, as he stood there. He understood that you had a lot on your shoulders and that wasn´t always easy, if it ever was, but he admired you for having taken it on so selflessly at the beginning of your journey. It was rare to find someone with as much determination to face the uncertain. Not to talk of the adversaries that somehow only seemed to grow in number as you went on. Even Halsin, in all the wisdom he had to offer, knew that even the strongest of individuals had their limits and he dearly hoped that this wasn´t yours.

“Lae´zel is resting in her tent at the moment, but if you wish I could tell you what you seemingly want to hear so badly.” He tries to lighten your mood with a joke that arguably does not land well with you and a small, comforting smile on his lips. However, it does coax your eyes open and up to meet his worry filled ones.

“I must apologize. To you. To everyone. I was foolish and put everyone at risk.” Your voice wavers as you finally speak the thoughts that have tormented you this entire time.

“May I?” The druid points to the spot on the ground next to you to which you simply nod once as an answer. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I-…“ You try to speak, but are soon disrupted.

“Let me speak, please. Make no mistake, what you have done could have been planned more thoroughly mayhaps. However, it is inevitable as well. Everyone is bound to make mistakes during their lifetime.” Halsin´s voice is so calm and comforting as ever that you almost want to hate him for being the one to come after you.

Lae´zel´s or even Astarion´s criticism would have been much preferable than the very right words, that make you bite your inner cheek as your eyes begin to sting and your breathing falters around the knot that builds in your throat.

“I feel like a complete fool.” You hide your face by leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “I almost lead all of them all straight into a massacre and I am the one least wounded. I panicked and stayed back. Only to watch them almost die.”

The only reason why you stop the onslaught on yourself is because the tears start to choke you up and you have to stop to concentrate on not breathing yourself further into panic. Only to have it falter once more, when your companion lays a finger underneath your chin to pick it up so gently, it´s as if he fears you will shatter like an expensive porcelain plate under his touch. Halsin´s sage eyes are so soft and accepting as they look you over, no doubt searching you for any wounds that need attention before anything else. Either way, they make you want to break down under the stress. A fact that doesn´t go unnoticed by the druid in front of you.

“Look at me. You are a fierce leader, who cares deeply about their companions. One moment of panic will change naught about that. So, take a moment to breath with me.” Halsin takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. You watched his strong chest rise, mirroring his actions when he takes in another breath. Together you repeat this a few times until the air around you begins to calm down. Guiding your head closer by the finger still under your chin, he presses his lips to your forehead.

With your inner turmoil now much calmer and Halsin assured that you didn´t need any immediate medical attention the two of you sink back down. The druid with his back against the large tree and you with an ear over his heart. Your companion kisses the crown of your head ever so often when you stir lightly, but otherwise calm silence settles for the first time that day.

But the peace doesn´t last as long as you wished it would as through the silence your thoughts return to the chaos from before. Tears sting in your eyes once more, this time flowing over to run down your cheeks and drop onto Halsin´s clothes.

“The worst thing is, I was so scared of coming back to you alone or even worse not coming back.” You cry into his chest. Holding him as close as possible.

“Shhh, it is over now. You are safe here.” He murmurs against the crown of your head, holding you just as tightly with his strong arms.

Even though it takes your body much longer to realize that the danger is far away from you now and the two of you walk back to camp to face the rest of the party who have lit a fire and started doing their own thing as they waited for Gale to call for dinner, you breathe in Halsin´s warm scent. For the moment it would seem the best idea was to just let it all out in the safety of your druids arms.

#halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate halsin #druid halsin #halsin the druid #halsin x reader #halsin bg3 x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg 3 fanfic #baldurs gate 3 fanfic

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thranduilsperkybutt · 6 months

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☾ the gold & the rust ☼

Pic Sources: 1 | 2 | 3

Pairings: Astarion Ancunín/Tav!Reader Warnings: NSFW; angst/comfort smut; yearning; Astarion is not ascended; mentions of past canon-typical trauma/abuse; the struggle of healing; Astarion has racing thoughts and you can't tell me otherwise; canon-typical biting; it's not about the sex it's about the feelings; spoilers for the endgame Word Count: 7,168 words Reader Gender: Female Author: Meg Summary: You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again... A/N: Look I blame Hozier for making too many Astarion-coded songs that make me sob my eyes out while thinking about the implications of his "good" ending. Astarion has literally changed my brain chemistry.

The sun cusps over the horizon, its soft tendrils spreading over a murky sky. Beckoning the night’s fleeing retreat with a gentle violence as the day demands more territory in each passing second. Sparse hues of blue manage to cling to some lingering clouds that have yet to meet the threateningly beautiful pink and orange sky.

Astarion reaches out from behind the heavy curtain and his darkness, towards the pillar of light that breaks into the privacy of your bedchamber. Pale fingertips dip hesitantly into the light, as if he could believe everything that has occurred over this past week has been only a dream. It takes but a moment for the evidence of his reality to meet him when his skin sparks and dusts under the light of day.

He flinches back, hissing lowly from the burning pain of it. Glaring down at his flexing hand as if the disdain in his eyes could change the fates that have turned the thread of his life into this ever-knotted thing. He’d never imagined he would miss having that damned illithid parasite in his head, yet here he was. Yearning to reach for morning again. Wishing to experience a dawn that may never welcome him again.

He hears the stirring moan, soft and drenched in exhaustion, and dares a glance away from his own skin and stinging regret. Stilling entirely, Astarion hopes he has not awoken you just yet. He does not wish for you to see him like this, in this state of self-pitiful detestation. Though he knows you may yet love him despite having seen it, showing the reality of his mind beyond his comfortable performances is easier said than done. Tension drips from his shoulders, if only a little bit, as he watches your body relax into the cushions with your blissfully ignorant slumber.

The sigh at his lips is shaky. Mournful. He looks back towards the sunlight and remembers how it had felt when it had forgotten how to punish him like this. He doesn’t know which is crueler: to have never felt it at all, or for it to be ripped away from him like this. In the brief time he was granted to finally walk in the sun again after the past two centuries, Astarion can’t help the fresh anger that bubbles up in him at the taking away of it. He didn’t deserve this--- any of it.

Truthfully, he has no clear memory of how the sun had felt to him when he was simply a mortal elf and not a spawn belonging to a master. It had been so long ago; memories fade over time when drenched in horror, he’s discovered well since. Still, something tells Astarion he loved the day even then as he did now. He’s certain he had always loved the heat of it--- the color.

The way it filters through your hair when you stand in the path of daylight, kissing the edges of your skin in a way he forever wished to share with it. It had been warmer and kinder to him than he had ever expected to receive, somewhat like you. You were undeniably beautiful in the light of day.

Even standing within the finality of the sunset of your journey together--- foes vanquished, coated in sweat and victory--- he had thought the same.

But nothing good ever lasts, he’s learned. At least, nothing but you. Astarion wonders if he would still grieve this much if he were to never have known the day at all. Would he know what he was missing? Would a piece of its cosmic heat have whispered of you to him, even then?

He can’t truly comprehend a world in which his fate had not become so intimately entangled with yours. Perhaps that is the worst part, how he knows he would always brave this feeling of loss to gain what he has with you. In the end of it all, he knows he has made the right choice to have this over the temptations of that infernal ritual’s power.

Despite that knowledge, Astarion truly hadn’t expected you to run after him when the lingering illithid protections dissipated from his being and the sun began its remorseless burning again. He had scampered away from the docks in an abject desperation, attempting to flee from the light’s betrayal. Astarion was the objectively faster party, but you had found him eventually--- you always seem to find him--- after he had taken to cowering behind wooden crates that cast a meager shadow of solace. He had been shaking, cradling himself, closed off entirely from the world as that sickeningly familiar taste of how things had been before--- back when he was still Cazador’s--- came flooding back onto his palate. His mind had become drenched in a fear he had thought could never claim him again.

You’d cut through all of it with your worried call of his name. Plunging him into the magical darkness you cast upon the both of you to shield him from the sun’s assault with such a thoroughness that not even you could see through it. His call of your own name sounded far too broken on his tongue for his own liking, but you’d followed the sound towards his outstretched arms all the same.

Dragging him up into yours, only a sliver of the calamity in his soul dissipated when you promised him blindly, “Come, quickly, I’ll get you someplace safe.”

Despite his better efforts, his voice shook as he allowed you to clumsily drape your cloak over his curls in darkness, unable to bring the deflecting humor to his voice that he so achingly wished would return, “Darling, you are a sight for sore eyes; or, you would be, I’m sure, if I could see you.”

“I told you this would come in handy,” you shot back, and he had been grateful for your effort at ignoring the bittersweet grief that so clearly drenched his soul in favor of reminding him of how he had teased you for spending a good amount of your gold on this very cloak when you’d all first arrived in the city.

His breath remained shallow, but his hand tightened over yours in what he hoped you knew was gratefulness when you finished ensuring the fabric had covered any of his exposed skin, “I shall never question any of your purchases again, on my honour.”

“Of course you will, Astarion,” he heard the slight worry in your voice as much as you tried to hide it. He felt the spell waning and with it the returning disorientation that even slight sunlight left him in. You had grasped his arm firmly and spoken with a confident determination that he suspected was as much for your comfort as it was for his, “Now, get ready to move quickly and keep your head down; the dark won’t last much longer.”

You were good for your promises, he’d learned over his time travelling with you, and that had brought some small comfort as the day reemerged before he’d had a chance to respond. Then, you were maneuvering him through the city, towards the darkness of Sharess’ Caress, with such a precision that he might think it more important than any quest you’ve had thus far if he hadn’t known better. Gripping him tightly the whole way, Astarion still has not dared tell you how grateful he was for it--- for you, surprising him against his better judgement every time with how you simply are.

It has been nearly a week now of you coming to his side in the night and yet some part of him still expected the other metaphorical shoe to drop. For you to come to your senses and tell him that you simply cannot carry on like this with him.

He wanted to believe you. Gods, how he wants it. Yet, he still felt like a fool to think he’s earned some love such as yours. He wants to believe he deserves the way you look at him like he can be what you see him to be. It’s too dangerous for his heart to invest in the thought that he maybe can. That maybe he is, already.

For you to look at him and tell him, “We’ll find it together. I promise we’ll find a way for you to walk in the sun again,” with such determination--- for you to be someone who genuinely believed the both of you could achieve it---

Well, you simply must be mad. He doesn’t know how else to explain these little ideas of yours.

Astarion figures you’ll continue to be as much a surprise to him as you’ve made a habit of in the past… and then there was that persistently annoying optimism of yours to contend with.

But this?

He doesn’t think that you understand the truth of the choice you’re making, to stay with him. To love him. How could you know it and still look upon him with such eager hopefulness as you do? He barely understands it at all himself, and he’s had centuries to come to terms with what he’s become. Forgive him if it’s a bit difficult to begin to understand just what “being something better than what Cazador made him” truly means.

He understands how much he wants you, though. He wants it all. The life that was stolen from him, the opportunities, but mostly for you to be there--- here. Where you’ve not wavered an inch from his side; you’ve given him no reason to think you plan on leaving anytime soon.

Why does he still fear it so much, though?

Some part of him had thought--- hoped foolishly, rather--- that killing Cazador would somehow fix two centuries of torment. Fix him. In the brief time after, he discovered that it hadn’t. In his elongated struggle, he worries it never will.

Nightmares still plague him, he still jumps at shadows, he still has thoughtless fear dart through his mind before he remembers again that his former master is well and truly dead. That simply existing in happiness was the rebellious proof of his victory over a man who he hopes will not haunt him forever. When he is with you, Astarion almost believes that Cazador won’t. It is some charm you have bewitched over him surely. Your ability to calm this chaos in him with soft eyes and patient hands that do not seek to own him, yet he eagerly chooses to belong there all the same.

Astarion still has trouble loving you like he knows you deserve to be loved. There are times when he can barely stand physical touch, though craves to want yours. And you understand the duality of the contradiction in him, taking only ever what he is willing to give.

Sometimes he thinks you too understanding, with little concern of how this affects you. He’s always baffled by how selfless you can be sometimes, particularly when you’re taking in strays. He has come to admit, if only to himself, that he does see the irony in his complaints. Moreso, he’s terrified of what will happen when that seemingly endless well of care you hold within you for others inevitably runs out.

What will happen when you can no longer bear his eccentricities? The compromises? The sacrifice that his double-edged love requires of you? Will there come a time when all he offers as part of being in this real love becomes too overwhelming?

Astarion had fallen in love with you in the easy warmth of sunlight. Looking upon you now as the dawn creeps against your sleeping form, his heart aches as he wonders if he can truly doom you to a life in his complicated darkness.

Selfishly, one thought consumes his mind--- he knows he wants to. He would want you, no matter the cost to you both. You have told him over and over again how you want the same but, Gods, he can’t figure out what he has done for this sliver of joy and it eats away at him in the dark. It’s unreasonable what he asks you to give him, but he’ll take it all the same. Bitterly he thinks, if he were a better man--- the man you see him to be--- he might even feel guilty for it.

For now, all he feels is the monstrous need to escape these racing thoughts in his head.

When will you walk away to join the sunlight for good? Hells forbid the answer his weary heart is preparing for ever be spoken from your lips.

Astarion hopes the day never comes when you choose to go where he cannot follow. He wants to spend all his days traipsing after you, wherever you may lead, no matter how much he may complain about it for show.

Astarion wants to spend all of it, whatever it may be, whatever he’s got left, with you. He’s terrified of the day that you change your mind on him. Fearful that you may one day decide these sleepless nights with a vampire spawn who can offer you nothing more than his undying love and sarcastic quips are nothing compared to the full life you could have with someone else. This theoretical, easy life in the sun that he dares to think he is stealing from you by loving you as he does.

Well, he supposes that reclaiming Cazador’s palace is always an option, rather than his other fantasy of burning it to the ground. Spending an eternity draping you in finery and keeping you to himself within a palace feels like something he should want, but he can’t help to think that it would be no better than making his love for you into a somewhat prettier cage.

More than he wants you, he needs you to freely want him. He’d be tempted to take up praying again if he had any faith that it could solidify your love for him forever, but deep down he doesn’t want heavenly intervention. He wants you to want to be with him--- to choose him willingly and without any regret for what the inevitable sacrifice will be. That understanding is, perhaps, what makes his heart swell with this bittersweet glory over all else.

You’ve told him as much and what your lips did not confess to him willingly, your body has whispered to his with an adoration that threatened to scorch him in much the same way of your beloved daylight. You’ve told him you will find him some cure for his darkness; you are set on performing a feat no one in history has ever achieved, all for him, but he wonders if it is as futile as the sun laboring to join the moon. Maybe he is destined to forever look upon you with the knowledge that when your bright, beckoning light inevitably burns out, he will be left with only his darkness, alone again--- this being the most horrible realization of all to have come to him tonight.

Hells, how desperately he wants to believe you, but Astarion has always had difficulty getting his hopes up. He hasn’t been known to bet on losing dogs, and he certainly doesn’t bet on his own odds these days.

But he figures you have more than enough hope for the both of you.

A minute smile quirks his troubled lips at that thought, watching your fingers twitch in your slumber. He shouldn’t doubt you as he does; you’ve given him everything. His freedom, his salvation--- even from himself, when he hadn’t known how much he needed it. Things he can never repay, and yet you’ve never asked him for a repayment. He owes you everything, but you’ve been adamant in tempering his sense of obligation. You’ve reminded him that everything he's done, he’s chosen for himself.

You’ve only ever asked him to love you, and that you have had for far longer than you know--- far before you ever actually plucked up the adorable courage to ask him for it.

He has come to love you more than he’s ever loved anything for as far back as he can remember. The depths of his adoration could scare even him with the raw vulnerability he is left with when it comes to you. How beautifully all his plans and plots for self-preservation have backfired upon him, though. He would not have you destroy his peace of mind in any other way.

Maybe one day, he’ll admit to you exactly when his nice, simple plan truly began to fall apart. The idea dances in his mind, of how you’ll react to that particular information. You’d hang on his every word, he thinks--- it would be rather pathetic of you, if he weren’t in much the same state.

Gripping the curtain, Astarion finally deems it time to push the budding light out of his darkness. If it is to be the only place he may have you for all of your days, he’ll make his darkness a sacred place. He decides he shall worship you in it--- all other gods have forsaken him already. Until the day his little hero saves him once again, he will indulge in this darkness with you.

The patriars nipping at your heels for guidance, the unwashed masses of the Gate clamoring for their glimpse of his hero, even your other traveling companions--- none of them shall invade upon this sanctuary.

He moves towards the bed, returning to you. Exhausted from a late day in the city and an even later night of enjoying his company, you’ve taken to claiming sleep when you can these days. The evidence of your labor rests in the dark circles under your eyes. He doesn’t think he could stop you from your philanthropic efforts assisting the city’s reconstruction even if he tried.

Still, right now, in these hours you are only his.

He dips his weight onto the bed and lays himself alongside you, pulling you tenderly against him as his lips graze your neck. Truly, he knows it is cruel to wake you, but he doesn’t know how he can manage to miss someone like this when you are right before him. It is as if his very soul yearns for you. He melts against the rhythmic flutter of your heart, and it sounds more like his home than the palace he has spent the last two hundred years in ever could.

Teeth graze against your carotid pulse, and you stir slightly. He hums into the soft warmth of your flesh, biting without intent to draw blood--- though the thought of it does cross his mind. He has never recovered from the taste of you. Cold fingers curl into your bare hip, dragging you slightly closer at the feeling of your waking movements.

Your pulse picks up against his lips. Astarion hears the patter of your heart in your ribs as his tongue drags up your throat towards your ear. Your breath hitches when his lips graze your jaw, but your eyes remain closed.

His lips twitch with mirth at your effort to have him do as he pleases.

“Quite the show, my little love, but I know you’re awake,” Astarion murmurs, slurred from the back of his throat like a man lost in thorough indulgence. Drunk with the scent of you on his skin, he leaves another faux bite on your jaw as you squirm beneath his assault.

“Shall you feed again, is that it?” yawning, your hand rubs at your eyes before you blink them open. When his hands run up your sides, your answering shiver reminds him of that first night he’d fed from you. Lit only by the campfire, you had allowed him to take too much before stopping him, even then.

He chuckles breathlessly, shifting the covers to invade your space more completely as you come back to your consciousness piece by piece, “As tempting as it is when you offer oh so nicely to be my treat, I hunger for something more satisfying this morn.”

“Ah,” you gasp from sleep-drenched shock, reacting on a delay as he brings his knee up to strategically push your legs open. Allowing you to feel the growing length of him through the thin linens between you, he levels you with his weight in a slow grind. Blinking up at him, your eyes focus in a darkness lit only by the dim glow of dawn beyond the curtains when he languidly rolls his hips against yours, “A-Astarion---!” He is watching you peculiarly, with a glint of some unreadable darkness in his eye that you can’t quite place. The breathless whimper at your lips sends that warmth of yours straight down his spine, “What’s gotten into you?”

He hasn’t had you since that night he had been so drenched with adoration that he’d taken you on his own grave and truly confessed how he loved you. Ever since then it had been battle and struggle, one after another, in your pursuit to stop the Absolute for good--- constantly ensnared in some new concern that stole any potential moment he could’ve used to steal you away from duty. After the final battle, Astarion had been so dejected by the return of his vampiric limitations, and you had been near constantly pulled away to assist the public---

There was the part of him that enjoyed indulging in the easy-going intimacy you offered him. The lack of pressure to perform was something he had not yet fully become accustomed to; a certain comfortability that has been cultivated between the two of you over the time you’ve been together. The sense of knowing that he is well and truly safe with you. Despite this understanding, he wished to freely want you in every way he was capable of.

And, oh, how he has come to want you over these last few days.

It was so mindlessly simple and immensely complex. He can barely put into words to describe the ways he wants this. Carnally, intimately, wholly, eternally--- nothing is a sufficient descriptor. Maybe in that vast library that your wizard, Gale, insists on boasting about showing him one of these days, Astarion will find an all-encompassing word for how he wants to have you forever.

As it stands currently, he settles on the comfortable seduction that has become second nature to him, “Actually, I was quite hoping to have gotten into you by now, lover.”

He’ll never get over how you melt for him; how you fall for every word. He watches the heat he stokes behind your eyes, the flex of your fingertips where they lay beside your head on the pillow.

Then, he descends upon you.

A practiced mouth parts yours as his cool hand takes the long route from your waist to your throat, indulging in the feeling of everything in-between. He sets your skin on edge in his wake, stirring a familiar feeling that he was entirely too good at urging from you to settle low in your stomach.

Gentle fingers find his hair and he feels the scrape of your nails against his scalp when he finally rests his hand on your throat to hook his thumb beneath your jaw, kissing you deeper. Passionately. As he always does, Astarion excels at unravelling you in every way, but you have no idea how much you manage to rebuild him with your every touch.

Your body welcomes him completely, urging him closer in ways he doubts you are consciously aware of. His hips rock into yours with each passing second that your heat spreads through him, feeling himself grow harder at your soft moans that meet his eager mouth. When you tug slightly at his hair, he lets a cautioning sound fall from his tongue onto yours, but you only nip defiant teeth at him in response.

And then he’s pushing your hands down, captured at the wrists by his. Pinning you to the pillows while he draws back just enough to catch the breath that is coming, labored, from the both of you.

“I’m sorr---” you begin, remorselessly.

“Telling a pretty lie won’t save you from me,” Astarion leans close once more, dragging his skin against your cheek as he kisses a trail towards your ear, feeling you test his grip at your wrists with a half-hearted tug. “I do believe all of this ‘Hero of Baldur’s Gate’ business has kept you from the more important happenings of our bedchamber. It would be a terrible pity if you continued to neglect your baser desires when I am in such a mood to indulge you.”

“Are you sure you’re talking about me?” you tease and he feigns a mild shock at the insinuation that his own behavior is the reason you’ve yet to bed him.

“I’ll have you know I am all indulgence, unlike you, darling hero,” but when he leans away, your eyes capture his. Reading him too easily, you know something is wrong as his carefully constructed mask falters, if only for an instant. It’s all you need, and Astarion regrets losing himself for the moment as he watches your softening gaze survey him.

“Is that so…?” You’re left guessing at what troubles him, “If you missed me, you could’ve just said so. The city can survive a few days.”

“Does the city know that?” it would be so easy to leave it there, to let you think you’ve figured him out once again. The anxiety in his veins won’t allow it, however, and his mouth speaks before his mind can instruct him to shut up, “Tell me, darling, that you won’t regret it someday… Of course, you won’t--- but I would like to hear it all the same.”

He looks down on you with growing vulnerability, confidence cracking. That detestable anxiety that has plagued him all evening coming to the forefront of his mind once more. Crimson irises swirl with a reckless uncertainty and it reminds you of how he had looked upon you when confessing his initial manipulations in those early days of your relationship.

“Regret what?” the confusion on your face nearly has him losing his nerve, but he chokes back the urge to dismiss you so quickly.

“I don’t want you to regret… choosing me,” his voice is clearly pained at the thought, cold hands at your wrists tightening like he is afraid you will run from him should he let you go. “Choosing us, I mean. I am well aware of all you shall endure if you spend each painstaking night of forever with me. It is a price I was willing to pay for my freedom, but you… I--- I know you have said that I am what you want, but I don’t want this to be one of your regrets. I don’t want you to resent me for keeping you here---”

Astarion was constantly preparing himself for the ending of all things; it is a part of his nature that you wish you could soothe with simple words alone. It will be much more difficult to satisfy than that and you know it, but you intend to spend all your years working towards earning his unwavering faith in you. This trust that he has so endearingly placed upon your soul, when every piece of his own screamed at you for doing the same. You doubt he knows how, if you were to someday break him in the way he so fears, you feel it would be as if you were destroying a part of yourself.

You cut off his rambling with a firm, “Astarion!” like it hurts you to hear him talk of himself in this way. His mouth snaps shut as you search him for the cause of this doubt, “Have I done something to make you think I will have these regrets you worry of?”

“Well, no, but---”

When you pull at his grip this time, he wordlessly releases you, only for you to reach up to him to drag him down into a tight embrace, “Then, why is your heart so troubled?”

“I---” he chokes on the word and how shallowly his lungs fill with you holding him so securely in your arms. Maybe it is better that you hold him so closely that you cannot see how he crumbles against you, dissolving into your grasp as if you are the only thing holding him together when he confesses, “I know what it is to live this life of darkness. You are so---! You deserve everything I can’t give you, starting with a life surrounded by the beauties of daylight.” His head turns, misty eyes catching your worried stare. He regrets the distress he’s caused you, but moreso he needs to hear your reassurances that his mind has gotten the better of him in this. He has never hoped so pitifully that he was wrong.

“Astarion,” heart swelling at the loss in his eyes; he looks to be mourning for you. As your thumb smoothes along the lines of his jaw, you come to realize the depth of his lingering sadness, “tell me, what good is the sun? The sun cannot care for me as you do or feel my love in return. A life of pure sunlight is worthless if it means living it without you.” You watch his breath catch in his chest, a stifled sob of his relief that he does not give into so easily.

His voice comes strained and nearly sounds like he’s on the verge of arguing with you, “You so obviously will miss it! You talk of finding a way for me to ‘walk in the sun again,’ but what if it’s impossible? What if we waste our lives searching for something that was never attainable? When you realize it, I wouldn’t have you look differently upon me.”

“Is that it? You think I talk about finding you a cure for my own benefit?” you scoff, before leaning towards him to place a soft kiss against frowning lips. He lingers in the middle ground as you depart just enough to demand he listen, “I only think of you, Astarion. Since the moment I first saw you, you’ve consumed my mind, body and soul. The sun was made for you--- and you’d know it if you ever had the privilege of seeing yourself in it. I only want for you to be happy.”

The arch of his brow tells you he still doesn’t fully believe you, despite his attempt at a half-hearted joke through the tightness in his throat, “I do quite enjoy when you call me beautiful.” It’s more than that, and you both know it, but if he were to ask you right now to name one thing about the light of day that you know you will sorely miss, it would be never seeing him in it again.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh at him with a lopsided smile, “Oh, my silly vampire, I love you much more than the sun. Without you, I would not want any of it. In fact, you can take the moon and stars, too, while you’re at it---”

He cuts you off with the eclipse of his mouth on yours, hands spread along your ribs to dig eager fingertips into your skin as he pulls you in as close as he can manage. The kiss is more languidly meaningful than the last; he intends on burning the feeling of you into his mind to replace the torrid thoughts there. If your words had not been enough to convince him, you hope the way you receive his body with your own can. Every part of you calls to him, blood and sinew, breath and bone, flesh and spirit.

Maybe it’s clear to him now, that you are as intertwined as the earth and sea. Should the tide of your soul ever depart from his shores, he can rest in the knowledge that your reunion is inevitable. As far as you are concerned, you are fated in such a way that not even the gods above or the devils below can alter the course of how your body fits beneath his--- how you shall always welcome him home.

You will have him, for as long as he will have you.

When he finally withdraws, he dares not go far, eyes blinking open slowly in a melancholy acceptance, “How can I be so fortunate?”

Brushing the mess of white curls behind his pointed ear, you hum at the shiver that runs through him when your fingertips graze the skin there, “I don’t know, but it’s about time things start going our way, don’t you think?”

“That it is,” his groaned agreement softens the worry in his eyes and he melts into the stroke of your hand against his temple.

“What you should be worrying about, Astarion, is whether you’ll regret choosing me when I’m all old, wrinkled, and grey,” it’s only half of a tease, and you hope he can’t see through the smile on your lips. The thought has been on your mind for some time after realizing that the two of you were going to somehow survive everything you’ve endured these past months.

“Darling,” he scoffs, nudging his nose with yours, soothing you as much as you do him, “knowing how well trouble finds you, we’ll both be long dead before either of us need worry much about that.” His lips graze yours, when he gives you his earnest answer, “For our sake, I hope to spend every moment we have left with you, watching every sunset and sunrise we are granted until the end takes us both.”

It's more complicated than that, but most real things usually are.

What isn’t complicated is how you feel beneath him, tongue tracing his teeth as he ravishes you. There is a completeness that comes in the way of his body fitting against yours. This reassurance in your touch will never falter. Even if your mind were to eventually escape you, he will know you were always his. If the world were to fall away in this moment and leave nothing but this room, Astarion would happily float out his days with you here forevermore.

He loves you. You love him.

He can scarcely comprehend anything else. Nothing else matters, he decides.

Nothing but your little shivers and whines when his fingers delve down the soft flesh of your stomach--- nothing but the arch of your body into the exploration of his touch. Nothing is worth more than his name whispered from your lips in that scandalous tone you reserve for these moments he sets your skin ablaze with teeth and tongue. You call to him like it were a prayer, but Astarion has hardly done anything so holy to warrant the way you say his name.

His sole inkling of faith is spent on the belief that he could live his whole life, his extended eternity, and never tire of loving you.

Soft and demanding partner within the thrill of his touch, you’ve learned, and his hands part you for him with that comforting understanding. Insistent and hesitant are your finger’s answer to him, digging into the nape of his neck as your head falls back against the pillows. Throat bared, it’s a wonder he doesn’t take another bite of you where he’s done so frequently before, but his attention is too acutely focused on the aching wetness between your thighs and his slender fingers.

Your lips part in an open moan of his name with how expertly he drags pleasure through your veins with each stroke within you, and he drags his teeth against your jaw in a growl, “You sweet, generous thing, always so ready for me.” Finally, he grants you some relief from his constant teasing, pressing the heel of his palm into your most sensitive nub. He allows you to seek your own pleasure with each desperate grind of yourself against the hand that continues to stroke pleasure from within, “Do you have any idea what the sight of you does to me? How dearly I long for us to never leave this bed?” The rasp of his voice has heat rushing up your spine, muddying your thoughts with each continuance of his lascivious tongue, “Leave the Gate to fend for itself, my dear, for I should have you like this always, stripped bare with me between your thighs.”

“Have me then, Astarion,” you really did purr for him in times like these and as much as he enjoys teasing you for it, he truly does relish the tone you get when he has drenched you in lust. His reaction at your words is groaned against your throat; he’s so near, but his hand retreats from you all the same. Never to neglect you for long, your lover is soon tearing at your smallclothes with an impatience that was not wholly unexpected from him.

He pushes his weight onto his forearm beside your head, using his other hand to tug at the laces of his loose breeches while glancing down between you. His eyes, rubies in the darkness, snap to yours and it is as if he has dipped you in firewine and struck a match. You burn for him, from the inside out and in such a way that you know he has thoroughly ruined you for anyone else. You are dripping with it, onto the sheets and the new press of his length against your core. His indulgent rub of himself through your folds is punctuated by him grinding into you, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling for but a moment.

Hair disheveled, you watch the beauty of him as he swallows deeply before capturing you in that piercing gaze once again, “I think I shall have you, now--- how did you just put it?” He crowds you with his arms, and your breath hitches at the feeling of him catching at your entrance when he murmurs lowly, deliberately, “Body and soul? Isn’t that right, my love?”

The way you drag him down into your kiss as he pushes into you is a messy, desperate thing, but it only seems to urge him on. You simply cannot seem to get close enough, though not for lack of trying, as he fills you gloriously. Astarion gasps into your mouth, staggering the push of his hips against yours, devouring you until he is left seated so deeply within you that you can hardly breathe. Then, hands around your thighs push your legs up, and he fits impossibly further.

You sob a moan against sharp fangs, deliriously full of him as he begins a slow fucking that is just enough to drive you into madness. Clambering for something to ground yourself, your nails dig into his back, scraping against the scars that remain there--- his hips snapping faster into you at the feeling of it.

He smears saliva across your jaw and down your throat, understanding your breathless, “Please, please,” for what it is. Permission.

Pain is so fleetingly brief that it may as well not exist at all, because when he bites down hard enough to draw blood from your skin, you are met so suddenly with a lightheaded ecstasy that is compounded by the pleasure he pulses through your body. Only the raw stretch of his every thrust keeps you from dissipating into delirium entirely. You are left keening beneath him as he dissolves into the taste of your blood, feeling his moans against your neck and the way his thrusts begin to match the drum of your heart in your ears. Astarion’s fingers drag in the space between, stopping only when he has found the base of his seat within you.

You feel your heart skip in your chest before he ceases the meal he’s made of you, licking your throat of the sloppy blood that threatens to yet spill. The iron of it meets the smell of sex in the air and he strokes his fingers against where he continuously plunges so deep within you; the wet sounds of your coupling may have been embarrassing if you weren’t so disoriented with the raw need of it. Your every nerve has fiercer concerns than your fickle dignity when he is working to make such a wonderful mess of you as this.

“Delicious,” Astarion groans into your shoulder, nipping and groaning against whatever he may get his mouth on as he feels your increasingly erratic clenching with his harshening pace. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling him reach to draw tight circles at your clit as his own pace begins to falter. Neither of you will make it much further through this. He is left stained, begging upon your skin, “Come with me--- Hells, darling--- I need you to---"

Finding a grip in his hair allows you to drag his head sharply back to force his open-mouthed gaze to cast upon you once more, desperate to see him as he falls apart with you.

The sight of him is nearly enough for you to lose what little sense you’ve held to; while his complexion has turned slightly rosy with the assistance of your fresh blood, he still looks upon you with a consuming hunger all the same, “I love you.”

“Gods---!” dark eyes slam shut as he gasps out your name before all control leaves him in the mindless oblivion that he drags you down into alongside him. Scorching pleasure burns from the inside out as he loses himself in the trembling heat of your rapture, dissolving into a wild and erratic pace that bursts sparks of euphoria behind your eyes.

You are both left in the sticky aftermath of it, heaving mingling breaths as tension melts into you from where he collapses and lingers atop you. You hold him, content to have his softening length seated within you for all eternity as you let him continue his mindless caressing of your skin.

He has said it before, but it will never be enough, so he says it again in the hoarse aftermath of your lovemaking, “I love you, darling. You have made me so… happy.” Should you ever forget it, he is prepared to remind you for the rest of your days, “Thank you.”

Your own repeated declaration is sighed with a contentment that you hope will last a moment longer as your fingers take to stroking through his hair when he lays his head against your chest. Can he hear it from there, you wonder, how your heart whispers only the sweetest of sentiments for him? You like to think he can.

“Astarion?” you finally croak after some time, and he hums soft acknowledgement without much movement. “We should watch the next one together.”

“The next what, my treasure?”

“The next sunrise.”

There is a smile in his voice when he murmurs, “Always.”

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