#i can’t go into the fight with cazador right now that just | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladyfogg · 4 months

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Perfect Fit

Fic Summary: Since the first time you let him bite you, Astarion knew seducing you would be easy. What he didn’t anticipate were the feelings that came with it.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Drow!Monk Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Warnings: Biting, Blood Drinking (Vampire and all that), Male Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Oral (Female Receiving), Sex, Grinding, Cuddling

A/N: I’m really glad I took my time with this one because I absolutely love how it came out. Enjoy! I don’t know if I’ll write any other Astarion fics but we’ll see.

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Just a taste, that is all he needs.

Boars and wildlife will not suffice, not if your little troop of weirdos keeps going at the same grueling pace. Since the moment he had been snatched up and that damn tadpole shoved into his eye it has been one battle after another.

The diet Cazador forced him onto had already weakened him. And Astarion knew that if he did not do something soon, if he couldn’t keep up with the others, you will turn your back on him.

After all, why keep him around if he isn’t useful?

No, he needs to stay in your good graces. More than that, he needs you to trust him, to care for him. It’s the only way he can ensure that when his former master comes knocking, because Astarion is not naïve enough to assume he is completely free, you will be there shielding him, to knock back.

Which you are obviously capable of doing. He’s seen you fight enough times to know you have a quick temper and an even quicker right hook.

You are the defacto leader, the one who always seems to do the talking even though you’re not the most charismatic of the bunch. Yet, when you open your mouth, the others listen, take your word as law even when they don’t agree.

Astarion finds himself falling in line along with them. Then again, he has two hundred years of conditioning to contend with. He wonders what excuse the others have.

Regardless, the plan remains the same. Seduce you, get you on his side, save his spectacular, frankly tight, ass. Simple. He’s played this part more times than he can count and can do it in his trance.

Of course, none of that matters if he starves to death. The gnawing hunger deep in his belly is distracting and has been for days. He’s used to ignoring it, even in the thick of combat. But he can’t, not tonight.

Tonight, it’s bad enough to get in the way of hunting. He can’t keep up with a lame doe he stumbles across. It bolts before he is even close enough to lunge. Not good. He returns to his tent frustrated and desperate.

Red eyes scan the still camp, predatory and sharp. He told you all he would keep watch because he needed time and space to think, which is partially true. However, that was when he hoped to catch dinner.

How in the Hells can he bloody think when he’s starving?

There’s a rustling near the fire, immediately drawing his attention. His gaze falls on you while you shift, your back to him as your body rolls towards the warmth of the campfire. A breeze glides through their encampment, bringing your tantalizing scent towards him, beckoning, teasing.

Astarion takes a deep inhale, eyes closed as he unwittingly gives into his instincts. Hunting pushes them away. But with no wildlife to sate him, his feet move on their own, dragging him closer to your prone body. When he opens his eyes, his vision blocks out everything that isn’t you.

The hunger is all that matters and right now, the hunter has finally found his prey.

His steps make no noise as practice and skill take over. He’s close enough to see the subtle rise and fall of your breath, the dim firelight framing you with its eerie glow, leading him like a beacon in the never-ending dark.

Astarion takes a knee, arms out for balance and eyes closed as he moves purely on instinct. He opens his mouth, fangs dripping with saliva at the promise of a meal, a real meal…

A second later he feels you move and his eyes snap open, only to find yours staring up at him. Cold realization slams into him like a heavy maul, making him blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shit.”

Immediately, he backs away as you quickly rise to your feet, eyes narrowed in distrust. You don’t even have a chance to speak before he launches into an explanation, trying to keep his voice hushed to avoid waking the others.

“No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he insists. “I wasn’t going to hurt you I…” He pauses, taking a breath to ground himself. The bloodlust isn’t satiated, not by a long shot but it is tempered by a furious-looking monk. “I just needed…well…blood.”

It sounds lame even to his own ears. Not his best work but, then again, he isn’t at his best.

You swear, burying your face in your hands. “Fucking unbelievable!” you exclaim in a harsh whisper. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it! We even found the boar you snacked on. And you were so quick to brush it away.”

“It’s not what you think!”

Astarion’s voice goes up and you motion for him to be quiet. A quick glance confirms the others are still fast asleep.

The next thing he knows, you’re grabbing his sleeve and tugging him away from the fire, away from the others, which is not at all what he's anticipating. He doesn’t even have a chance to register you’re touching until your hand is already gone, leaving a phantom of its warmth.

“I’m not some monster,” he persuades. “I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds, whatever I can get. I’m…I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” He pauses, the hunger taking hold once more. “If I just had a little blood, I could fight better. Please.”

There’s a sharp pain between his eyes, the familiar trigger of the tadpole lodged in his brain. He recognizes the sensation, knows it’s you reaching out, asking, and after a moment of hesitation, he lets you in.

Unlike your companions, you’ve embraced the new connection, used it to convince others to move out of your way or do as you say. Not within the group of course. He suspects you’re too noble for that.

Astarion hasn’t had much time to practice himself. No time like the present. He needs you to see, needs you to understand that what he says is true.

The trust he is trying to build is at stake, no pun intended. You need to see that this is an anomaly, an unfortunate side effect of the intense fighting you both had to endure the last few days.

So Astarion shows you, lets you see fleeting images of what he’s hunted in the woods. But this is all still new. He does not know how it works, does not anticipate the flood of other memories, personal ones he isn’t ready to share.

A dark street, a willing mark, a soft supple body for Cazador’s dark needs. They flicker one after another, a blur of faceless victims he’s lost count of. Yet, none of them with his fangs at their throat or their blood on his lips. It becomes too much too fast.

He gathers his strength and throws up those mental blocks, the ones he’s had for decades yet seem to be crumbling in an instant. With a mental shove, he pushes you out.

While Astarion's body reels from the onslaught, you remain stoic, arms crossed as you stare at him with that intense gaze of yours. The only indication anything is amiss is a head tilt.

How? How are you already so used to these damn tadpoles? You don’t even blink, and with the shadows of the night wrapped around the both of you, he can’t read your expression even with Darkvision. But he can assume and right now, he’s sure he’s fucked up. All he needed was you to trust him and because of this insistent hunger, he’s failed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

This is not the question he expects and he blinks, taken aback. You don’t sound angry, hells it would be easier if you were. Anger he’s used to, can handle with poise. But Astarion thinks he can work with this, whatever it is.

Because it’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it’s something he does not have a name for.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no, more likely you’ll run a stake through my ribs,” he explains. “No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

Of course you can’t. Anyone who ever put their trust in him came to bloody ends. Yet, he’s seen you drop a gnoll with nothing but your fists and an insane high kick, so he feels you may be sturdier than most.

You study him closely, and Astarion does everything to appear docile and properly chastised, hunching his body to make himself smaller. There’s a beat where neither of you blink or speak. However, he catches the subtle slump of your shoulders and a sigh escapes your lips.

“I believe you,” you say. “And I do trust you.”

Astarion slowly exhales his own sigh, this one of relief. “Thank you,” he says.

Then, because he can’t help himself, because his empty stomach twists, because you’re still close enough for him to inhale your scent, he pushes his luck.

“Do you think you could trust me just a little further?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he bats his eyelashes at you. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

He fully expects your refusal and wouldn’t blame you in the slightest. As much as this hunger is driving him to madness, he is fully prepared to slink away with his tail tucked between his legs if it means he lives to seduce you another day.

Yet the next words out of your mouth throw him off his game.

“Fine, but not a drop more than you need.”

There’s no hiding the surprise on his face. He knows you see it yet you don’t gloat or react, only smile.

“Really? I—” He clears his throat and recovers, swagger in place as comfortable as a well-worn mask molded just for him. “Of course, not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

He motions towards your bedroll with a bow. As you brush past and turn towards the fire, your smirk is wider, as if you can tell how much excitement is building within him. Then again, with the tadpole and your uncanny ability to read people, you probably do.

The others are still silent and sleeping as you lay back on your bedroll. Astarion’s chest heaves and he licks his lips as the prospect of blood, humanoid blood, becomes all he can focus on. He’s salivating again, red eyes drawn to the smooth expanse of your neck.

At first, all he can hear is the crackling of the fire. But when he leans in, the steady beating of your heart breaks through the noises of the night. Bloody Hells, he can hear the blood rushing through your veins. It hypnotizes him, draws him forward as you roll your head to the side.

White fangs pierce dark skin, sliding clean through to find a thick, pulsing vein. Underneath the rush, he almost misses the soft gasp push past your lips.

Almost.

But he doesn’t have time to process it because the first drops of blood touch his tongue and nothing else matters. Not mind flayers, not tadpoles, not Cazador, nothing but the sweet, red liquid that is sliding down his throat carrying your scent.

Everything else before pales in comparison.

There’s no fear. When he hunts he can taste the deep fear of his prey in their final moments. But this is different. You are different.

It’s such an onslaught of emotions he can’t process them right away. It’s secondhand, like trying to grab a rapidly fading echo in a dark cave.

Astarion doesn’t anticipate it and can’t recognize half of them at first. Sensation is what he does recognize. Pain is immediate, followed by warmth leading into heat in his cheeks and stomach. So much heat. He’s been cold for two hundred years, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have body heat, to be hot.

His body naturally curls around yours, one hand sliding under your head to cradle it close. The fingers of his other hand dig into the packed soil, gripping for something solid yet finding nothing.

Your body arches into his, breasts pressed to his chest and for the briefest moment, he imagines how better this would be if he could feel your bare skin to his.

Then another splatter of blood hits the back of his throat as your heart rate increases and the thought is lost.

Instinct wins out once more and Astarion groans, sucking at the wound with renewed fervor. This is better than he could have imagined. You’re better. All robust and tantalizingly smooth, finer than the finest wine he’s ever sampled. He licks at your skin, gathering as much of the precious liquid as he can. He knows it’s supposed to be a taste, but he needs more. Wants more…

A hand on his shoulder draws him out of his stupor and a firm shove has him breaking free with an orgasmic gasp. Life now drums through his veins, yours and his comingling into a surge of energy that has his dead heart thrumming harder than he ever remembers.

“Enough,” you say, your voice gruff and small, though still commanding. He thinks for a moment you might have actually cast Command on him, until his addled brain remembers you don’t use magic.

Astarion pulls himself together, comes back into his body in a way that’s far more pleasant than it has been in the past. He’s sure he’s made a mess but when he looks down, all he sees are two small puncture wounds with the barest hint of blood. Small specks of his spit glint in the firelight.

He resists the urge to kiss them away, instead stumbling back onto his haunches to give you space.

You slowly sit up and he catches you wincing. It’s the brief flash of pain that helps him reign himself further in. You said you trusted him, let him drink from you, he will not, could not, betray that trust, the gift you’ve given him.

“Of course,” he says, voice breathless as he tries to remember how to speak. “That was amazing.” He smiles wide, feels a droplet of blood slip away from the corner of his lips as he does. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong, I feel…” The faintest hint of emotions still lingers. “…happy.”

You both sit quietly for a moment, air thick with tension and a hint of copper. Your scent is even stronger now and Astarion thinks he could track you from miles away if need be.

“I look forward to seeing you fight.”

Right, the whole reason you did this. To help him be stronger, useful. It’s those thoughts that ground him once more, snap his head out of the clouds and onto the hard forest floor.

Astarion stands while you remain right where you are, watching every move he makes. He wonders if you are waiting for him to pounce, waiting for the monster he assured you does not exist. When he speaks again, it’s the light, easy tone he’s perfected, like sliding the mask back into place.

“Shouldn’t take long so many people need killing,” he says, flippantly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating but I need something more filling.”

Nothing will escape him now. He swears he can take down a bear should he be lucky enough to find one.

He turns to leave, yet something stops him from taking the next step. When he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, the mask slips and he allows you to see the genuine gratitude he feels.

“This is a gift, you know,” he tells you. “I won't forget it.”

Not staying for a response, he turns away and stalks toward the darkness of the waiting forest. When he’s sure you can’t see him, he swipes that drop off his chin with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to enjoy the final taste of your essence.

He is content for this to be a one-time thing, a special circumstance he is lucky enough to experience. And though he already longs for more, he enjoys the heat while he can, letting it carry him through the night as he hunts his next prey.

So imagine his surprise when you approach his tent only two days later, wounds barely visible under your collar. Astarion is readying his weapons, preparing for yet another trek through the wilds.

You’re in your vestiges, your arms free say for the thin bracers protecting your wrists. Your stance is sure and confident, eyes alight with something he hasn’t seen in them yet.

“We’re ready to head out,” you say. “Got everything?”

“Prepared and ready for the inevitable descent into violence.”

“How are you feeling?”

For anyone else the question wouldn’t be so loaded. He gathers you’re probably wondering if he’s going to try to steal another bite at some point.

“Fit as a fiddle. Your donation was much appreciated and helpful,” he says, sliding his daggers into their scabbards. “The effects are mostly worn off but such is life. I’m not weak if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not. But, if you need to, you can feed on me tonight.”

Astarion can barely contain himself, thrilled at the prospect of another surge of power, and that his seduction skills are working, though not entirely as he expected. Still, it’s an opportunity he will not squander.

“My sweet, there’s nothing I’d like more,” he purrs, stepping in close. He catches the darkening of your cheeks and lets himself smile in triumph. “I’ll come to you tonight, when you’re snuggly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy. And this time,” he drops his voice for added effect, “I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest.”

It's not lost on him that the night after his first taste you took to sleeping in a tent rather than under the stars. The added privacy had him wondering about its purpose.

Now he knows.

Taking another step closer, he drops his voice even lower, keeping the moment between you two. “Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up,” he promises. “Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Your breath catches in your throat and he knows right then that he has you. Even as you smirk and roll your eyes, his pleased smile never falters.

“Great line,” you say, walking backward towards Karlach and Shadowheart, who are waiting for the two of you. “Has that ever worked for you?”

“Numerous times. And trust me, you haven’t heard half my lines.”

“Is that what you do in front of the mirror now that you can’t fawn over yourself?”

“Hurtful!” he gasps in mock outrage. “Also, need I remind you, you came to me just now.”

“And you came to me the other night.”

“Fair point,” he begrudgingly admits, slinging his bow onto his back. “Although, I did ask for just a taste. If you’re wanting another nibble, that says more about you than it does about me. I’m a vampire spawn. What’s your excuse?”

By you’ve turned your back on him and though he can’t see your face, the middle finger you aim his way lets him know he’s won the argument.

The anticipation of his next feeding carries him through the day.

It’s ever-present in the back of his mind, fueling his hunger and drive. He fights harder because he knows that come nightfall, he won’t have to hunt for his meal. You’ll be there in your bedroll, ready and willing.

Astarion can’t suppress the shudder of longing every time he thinks about it.

Waiting never felt so long.

You’re moving closer to the goblin camp with every step, picking off stragglers as you find them. Shadowheart asks the corpses for information and you’re able to narrow down the location of the druid right down to which building he's in.

When you make camp, you’re only half a day’s travel to your destination. Everyone is exhausted and moody, with little talk this time over the campfire. It doesn’t bother Astarion, who felt you all were becoming far too chummy for his liking.

He waits and watches from his tent, taking note as one by one, the others peel off to their respective spaces. You’re one of the last, your eyes straying across the camp in his direction, meeting the gaze that has been transfixed on you the entire time.

As if to tease, your scent finds your way to him on the wind, making his head spin. He gives you a wink and a smirk. You smile back and quirk an eyebrow before disappearing into your tent like the others.

Astarion bides his time, waits until everyone stops rustling and the collective silence of sleep washes over the camp.

Wyll is on watch tonight, though his back is to your tent. Astarion keeps to the shadows and easily dodges him, making no sound as he slips past.

You’re fast asleep, buried in your bedroll with a blanket loosely draped over you.

Astarion feels that familiar tug low in his belly, lets his feet guide him closer. He doesn’t need the fire to see you there, peaceful, almost angelic. You changed into a looser tunic which has slid down to reveal a shoulder.

And the faded markings he left on your throat the other night.

Astarion kneels and then crawls up behind you, slow and careful. He said he wouldn’t disturb your rest and he meant it. No need to wake you when you’ve given your consent.

Besides, as sneaky as he is, Astarion wonders if you’re that light of a sleeper, considering how easily you awoke the last time. He lays behind you, gently peeling the blanket away. Your tunic slips lower when he does and at this angle, he catches just the faintest glimpse of the top of a breast.

It makes him pause, give an appreciative glance, before your neck beckons him.

The hunger urges him forward, begging, pleading with him to drink. You’re so close and warm and vulnerable. He does his best to lean over without touching you, but you automatically tense in your sleep when you feel the coolness of his body draw near.

Leaning down, he lets his lips brush your ear as he whispers, “It’s just me, darling. Go back to sleep.”

You hum and relax once more, dropping your shoulder in the process. The angle is too good and he is too famished to wait any longer.

Astarion bites down, his fangs lining up exactly where they pierced before. His mouth fits against your throat like it was made for him.

A perfect fit.

There’s no need to rush and he is able to savor the experience. This time, a sense of calm washes over him, making his eyes droop closed as the now-familiar yet no less exquisite rush of your blood fills his mouth. Deep down there’s a sense of injustice for being denied this experience for so long.

However, he wonders if it would have been the same without the anticipation and thrill of the chase. Without you in the equation. After all, you’re a powerful person, unyielding in your convictions.

Yet, here you are, offering your blood to him. Giving him power.

He keeps his fangs buried for a moment longer, holds himself there until his mouth is brimming with the taste of you.

Only then does he retract them, sucking softly on the reopened wound to drink his fill. You’re fast asleep, which means that he has to stop himself this time. You’re not aware enough to do it for him.

When he wanted to earn your trust, he did not think you would give it to him so freely. What else will you give him? What else can he get away with? Questions for another night.

Thankfully, he can force himself to stop once that welcoming heat spreads through every part of him.

Every part.

Fucking Hells he is hard as a rock.

It catches Astarion by surprise and he immediately draws away. He finds himself panting, his lips still coated in red as he glances down at himself.

Is it the act of drinking blood or the blood itself? Feeding on animals certainly never drew this reaction.

His head is spinning from bloodlust and arousal, and he feels the need to leave your tent as soon as possible. You signed up to be his meal, not to get him off.

Not yet anyway. Shame, if you were awake he could make his move. He briefly considers rousing you with honeyed words and lustful promises but he decides against it in the end.

Maybe next time.

As he cleans up the mess he’s left on your throat, licking away the remaining drops of blood, he can’t help palming himself at the same time. He’s barely able to contain a hiss at the sensitivity.

Fuck, if this is just from feeding on you, what’s going to happen when he gets to have you another way?

Astarion reluctantly withdraws, readjusting your tunic before draping your blanket back in place. Your breathing never hitches and remains steady, even when he slips out into the night.

With fresh blood pumping through his veins, his body is strong and alive. He feels so fucking alive. He barely takes a few steps before the hardness in his trousers proves too distracting, forcing him to rest against a tree.

If he turns his head, he can still see your tent through the bushes and trees. It surprises him that he wants to go back. Then again, you are the most interesting prospect around and a part of you is within him now.

Soon, a part of him will be in you, he promises himself.

Astarion unties the laces of his trousers and pulls his cock out, finally allowing the hiss he held back earlier. It throbs persistently, begging for him to do something, anything for release. He gives himself an experimental squeeze, wondering if he has the mind for this right now. But it’s too good and he’s too worked up to deny himself.

His eyes never leave your tent as he strokes his cock. Slow at first, but that quickly proves not enough and he speeds up.

Astarion has had too many lovers to count but it has been some time since he’s had to take matters into his own hands. And yes, he plans on seducing you and may even find you attractive, but this is not in the plan.

It certainly didn’t happen the other night.

Moving purely on urges, Astarion lets his head fall back against the tree trunk, and his eyes close, picturing himself back in your tent.

If only you’d been awake, he could have pressed against you, let you feel the length of him as he drank his fill.

Would you grind back? Would you gasp? He’s more than sure that he can get you to do both. When he finally gets you where he wants you, when he finally has you writhing and moaning his name, he's not going to let you cum until you beg for it, beg for him to fill you as he drinks from that delicious throat.

With a strangled moan, he cums onto the forest floor, his knees buckling under the sudden onslaught of sensation.

Putting his full weight against the tree for support, he takes a moment to catch his breath mind, and senses hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves and gust of wind. With his lust now stated, there is an overwhelming sense of fear and guilt.

What the Hells is with all this wanting and desire? He is not allowed to want. Seducing you isn’t about desire. Neither of those emotions should be there and yet they are.

Let’s just push those way back where they belong, he thinks as he tucks himself back into his trousers.

His head is clearer now, his focus as sharp as it was the previous night. Brushing the incident off, Astarion switches into hunting mode, his grin wide enough to verge on the side of madness as he bolts into the forest, with nothing but the thought of his next kill.

Your offer of blood becomes a regular occurrence.

Not every day but often enough for Astarion to notice a significant change in himself, his power. He is faster and stronger than he has ever been. There is still the situation of becoming immensely horny when he does feed on you, but he looks on the bright side and accepts it as an unexpected bonus.

On days when your party runs into a fight, he finds himself drained but not enough to impede his hunting.

A fact he brags about one night when he stumbles back to camp, brimming with excitement and pride.

“Guess what I just did!” he exclaims, plopping beside you on the ground by the fire that seems to have your attention.

It’s your night to keep watch which means he is out of luck for his midnight snack, as he’s taken to calling you. Much to your chagrin.

You chuckle and motion towards his mouth. “Judging by the blood I’m assuming you caught a nice dinner,” you say.

Astarion impatiently wipes it away. “Not just dinner, a bear! A whole bear!”

“Gods, you drank a whole bear?”

He nods proudly, grin wide and sloppy. “Now, it wasn’t as good a vintage as Drow,” he concedes with a wink your way. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I was able to kill it all by my lonesome and nary a curl out of place.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Kind of,” he slurs.

In truth, he is euphoric, untouchable. Between proper feedings and the tadpole, Astarion feels he is the strongest vampire spawn there may have ever been. Tonight, like the first night he bit you, there is no Cazador, mind flayer, or other threat. There’s only him and the blood of the black bear that he’s taken for himself.

And you, of course.

You smile in amusement, turning your attention to the fire.

Astarion leans back on his elbows, his body wonderfully loose and relaxed for the first time in decades. He takes the time to study your profile, his delirious mind focusing for the moment. He is acutely aware that it is only the two of you, a rarity considering the size of the camp.

Between the adrenaline of the hunt and the opportunity that comes with privacy, Astarion shifts closer, not enough to touch but enough for you to know he’s done so.

“You know, darling,” he drawls. “I don’t think I’ve told you how devastatingly beautiful you look by firelight.”

You don’t respond and at first, he wonders if you heard him. When it becomes apparent you haven’t, he clears his throat and tries again.

“The way the flames reflect in your eyes is hypnotizing,” he continues. “I can get lost in them, have been lost in them ever since we met.”

Still nothing. Astarion feels you’re miles away, which his pride will not stand for, not when he feels as good as he does and is throwing you all the signals.

He sits up and waves a hand in front of your face. “Helllooo? Devilishly handsome roguish vampire here giving you compliments. The least you can do is acknowledge me.”

You blink and tear your eyes away from the flames, giving him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore you. I’m not very good company tonight, I’m afraid.”

Astarion shrugs and sits up, interest piqued. “That’s alright, darling. We don’t need to talk. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other’s company.”

You roll your eyes as you look back at the fire with that amused smile you seem to reserve only for him. “Hey, if I could turn my brain off for the night, I’d take you up on that,” you admit.

Finally feeling like he’s getting somewhere, Astarion leans in closer. “You’re in luck because I happen to be a delectable distraction. All you have to do is say the word.” He pauses before adding. “I’m talking about sex of course. We should have sex.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of what you meant.”

Astarion grins, reaching out to walk his fingers up your forearm, playfully tugging at the sleeve of your tunic. “So what are we waiting for?” he purrs. “A midnight snack is all well and good, but I wouldn’t mind sampling what else you have to offer.”

As full as he is, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in another nibble. There’s something special about your blood, enticing. When he’s this close to you it becomes all he can think about and he has to stop himself from nuzzling your throat. At least until he knows he has you.

“I want to,” you tell him, finally meeting his gaze. “I really really want to.”

“Then what’s the problem? I am ready, willing, and certainly able.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not.”

Astarion frowns, confused. This has always worked before, there’s no reason for it not to work now. He doesn’t get it. You’re clearly attracted to him and he’s doing everything but presenting himself on a silver platter. By now you should be throwing yourself at his feet.

And there’s no way he’s lost his touch because that would be like saying the sky is no longer blue.

You take a deep breath and when you start to speak again, it comes out in a rush, like you’ve been holding the words in for far too long and can’t any longer.

“There is so much at stake and so many people are depending on us, on me. It’s all I think about. I can’t focus on anything else. For days it’s been one crisis after another. On top of that, everyone keeps saying that we need to get rid of the tadpoles and that we should have turned already. We rescued Halsin but he can’t do what we hoped he would and I’m just…”

You let out a noise of frustration and Astarion is back to grinning because this he can work with. This he understands.

“Aren’t monks taught to still their minds?” he teases.

“I didn’t become a monk to still my mind. I became a monk because I like punching things. It’s honestly my favorite thing to do.” You take a deep breath before falling onto your back to stare up at the stars. “But now everyone keeps looking to me for answers and I just don’t have them. Nor do I want to be the one to figure all this shit out.”

Perfect, a new angle.

Astarion leans over you, forcing you to look him in the eye. “It’s just as I feared. You need me more than I thought.” He bends his head, delighted when you instinctively present your neck. He places the gentlest of kisses to bite mark, nuzzling into your soft skin like he’s been wanting to do since he sat down. “If you need your mind on something else, let it be me. Let me touch you, taste you. Let me bring you to such unbearable peaks that you forget everything that isn’t my mouth, fingers, or cock.”

You moan softly, shuddering at the warmth of his breath. “I don’t know if you can.”

Astarion draws back, a wide smile showing off his sharp canines. “Trust me, darling, I can.” He slides a hand up to cradle your head just like he did the first night he bit you. But it’s kisses he lavishes your throat with, with the occasional scrape of his teeth.

A gentle hand on his shoulder has him pulling away.

“You seem pretty confident about that,” you say, eyes searching his.

“Because it’s true.”

He knows what you’re searching for and does everything he can to make sure his gaze speaks for him. Lust and desire, mixed with a touch of hopefulness. Disarming and endearing, exactly who he needs to be for you.

“Here is what we’re going to do,” he continues, putting all his weight on one hand so he can use the other to take yours. “Tomorrow night, once everyone is asleep, I’ll slip into your tent, and I will make it so that pretty little head of yours can focus on something else. Something much more pleasurable.”

He punctuates each word with a kiss, first to your fingers, then your bruised knuckles, and finally to your inner wrist where he can feel your pulse racing. The sound of your rushing blood makes his own body thrum with desire. His hunger returns, but not enough to distract him.

But enough to make him twitch with anticipation.

At this angle, he knows you can feel it when his cock hardens. Your eyes widen and you bite your lip to stifle another moan when he teasingly grinds down against you.

“I…” You try to speak but need to take a second to catch your breath. “I would like that very much.”

“Good.”

Astarion leans down and captures your lips in a harsh kiss. It’s meant to be quick, a tease, a way to continue the seduction and leave you wanting more but it immediately becomes something else. You match his energy perfectly, your tongue slipping past his to explore. He isn’t expecting such a hungry response after the way you seemed so controlled, fully expecting it to take time for him to get you to this level.

Apparently, you’re closer to the edge than he thought. But it’s more than that. Kissing you makes him feel…something. He just doesn’t know what in the Hells that is. It makes it difficult to pull away, to stop, and make you wait.

So he indulges, deepens the kiss by leisurely licking the inside of your mouth once you actually let him. It’s good, really good. Enough to lose himself for the moment, to cup your cheek and hold you close.

His head is spinning and in his excitement, one of his fangs nicks your bottom lip.

A drop of your blood is enough to snap him out of it. Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to ruin everything. He’ll either fuck or drain you and right now he’s not sure which.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss, not before his tongue at your lip to steal another drop. “Until tomorrow night,” he promises.

He leaves you there, dazed and staring after him as he casually strolls back to his tent. Leaving you wanting more, just like he planned.

And definitely not because of any other reason.

Needless to say, trancing doesn’t come easy that night. Every time he closes his eyes, all he envisions is you in the firelight, looking up at him like he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Granted, he knows he is, but that’s beside the point.

If he’s honest with himself, there may be a small, tiny part of him that feels bad for deceiving you this way. Granted, he is attracted to you and the idea of having sex sounds incredibly appealing.

So what if there is another motive? You both will come out on top in the end, metaphorically speaking. Although, the mental image of you riding him is quite good. Body rocking, breasts bouncing, wet heat enveloping his lap…

Astarion needs a distraction himself at this rate.

The next day he maintains his distance for both your sakes. For one thing, he knows being apart from your object of desire only makes the chase that more thrilling. And for another, he is dealing with a storm of emotions he is not prepared for nor interested in.

On occasion when he can’t help but slide his gaze your way, you seem thoroughly focused every time. He doesn’t catch you looking longingly his way, not even once, and finds it frankly insulting. How can you be so engrossed in what you’re doing even though you know he will be in your bed later?

Unacceptable.

When you both find yourselves set upon by cultists, Astarion is relieved. He needs a good bloodbath to pull his shit together.

His daggers get quite the workout, slicing enemies left and right.

Lost in the thrill of the kill, he forgets about the weird feelings and the way his seduction of you seems to be more complicated than he thought it would be. He forgets about his hesitations or questions.

Nothing is weird and nothing is wrong.

A familiar scent breaks through the gore that stops him in his tracks. Your scent. Your blood.

You’re bleeding.

Like a hound, his head whips in your direction. He sees you across the battlefield, knocking a man to the ground. But one hand is pressed to your side, bright red visible even at this distance.

Shit, you’re further from him than he realizes and he has to scramble over a few boulders to be able to close the distance. His sharp eyes catch movement in the trees, and before he even has a chance to grab his bow, the hidden archer takes aim.

Everything happens so fast.

The arrow fires, Astarion eyes land on you, knows you don’t see it and as he raises his hand towards you, has your name on his lips—

Your hand snaps up, catching the arrow an inch before it hits your temple. With a glare, you look up at the archer, swing around, and throw the arrow right back at him.

Astarion watches the archer fall from the branches, landing in a heap on the ground.

Dead.

You grin in Astarion’s direction, face smattered with blood and he wants nothing more than to fuck you on top of that corpse. But then you stumble and concern takes over. If you fall in battle then he’s shit out of luck and he can’t let that happen.

“Whoa now, none of that!” he scolds, rushing to your side to catch you. “Where the Hells is that cleric when we need her?”

“Did you see me catch that arrow?” you slur, grinning. “I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Yes, yes, it was very hot, now hold still, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Even better, gives you a free meal.”

It’s Astarion’s turn to roll his eyes as he helps you lean against a tree for support. “I prefer the more intimate approach we’ve established.”

Once he’s sure you’re not going to collapse, he digs through his pack for a healing potion.

“Shame to let all this blood go to waste but to each his own,” you say.

He uncorks the potion with his teeth and holds the bottle up for you to drink. It’s not until it’s empty that he allows himself to calm down. You slowly remove your hand and the two of you watch the wound start to close. Not all the way, you’ll need Shadowheart for that, but enough to stop the bleeding.

Astarion spits the cork aside and throws the empty bottle. “There, almost good as new. Maybe don’t get stabbed again.”

“There go the rest of my plans for the day.”

“Lunatic.”

Something comes over him, making him grab the back of your head and yank you into a kiss, too wrapped up in his bullshit to overthink or consider his actions. With one arm around his waist, you kiss him back and it’s sloppy and messy and everything he needs it to be.

Nothing happened. You didn’t die and you’re still able to be seduced. Good.

When you draw back, gasping for breath, he grabs your wrist and brings your hand to his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks your fingers into his mouth, one by one, swirling his tongue around the digits to gather every drop of blood he can. You’re right. It seems silly to let it go to waste.

Your pupils dilate, your breath coming through your lips in a rush as you watch, transfixed.

He doesn’t need the tadpole to know what you’re thinking, or imagining. It’s a precursor to what he plans to do to you later. But with your thighs squeezing his head as he brings you over the edge.

Astarion releases your finger with a pop and a smirk. You lean in to steal another kiss when you’re stopped by the heavy thud of Karlach’s footsteps. You just manage to pull back when she bursts through the foliage.

“You guys alright?” she asks, also splattered with blood. “We just got jumped by some assholes.”

Astarion gestures to the bodies littered at your feet. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

“Where’s Shadowheart?” you ask.

“Right here,” Shadowheart speaks up, approaching from a different direction. “One tried to run away but I took care of it. Shit, are you bleeding?”

“Not anymore, thanks to me,” Astarion says.

When you wince and stumble towards her, Shadowheart catches you. Her hand glows with radiant light as she casts a healing spell.

“Easy there, soldier!” Karlach says. “You stay put. We’ll deal with these.” She gestures to the bodies, where Astarion is already digging through the pockets.

He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let good gold go to waste, and definitely not because you two were interrupted. Not because being close and alone with you makes his head spin. Not because he doesn’t know why he kissed you like that. And certainly not because the brief taste of blood is threatening to send him into a frenzy.

By the time the bodies are searched, Shadowheart is done with her healing and you’re able to stand up straight.

“Let’s get back and tell the others,” you say. “With these guys gone, we should be good to keep our camp for one more night. But tomorrow we have to move on.”

Astarion is starting to feel peckish and welcomes the chance to be alone. “I’ll do a little scouting to check for stragglers,” he offers, tossing you the heavy bag of coin he collected. “You know, make sure there isn’t anything lurking before dark.”

“You sure? You really shouldn’t go alone,” you say.

He’s already headed in the opposite direction and turns to face you as he walks backward. “If they hear me, they deserve to catch me. You don’t need to worry, darling. I won’t be late for our date.”

Your cheeks darken and he watches Karlach break into a wide grin while Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. He’s already gone by the time they bombard you with questions.

That moment you two just shared plays over and over in his head. With the taste of your blood still on his tongue, he gives into baser instincts.

Tonight, he will fuck you, and you’ll be so enthralled by his talents, he’ll have you eating out of his hand in no time.

Astarion’s mission turns up no more cultists. And after a brief tussle with a boar, he’s recharged and ready to seduce the pants off you.

Literally.

Night has already begun to fall when he returns to camp. At first, he doesn’t see you anywhere, but then you emerge from the brush, in a clean tunic and trousers with your freshly washed clothes under your arm.

He sneaks up behind you as you lay them out on a nearby patch of grass to dry.

“If you waited we could have had a little dip together,” he purrs, only half teasing because bathing naked with you sounds enticing right now.

“That wasn’t funny,” you glare over your shoulder, although he doesn’t sense or see any real malice on your face. “They gave me shit the whole way back.”

“I’m fairly certain they knew something has been going on. You haven’t exactly been hiding the mark.”

You tug on your collar in a vain attempt to do just that. “Still.” You turn to face him and cross your arms, a neutral stance that conveniently highlights the muscles in your arms. Not that he notices.

“Darling,” he gasps, “are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not. I just don’t like people knowing my shit.”

Astarion glances around and can see multiple pairs of eyes on you both. So rather than close the distance, he settles for eye-fucking you instead.

“Tonight, all you need to worry about is relaxing and letting me take care of you. Thoroughly. Properly. Until the only thought in that pretty little head of yours is my name.”

Even from this distance, he hears the rush of your blood and it makes him grin wider. You shake said pretty head at him, turning away under the pretense of fixing your clothes.

“So long as you bathe beforehand. Blood may be your thing, but it’s not mine.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

He’s got you flustered and can’t help laughing as you shoo him away. After a brief stop at his tent for fresh clothes and soap, he finds a secluded spot by the nearby lake and takes time to pamper himself.

This part of the seduction ritual he likes, finds comfort in. Washing away the grime and viscera from his skin and taking the time to wash his hair puts him in the proper mindset. While he can no longer see his reflection, you can and that’s all that matters. He knows his looks are unparalleled.

So he primps and preens, cleans himself thoroughly before stepping out to dry off. The full moon casts the world in an otherworldly glow and he stands for a spell, taking in the night. Less than a week ago he was scrambling for rats in the dark, trying to sate the ever gnawing hunger. Now he can stand in the sun, sample the delicious blood of a thinking creature.

What a difference a few days makes.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep inhale to steady himself, to focus. And by the time he exhales, his eyes are open and he’s ready.

Camp is still very much buzzing with activity when he returns, bare-chested with loose trousers. Your scent wafts his way, making him subconsciously turn in your direction. His eyes meet yours over the fire, and he throws you a wink. You smile and duck your head, something he never found endearing until that moment.

Just like all the other nights, he waits for the activity to die down, waits until almost everyone is asleep, before sneaking into your tent.

Except, this time you’re awake. Your back is to him as you sit, still and silent. At first, he wonders what you’re doing, until he recognizes the steady breathing that comes with your meditations.

Silently, he ties the tent closed before kneeling behind you. He sees your pointed ear twitch, knows you’re aware of his presence.

Astarion lays his hands on your shoulders and leans down to nuzzle your temple. Your body is tense. He can feel the knots even through your tunic. Carefully, he digs his thumbs into them, rubbing in circles which forces a soft moan out of you.

“You are far too tense, darling. I don’t think the meditations are working,” he says with a low chuckle, smirking at the way the skin of your neck raises with goosebumps.

You lean back against his chest, making it harder to keep massaging you. So he slides his hands down your arms to hold you instead.

Astarion isn’t one for hugging or cuddling, but this feels nice, having your weight on him like this. It only lasts a second. You lean forward once more, this time with your face in your hands. He lays a hand on your back, recognizing that you need a minute, and more than happy to give you such.

He feels slightly out of his element. Normally when he arrives for the seduction, it’s hasty and eager, with the mark throwing themselves at him. You aren’t doing that, you haven’t even turned around to face him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you tell him, your voice muffled. “If you’re looking for something carefree and light, I’m sure you can find someone with less baggage.”

Astarion can’t help bursting into laughter. He pulls your arms down and leans around to look you in the eye. “Have we been traveling with the same companions?” he asks. “If you can find this mythical baggage-less person then I salute you because from where I’m sitting, we’re all a bunch of fucking weirdos.”

That breaks the tension in you. Laughing, you lean into him again and he savors the closeness, recognizing that it stirs that same unknown sensation within him. He kisses your neck not only to move things along but for another reason.

Yours is the first thinking-creature’s neck he’s ever sampled and the novelty is fairly potent. He’s left his mark on you, not once but several times. It’s enough to drive him to distraction. The scent of your skin causes his body to react, his mouth already salivating while his cock twitches with interest.

Astarion finds you relaxing while the time slips away, and it isn’t long before his hands are reaching for the laces of your tunic. He unties them with deliberate slowness, giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

In fact, your hands join his to help, and when they are finally undone, you draw away to lift the tunic over your head.

Now you’re both shirtless and when your warm skin touches his it’s like a pleasant balm to his cold flesh. He continues lavishing your throat while his hands cup your breasts, thrilled at the way your nipples pebble under his thumbs. He kneads and tweaks, pinching until just on the edge of pain before backing off.

“Astarion?” you ask, voice already breathless and husky with desire.

“Mmm, yes?”

“If we do this, I only have one request.”

He’s not surprised at this, even anticipated as such. There’s always a request or demand of him and he will dutifully oblige. Anything to keep this going, to seal the deal.

“And what’s that, darling?”

“Stay with me after? At least, just for the night.”

That…is it?

Astarion draws away, prompting you to turn to face him. Your eyes are hooded, lips wet from being swiped by your tongue. But there is a vulnerability he has never seen before that has him answering immediately.

“I will stay,” he promises, and means it. “For tonight, I am yours and you are mine. Nothing else outside this tent exists. It’s just us.” He gently cradles your face. “Just this.”

You lean in and he captures your lips.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, meant to reassure you that your humble request will be fulfilled. But as it continues, it switches, changes into something else entirely. One of his hands drops to your trousers, yanking at the laces with the same fevered energy that’s taken over your mouths. He is suddenly filled with the urge to touch, to make you shudder and moan not for his sake, but for yours.

Astarion sees in his mind’s eye every choice, every decision you have had to make. Always for others and never for yourself. Hells, do you do anything for your own well-being?

He hasn’t seen it. And if this night with him is it, if being with him is how you want to indulge, he’s going to make damn sure he makes it worth it.

When his hand slips below your waistline, his fingers slide through the mound of curls to the petal-soft flesh waiting for him. Feeling the wetness on his fingertips makes his eyebrow raise as he breaks from your kisses.

“Already, darling? I’m flattered.”

You huff, flustered. “It’s my neck,” you mumble, prompting him to latch his mouth there once more. “It’s really sensitive.”

You gasp when his fingertips stroke through your folds, spreading your arousal with practiced ease.

Astarion has a realization. “All these nights, when you knew I was going to be paying you a visit,” he says. “Did you by any chance feel aroused?”

“Every fucking time.”

He slides a finger into you, relishing the low moan and how eagerly your body pulls him in. That explains the intense hard-ons and need to get off immediately after feeding on you. He was unknowingly drinking your arousal, which he plans to do in a very different context tonight.

You’re warm and wet, and the sound of your rushing blood is making it so difficult not to seek his—your marks. The ones he feeds from every time, the ones that never seem to fully fade even with healing magic.

Sliding his finger out, he presses firm circles around your neglected nub while his free hand reaches for your breasts again. Your chest heaves and your hips begin to rise and fall along with his ministrations. When he pushes two fingers into you, your head falls back onto his shoulder.

“Astarion!” you gasp.

“That’s it, darling. Let go of everything else. Just think about me.”

In this intimate moment, he becomes acutely aware of two things: one, his name has never sounded sweeter, and two, this is going to be different for him.

Astarion doesn’t find himself slipping away like he’s done in the past. Prior, his body would go on following the script while his brain retreated elsewhere. It was a part he knew all too well and had perfected over the centuries. A moment of disgust at himself then powering through just to get it done.

Yet, it’s not happening. Tonight, he is very aware of where he is and who he is with. Somehow having you be the one to moan his name is keeping him grounded, in the moment.

And he doesn’t want to lose that.

His fingers speed up, alternating between rubbing your nub and burrowing deep into that addictive warmth he wants around his cock. You’re gasping and moaning, seemingly uncaring if anyone hears.

Let them hear, he thinks. Let them know I’m the one making our fearless leader cum.

Suddenly, this angle isn’t right. It won’t serve his needs.

Because now that he’s aware of them, aware that he needs your body, needs your little gasps and moans, he won’t stop until you’re both in a breathless, mindless heap of body and limbs.

Astarion tries to draw his hand out of your trousers but you scramble to keep it there, until he nips at your ear and says, “Shh, shh, it’s alright. We just need to get a little comfortable.” Only then do you let him pull away.

He maneuvers you onto your back and is able to fully take in the delicious image you make. Eyes glassy with desire, lips parted, breasts moving as you try to catch your breath. Without warning, he grabs your throat, not hard. Just enough to angle your head up so he can steal a few more kisses.

Then his attention falls to your trousers and he has them off your legs a second later. You’re not wearing underwear, never bothered to put them on after your bath. Hooking his hands under your knees, he spreads you wide, takes his first look at all of you, and promptly descends.

Astarion doesn’t try to put on a show or warm you up with a few practiced licks. You are more than ready for him and he finds himself starved in a completely different way.

A welcomed way.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily, humming with satisfaction when your thighs clamp around his head. It keeps him exactly where you want him, not that he plans to leave any time soon.

This taste of you is so different from your blood yet equally addicting. Heady and sweet, invading his senses until nothing else exists but you. His tongue snakes long your seam, parts your swollen lips, and seeks the hole he teased earlier.

When he finds it, your hips shoot up and he tongue-fucks you, eyes drifting up to meet yours as he does.

You’re propped on your elbows, watching his every move. The vision you make is breathtaking and as he watches your head fall back and your arms buckle, he smirks because he is the one making you feel this way.

Astarion slides a finger into you, this time deeper than the other angle allowed. Your thighs are already quivering and the moment he crooks his finger in just the right way, your arms finally give out and you lay flat on your back.

Hands tentatively find their way into his curls but instead of pulling like he anticipates, they stroke and burrow, holding on for the sake of staying grounded, not for control.

A second finger joins the first and his mouth returns to your aching nub, sucking as greedily as he wants. You’re shaking and moaning, your hips starting to grind against his face the longer he goes on. With the tadpole, he can sense you’re still holding back, still not entirely lost yet. He tries to get you there, increases the pressure of his mouth, and rubs harder against the special place inside you he’s found.

With every twitch, he feels you let go a little more. And when you’re almost there, he switches tactics. For the second time, he reaches for your mind, tries to show you images. This time of yourself, of what he is seeing right then and there.

A beautiful, wanton, deity of a person whom he worships. At least for right now, in this moment. One whose legs fit perfectly over his shoulders and whose shining eyes have him transfixed.

But then what happens next fundamentally changes Astarion and turns his world upside down.

Because, now he isn’t seeing you. He is watching a pale elf with glowing red eyes whose mouth is devouring your slit. Whose cheeks are ruddy with fresh boar’s blood and whose white curls are wrapped around dark fingers.

Astarion is seeing himself for the first time in two hundred years.

And bloody hell he’s magnificent. Not just because he’s beautiful but because he can feel what you’re feeling when you look at him. He can sense the warmth, affection, lust, and fierce protection you’re experiencing here and now, with him.

He’s already achieved his goal. Now he can move on to more important things.

He draws an orgasm out of you only minutes later, not needing you to beg. Not when you’ve given him yet another precious gift.

What a breathtaking sight the two of you make. You, bowing your back into a beautiful arch, and him, sucking greedily at your clit while his fingers stroke deep inside you.

Astarion comes up for air only when your sweaty legs glide off his shoulders, leaving you spread and satisfied.

“How’s that mind of yours now?” he asks, licking your slick off his lips.

It takes a moment for you to answer. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” you gasp, a hand pressed to your forehead as you try to collect yourself.

Astarion smirks and pushes himself up onto his knees, carefully slipping his fingers out of you. He can feel your walls clench, automatically trying to keep him there. He’s tempted but has a better idea.

“I told you, I’m quite good.”

While you lay there, watching, waiting, he makes a show of unlacing his trousers. By now his cock is desperate for attention, straining against the fabric. Each move he makes is purposeful, each look calculated, letting you know exactly what he plans to do next.

He thinks of the previous nights when he crawled into your tent and slid up behind you. And once his trousers are gone and his cock is free, full and leaking at the tip, he nods his head.

“Turn on your side, darling.”

He strokes himself while you do, using your arousal to make the glide of his hand easier, better. He lets every lustful thought invade his senses, lets his eyes shamelessly rake over your body as he realizes this is a fantasy he will get to live out.

Astarion knows this night is about you, should be about you, but he can’t help but feel that it’s now also about him. About having something, even if it’s for a night, that gets to be his.

He spoons up behind you, tucking his cock snug under your backside. His hand comes around and slides between your legs once more, picking up right where he left off. You gasp at the sensitivity, your body tensing for only a second until you manage to relax again.

This time with the added bonus of you rocking against him.

Time loses all meaning. He can not be certain how long you both lay this way, grinding and moving together while his fingers make you cum for a second time. It takes longer but absolutely worth every moment. His mouth is permanently attached to your throat lavishing it in kisses and love bites, leaving even more marks. Not as deep as the mark. He'll only drink from you once he’s good and ready.

And when neither of you can take it anymore, when the friction of your skin isn’t enough and you’re positively soaked, he whispers into your ear.

“Lift your leg.”

You do and he takes hold of himself, coats himself in your slick again, then pushes into you with a smooth, quick, thrust.

A perfect fit.

Being inside you, having his cock enveloped by that fucking heat is better than he would have ever thought. After that, he can’t take his time, won’t until he’s emptied every last drop into you.

Your moans are constant, muffled as you bury your face into your thin pillow, your hand twisting the bedroll, reminding him of how he twisted the soil when he had his first taste of you.

Taste.

Gods does he want to taste you again, drink you as he continues pounding into your eager body. As if struck by the same thought, you reach back to slide your hand into his curls.

“Bite me,” you urge. “I need you too. I can’t…”

He hears the rest of the thought in his head.

I can’t cum again if you don’t.

Astarion bites down on the mark, having half a mind to press down on your swollen nub at the same time. You cry out this time. Loudly. Properly. Not his name yet even more beautiful, a cry of pure ecstasy.

Your blood seeps into his mouth just as a fresh wave of your slick coats his cock, and he is done for.

Thrusting wildly, still rubbing your sore clit, Astarion spills himself into you, lost in a frenzy of blood and lust. He’s aware enough to yank out his fangs but after that, it's a blur as he sucks at your throat while his cock spasms and fills you with his seed.

It's too much and coats his lap and your thighs while trickles of blood dribble down your neck. He’s aware of you pushing his hand away from the overstimulation. So he grabs your hip for leverage during his final, weak thrusts. Spent, you both cry out a final time and then grow still.

Eventually, you roll onto your stomach while Astarion collapses onto your back, crushing you against the bedroll.

You don’t seem to mind in the slightest, letting him lazily lick away any remnants of blood. Only then do you hum with satisfaction stretching underneath him as much as the position will allow.

“Fuck, Astarion.”

“That you did, love. That. You. Did.” Each word is punctuated by a kiss or a nibble.

“You were right,” you purr, sounding infinitely more relaxed than he’s ever heard. “I needed that.”

He places a final kiss to the mark before rolling onto his back. “Mmm, me too.” He tucks his hand under his head, staring up at the canvas of the tent with a lazy, satisfied grin. Like a cat who’s just found a sunbeam.

You roll to face him, draping yourself across his chest in a graceless heap. Your face is glowing with post-coital bliss, eyes still shining as they take him in. You reach up to wipe away a spot of blood from the corner of his lips, which he sucks off your thumb.

Astarion is aware you both should clean up but he can’t bring it in himself to care. Your scent hangs around him, not just your blood but your arousal and release. When mixed with his own, it stirs something primal inside, a sense of claim he’s not sure he has a right to feel.

But he’s far too satisfied to question it.

“That was amazing,” you slur. Already your eyes are drooping and your breathing evens out.

Astarion draws you close, feels around for a blanket he manages to drape over you both. “You’re amazing,” he responds, and is surprised he means it.

Even he is ready to trance, the normal rush of adrenaline after feeding is gone, channeled into the thrusting of his hips during those last precious seconds before utter bliss.

For once, no thoughts or machinations enter his mind. Unless it’s your soft body atop his, he has no interest, lazily stroking your back until you fall asleep.

And as he lets his trance carry him away, he has one final thought, an observation his waking mind will remember vividly the next morning when he finds you in the same position, curled around each other even in sleep.

Having you in his arms seems to be another perfect fit.

---

Taglist: @frankie-mercury @miniminx

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x you

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faerievampling · 3 months

Text

A Long Night

Summary: After Astarion and Tav have their first fight, Astarion is desperate to make up but can't fight his frustration. Set during Act 3, before the end of Astarion's personal quest.

word count: 1.5K

Link to AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. Biting. Blood drinking. Angst. Astarion is a bit possessive. Soft dom Astarion. Mild dub-con.

A/N: I meant to post something sweet about spawn!astarion but it's not ready yet...but this is :)

You and Astarion had had your first fight. It was about Cazador’s ritual, of course; the topic had been coming to a boiling point between the two of you. You can’t even really remember what all was said, only the outcome of the conversation: Astarion put his foot down and told you that he was going to take the power regardless of what you wanted. He said it was for the best, for both of you. Then, he stormed off, leaving you and the rest of your party standing in the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

Your embarrassment quickly reached your face, and you shooed your companions away, wanting to be alone for a while. But now, after a long walk, you finally arrive at the Elfsong Tavern.

You make your way to you and Astarion’s room and begin to take your armor off: unfortunately for you, you wore heavy armor. Even after so many months of adventuring, getting your armor off was a task you still struggled with, especially after a long day. It was bulky, difficult to take apart, and so heavy. It often leaves you frustrated to deal with alone.

Astarion helped you take it off every night. He would pretend to be frustrated or annoyed with the task, but was always certainly happy with the result: that armor protected his beloved from the hardest hits.

You have only unclasped the right arm when you hear the opening of a door and feel another pair of hands on you. You already know it’s him. You’re greatly relieved, because part of you was worried he’d run from you. Astarion could be rather avoidant; the armor surrounding his mind might just be as tough as what you wear on the physical battlefield.

Astarion begins to work your armor off, not saying a word as he does. You allow yourself to breathe deeply, taking in his scent as he helps you shed the weight of the day.

Once you’re free, you shiver, feeling a bit exposed. As Astarion begins to take off his own armor, you gather your things and slink away to the washroom. Although Astarion usually joins you in the bath, you figure he won’t follow, because surely he is still angry.

He wants power. He said he wanted it for the both of you. Forever. For good. You wonder what he meant by that. You certainly understood the implication, but Astarion is known to embellish.

But you had already made your decision: you couldn’t allow it. You couldn’t allow your beloved to enter into a contract with Mephistopheles. To sacrifice seven thousand souls - it was unconscionable.

As you ease into the warm water, the smell of lavender wafts from the newly disturbed surface. You and Astarion had been lucky enough to get a private room with a washroom attached; the room resembled a small bathhouse more so than a wooden tub, which you had been grateful for, because it made for a luxurious experience.

You allow yourself to fully relax as you slide yourself to the depths of the tub, bringing your head underwater. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of your own blood pumping through your veins for as long as you can stand it. After an impressive length of time, you think to yourself, you hear the creak of the door. You bring yourself up, gasping for air as you push your hair out of your face.

Astarion is there, and because you’re a little shocked from his presence, you can’t help but watch, unblinking as he begins to peel away his underclothes.

Your heart races at the sight of his nakedness; the flicker of the candlelight dances across his muscular form, making your core feel swollen and needy. A blush rises to your cheeks and the tip of your ears, prompting Astarion to give you a little smile.

His body was perfect—his alabaster skin, his muscled form, even the impressive length of his cock, which was already half hard, you could see.

Astarion eases himself in the bath, water rippling around his gorgeous form. “I don’t want to fight anymore, love,” his voice is even, his hungry eyes sweeping over your naked body, lingering at the buds of your breasts that peek out from the water's surface.

Treading water, he comes to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap bridal style. He holds your gaze for a long moment before resting his forehead on yours.

You knew this tender moment was both an apology and a declaration of his love; one you appreciated, but were weary to accept. You want Astarion to use his words - to say he is sorry, or to ask for an apology, or something. You just wanted him to communicate, but you are so scared to push him.

He tenderly brushes his full lips onto your own, and you try not to react. You don’t want to give in. As you try to formulate the right words in your head, Astarion moves to the curve of your neck, pressing his lips to your pulse point before he nips at you, breaking your skin with the prick of a fang. A small droplet of blood blossoms from the wound, and you pull away, giving Astarion an incredulous look.

He’s supposed to ask.

He releases one of his arms from you, his hand trailing down the front of your body, brushing a nipple with his thumb before nestling between your legs. Fingertips graze your sensitive folds, making you shiver despite the warmth of the water.

“Astarion,” You plead before he slips a finger inside you, teasing your lips with his thumb; your walls contract around his knuckles, drawing him in deeper.

His lips meet yours, his tongue finding entry as he tastes you.

You can feel the increasing hardness of cock against your ass as his finger stirs inside you. You feel the pressure of a second finger against your entrance for just a moment before he slides it inside you, filling you up a bit sooner than you’re ready.

A desperate whimper escapes your lips as he stretches your walls. Astarion pumps in and out of you, fucking you with his fingers, every thrust going deeper until he’s curling his fingers inside you, pressing on that spot that is so sweet, tender, and so deeply nestled inside you.

You’re feeling your build up, that delicious feeling of the anticipation of ecstasy; you already want to come. But you can’t ignore your need to check in on your lover: you break away from his dedicated kisses, surveying his handsome face.

“Astarion,” Your voice is higher than usual. You try to pull away from him, but his arm has you locked in. What he is doing with his fingers threatens you every second, and you know you are so close, but you continue to edge yourself, holding back the come that threatens to gush from your folds.

“Tav,” His voice is low and full-bodied. “You needn’t pull away from me, you know.”

“You -” You begin to say, but Astarion only digs his fingers in harder, deeper, your impending orgasm becoming almost impossible to ignore, emptying your brain.

Astarion’s face twists, the frustration apparent on his face. “I’m fine,” he growls against your skin. “Am I not allowed to take my lover when I want? Would you really deny me that, too?” Before you can respond, his lips are on you, tongue crashing into yours as he continues his ministrations on you.

The nip of his fang on your lip causes you to gasp, but Astarion is lapping and sucking at it, his own murmurs of pleasure causing you to buck your hips into his hand. You spasm and struggle in his grasp, but before long, you can’t take it anymore, and you feel the shockwaves of pleasure emanating from your cunt all the way to your fingertips. You’re creaming around his fingers; your body is hazy, almost numb with pleasure.

The pulsing sensation of your cunt around Astarion’s fingers drives him nearly mad, and his fervent kisses are all over you. The brush of his lips and tongue could be felt on your cheeks, your neck, your ears.

He begins to nibble at you, leaving shallow bites in the wake of his kisses on your neck and shoulders. He’s marking you where he can, even though you both know it’s only temporary: he would douse you in healing potions and gentle touches after this, caring for your every ache and pain.

“You’re starting to prune, darling,” Astarion’s voice is low. “Why don’t you get out of here and meet me in our room? And don’t bother to dress yourself, my love. You’re in for a long night,” The sound of his voice makes the hair on your skin stand up, goosebumps covering your body despite the ever warm water.

You know your cheeks are flushed from the way Astarion is looking at you. His eyes are hooded, seductive, and the smirk on his lips almost meets his eyes.

“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you however I want, Tav. I’m going to bite you wherever I want, whenever, until I decide I’m satisfied.” Astarion’s voice draws a whimper from your lips, and he lightly chuckles. “Go on now, darling. I’ll be right behind you.”

Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Text

Butterfly's Repose

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Two fics in such a short span of time?! Yeah, I'm procrastinating. I actually wasn't going to finish this little thing I started in my notes today, but then I got an idea for how to continue it and HAD to get it out. So here it is

Title comes from "Butterfly's Repose" by Zabawa

Warnings: nightmares, crying, references to past abuse, low self-worth, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 804

Main Masterlist

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

AO3

Tag List Form

Arms squeeze tighter around your middle. You don't notice at first - you've just woken up and your brain hasn't caught up yet, and having arms around you like this is not unfamiliar or strange. In fact, you know right away that it's Astarion. You'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, wrapped around each other with intertwining legs and faces pressed into necks and shoulders.

He shifts so his head rests squarely over your chest, and again you think nothing of it. You relax back into the bed, into your pillow and the warm sheets. Sleep starts to claim you again, grabbing you with syrupy tendrils that make it hard to think.

But then you feel something wet against your skin. Wet and hot, and he's trembling. You force your eyes open, fighting against the desire to sleep. You can't see his face in the dark, but you know. You know he's crying.

You slowly begin to slide your fingers through his curls, careful not to startle him or pull at any knots. "Star?" you murmur into the dark. "What's wrong? What happened?"

A choked sob rips from his throat. There’s no point hiding his tears now. He tries to speak, but he can’t come up with anything. All he can do is shake his head and press further against you.

You wrap your arm around his shoulder to hold him close and fully begin to play with his hair in all the ways you know he enjoys. You shush him gently, kissing the top of his head. “You’re safe, love. You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you here.” Another harsh sob wracks his body, and you begin rubbing up and down his back. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It must have been a nightmare or a memory - nothing else could upset him this much, and he flipped between trances and normal sleep so often it was hard to know which he’d endured. You would kill Cazador over and over again if it meant removing Astarion’s suffering. You’d kill the bastard 200 times - once for each year of life he ruined for your lover. And a million more for every other life he ruined.

His fingers curl into the fabric at your back, holding on as though letting go would cause him to fall off a deep precipice. But you wouldn’t let that happen. Not for as long as you live - and further if you had any say in the matter.

Sleep does not come to visit again. You’re too worried for the man in your arms to care. By the time his crying has softened to whimpers and sniffles, you can see the orange of the sun trying to break through the dark curtains. And still you don’t care.

When the whimpers reduce further to mere shaky breaths, you know it has finally passed. You kiss his head again, whispering into the white hairs that tickle your face just how proud you are of him, how much you love him, how strong he is. You’d never stop until he finally got it through his brain just how true each word was.

He pulled away and you let him, watching as he cringed and tried to wipe away the wet spot he left on your skin. You chuckled gently and grabbed his hand to stop him. “It’s okay, love, I don’t mind.” He sighs, relenting. He can’t meet your eyes. You wonder if you were in his dream.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out. You immediately shush him again.

“It’s okay, my love. Thank you for trusting me.”

He sighs shakily, eyes closing. He’s relieved. When he opens his eyes again, he notices the sun’s orange glow behind the curtains, just as you had. “Gods, I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to keep you up all night.”

You cup his cheek and lift his head just so you could place a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. Just means we get to have a lazy day in bed.”

He holds your wrist and turns into your palm. “You’re too good to me.”

“And you deserve every second of it.” He kisses your hand, but argues no further. “C’mon, love. I’ll hum to you for a bit, how does that sound?”

It must sound perfectly lovely, because he wastes no time repositioning so his head is tucked into your shoulder, nose pressing into your neck. His hands rest loosely on your back now. You continue to stroke and comb through his hair and hold him close. He can feel the vibrations of your voice as you begin humming a quiet lullaby. They mix with the heartbeat thrumming through your pulse and the breaths you take to continue singing. A symphony of sound to reassure him you’re alright. You’re alright.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 5 months

Text

Satisfaction

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.2K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, violence, mentions of torture, knoll attack, angst to fluff

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

“I can’t fucking believe you.” you seethed at him.

“Likewise you entitled little cunt.” Astarion spat back.

You threw a punch at him, connecting with his jaw. Karlach and Wyll rushed over to hold you back as Astarion held his face.

“You knew that quarrel was mine to settle. Kethric and Orin were mine to end. And then you just waltz off and kill them both while I’m out getting ready to fight your battle against Cazador?” you spat on the ground in front of him, shrugging Karlach and Wyll off harshly.

Astarion smirked at you, pleased with the fact he got under your skin.

“The next time you need help I wont fucking be there. I hope Cazador gets what he wants, because I can't stand to be in your general vicinity, you low down bitch.” you could feel your eyes water with frustration but your voice remained stern.

Astarion faltered but only for a moment, “How about instead of a tantrum I get a thank you? I dealt with your problem. That's two less issues on our laundry list of enemies.”

You glared at him, “How would you feel if I killed Cazador? Would be a different story right? You didn’t give me the satisfaction… Just… stay away from me Astarion.” your anger tapered out and all you could feel was emptiness. You walked back to your tent silently. Karlach and Wyll went back to what they were doing, also unhappy with what Astarion had done.

You sniffled and wiped away any tears that fell as you packed your bag. You needed to get away from camp, just for a few days. Sort yourself out. You told Karlach deep in the night what was going on and begged her not to tell anyone else. She agreed, understanding completely.

You walked out of camp while the sun was still missing from the morning sky.

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

Astarion woke from his meditation, leaving his tent his eyes widened when he saw your tent was broken down. Everything of yours was missing, including you. He walked over to your tent, trying to find a sign that you’d be back. His heart started to race.

Fuck.

He knew your fight last night hurt you. And he admittedly did go after Kethric and Orin to shorten the never ending list of enemies, but he also did it to take a shot at you. You’d both squabble since this little adventure started. Constantly goading each other for an unknown reason. Astarion jogged over to Karlach’s tent, you two were close, instant best friends.

“Where is Y/N?” he asked quickly.

Karlach shrugged, not speaking to him.

“Do you know where they went?” he asked again.

“Why do you care?” she sighed, finally looking at him.

“I… don’t… I was just… wondering if they were still licking their wounds.” he said, trying to sound convincing.

“Well, they’re just an entitled cunt, right?” Karlach glared at him.

“Come now my fiery friend, you know Y/N and I have our little rows.” he tried to defend himself.

“Except this wasn’t a row Astarion!” Karlach yelled. Astarion stepped back, wincing at her sudden loud tone. “They were tortured for an eternity. Just like you. They dreamed of escaping. Just like you. They are trying to heal. Just like you. How dare you sit there and take away the one shot at revenge they had? How. Fucking. Dare. You.” she said, poking him in the chest harshly with every last word.

“I… I didn’t know that…” Astarion whispered.

“Well it’s not exactly something they wanted to advertise.” she said, turning around, frustration evident in her voice.

“Do you know where they are?” he asked one last time, the guilt inside him boiling up his throat.

“No.” Karlach said before walking back into her tent, ending the conversation.

Astarion huffed, running his hands over his face. He felt awful, your typical fights were short and sweet. This was… something else now.

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

Ver’yll jogged into camp after a few days, running over to Karlach. He spoke to her briefly, her face falling instantly. She grabbed her axe, running out of camp. Astarion saw this and quickly followed, not wanting Karlach to go alone to whatever this is. Running deep into Baldur’s Gate, Karlach ran into the open hand temple. Astarion dashed behind her before he saw you. Unconscious on a cot, with bandages wrapped around your torso. Blood seeping through slightly. His heart stopped, his feet planted to the floor. Karlach knelt beside you, grasping your limp hand.

“What happened?” Astarion asked the cleric tending to you.

“Don’t know, they were found on the steps this morning. Looks like a gnoll did a number on them.” The cleric replied, “They’ll need to spend a few days here to heal.”

“I’ll stay with them.” Astarion said instantly.

Karlach furrowed her brows at him.

“Please…” he said with his soft eyes ever present.

“Fine, I’ll go let the others know. Keep a low profile.” she said with a stern voice.

Astarion held your hand, pushing hair out of your face and ghosting his fingers over your cheek.

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

It took you three days to wake up. Astarion rushed to your side, “Little love, are you alright? Cleric!” he called out.

You squinted at the light pouring in from the stained glass window. Voices echo in your head, your eyesight not quite adjusting. “Astarion?” you croaked out sleepily.

You tried to sit up but he gently pushed you back down, shushing you. The cleric pushed him aside. “No…” you said, reaching for him weakly.

He moved to the other side of the cot, holding your hand. The cleric worked deftly, changing your bandages and rubbing different solutions into your stitched up gashes. You faded in and out of consciousness for this process before finally waking up fully as the cleric left the room. You looked at Astarion as you felt him kiss your hand. You looked at him, his eyes moved over your exposed torso, looking at the scars Orin and Kethric had left over many years. You had never seen his eyes look so doe like, so round and full of sorrow.

“Did you stay with me the whole time?” you asked.

He nodded, bringing a cup of water to your lips.

“Thank you.” you said after taking a few sips.

“I’m so sorry Y/N… Karlach told me… I never would have done that if I knew… I know I can’t take it back, and no amount of apologies will make up for it… but please know I am truly sorry.” he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I was so angry with you…” you started, looking in his eyes. “But… I know you were just trying to kill enemies we had, and you didn’t know why I wanted them dead so bad. I should have told you… thank you, for apologizing.” you said with a sigh.

“Maybe we should put this whole bickering business behind us?” he said, brushing some hair away from your forehead.

You chuckled softly, “No way… how will I spend so much time with you if we aren’t fighting?”

“Darling, if time with me is what you wish all you have to do is ask.” he kissed your hand again before smiling at you.

“Never been good at asking for what I want… Should we start over?” you asked, shifting closer to him.

“No way…” he smiled before leaning over and kissing your cheek.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello everyone! Sorry I went on a little hiatus, I was in the hospital for sepsis so kinda hard to write when I was that sick. I hope this is to everyones liking, I'll post one or two more fics over the weekend. Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. Love youuuuuuu XOXOXOXO!!!!!!!

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petit-etoile · 7 months

Note

🪡how about a cute fic where astarion fixes up one of Tavs shirts and they realise they like each other or something heheee

here is my hand that will not harm you

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 1,110 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, developing relationship, love confessions, getting together, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia be added to the taglist here

summary: Astarion repairs your clothes, and you can no longer keep a secret.

There is something Astarion is not telling you. You can tell in the way he slouches in his chair, his hands busy with the work he took upon himself, that there is something troubling him. Learning what Cazador’s scarring says has put a damper on his mood and everyone else’s, and now you’re all caught between procrastination and pushing on to the Moonrise Towers.

The Orthon fight took a lot out of you. Your armor took quite the beating, and afterwards with the rats… You’re glad to be staying at the Last Light Inn for one more evening. Everyone is resting before the fight tomorrow, and you’re relieved. You get one more night to sleep in a bed. The darkness of the Shadow-Curse is beginning to lift thanks to Halsin and Thaniel, and the shine of Dame Aylin’s excellence has caused Isobel to bask for hours on the balcony in self-imposed giddy isolation. It’s almost normal given the circumstances.

‘What do you think Gale is going to make for supper?’ you ask absentmindedly, turning the page of your raunchy smut novel.

Astarion hums in contemplation. You rest the novel you borrowed from him on your stomach and peer over at him. He insisted you take the bed after you arrived, and now he sits next to you biting his lip and cursing as he fusses over your chainmail. It’s quaint.

‘Hopefully just wine,’ he says with a snort. ‘We’ll need all the liquid bravery we can get.’

‘Do vampires get drunk?’

‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘A willing body drinks the wine, a willing vampire drinks the blood, and then they’re both willingly shit-faced.’

The thought of Astarion stumbling around drunk off your blood makes you laugh. It almost reminds you of how silly he was after devouring a bear, and you quietly begin manifesting that Astarion is right and Gale honors the tradition. You cozy down into the sheets and pat the book over your stomach as it growls.

‘Oh, fuck it!’ Astarion snaps suddenly.

He doesn’t fling your armor down as much as he seems determined to strangle it to death. There’s thread tangled around his fingers and his feet, and he’s pushing the needle back in his mouth as he fusses with a strap. He growls like an angry kitten and rubs at his brow in frustration.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask nervously.

‘What’s wrong?’ he echoes, annoyed. ‘What’s wrong is that your armor is shit! To send you out there wearing it is basically wishing death upon you. It’s absurd how long you’ve worn this thing.’

You frown. It’s not exactly your favorite chest piece you’ve ever had, but you’ve worn it since the Underdark and haven’t found a suitable replacement. Then again, you hadn’t really asked Dammon when you arrived… You didn’t want to bother him as he was working on Karlach’s heart, and there was so much to do…

‘You can’t — You can’t go out there and fight everyone’s battles in armor held together by twigs and prayers,’ Astarion sniffs delicately. ‘I can repair it sparingly, of course, but… I wouldn’t feel good about it. It isn’t safe enough.’

‘What would you have me wear, then?’ you ask. ‘Perhaps there’s some additional armor somewhere in storage.’

‘This leather belt here is salvageable,’ he explains, showing you the damage from too many spells. ‘The chain mail will hold another fight, but…’

Something possesses you. You lean in, too close to his face, and watch as he runs his fingers over torn edges. He cares. About you. It takes you by surprise even though it shouldn’t. But Astarion doesn’t fuss this way over his own armor, just yours.

You look over his handiwork. You’ve seen it before in his clothes, his favorite sleep shirt, some of his socks, his gloves. He even repaired Karlach’s armor when she first joined. His hands are lithe and strong, and he works without too much thought like it’s second nature for him. Something about it is so bone-crushingly domestic that you can’t help but want to touch his hand. You cling to your book instead.

‘You’re good at this,’ you say.

‘Well, I’ve had quite a bit of experience,’ Astarion confesses. He smiles faintly at your praise. ‘Back at Cazador’s, I … I had a family I took care of. Sometimes they’d fight one another, and I’d fix little rips and tears. Learning to fix armor is a bit new, but none too difficult.’

‘Did you have many siblings?’

‘I had plenty,’ Astarion says. ‘I didn’t like them all. But I like you, so bring me all your clothes and I’ll fix them right up. I won’t even make you ask.’

You give in. You reach a single, curious finger towards his hand and slide it across the back of his knuckles. You take in the rise and fall of his hand, the smoothness of his skin, and the veins. He flexes his fingers beneath your hand and then, without saying a word, he turns his hand over so that he can hold yours. He muses over the connection and presses his fingertips to your pulse.

Gandrel, The Orthon, Raphael’s Deal. It goes without saying there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. You want to tell him, but the thought of saying it made you nervous. You hold your tongue. But if there was to be a fight at the Moonrise Towers, you wanted him to know. It plagues you too much that you start to stretch, so much so that you’re afraid to speak lest you start rambling on and on about how beautiful his eyes are and how you can’t stop looking at him and how he takes your breath away.

There’s no one else you want to have to fight by your side, but it isn’t just that. There’s no one else you want.

Carefully, as though you are more fragile than you truly are, Astarion removes your hand from his to continue fussing over your armor. The feeling of his hand still lingers on your skin, and it makes your stomach ache.

‘I had better go looking, then,’ you say thickly, ‘for another chest piece to wear. ‘

‘No, don’t go yet,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I — There’s something I want to talk about with you.’

He doesn’t say anything else. You stare at one another, the armor forgotten between you, and like magic from the Weave, everything changes. When you lean forward, Astarion meets you halfway with the shyest kiss he has ever given you and the most honest eyes he’s ever allowed you to look upon. After tonight, nothing will be the same and you think you’re fine with that.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #anonymous #* a thousand lives，and one

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morgana-ren · 9 months

Note

Do you think it would hurt Astarion if his consort no longer loves him? Got this thought after reading the short fic you wrote for a previous ask, when yandere Astarion uses his control over his consort. Like would he be hurt when his consort finally had enough, no longer having the will to do anything, no longer fighting against his will and just following along. Would he be sad that the only reason why his consort is acting all loving to him is because of his control over them? That when he looks them in the eye, he sees nothing. No more love when they look at him, just blank, soulless eyes.

Sorry if I can’t explain it well. I hope you get what I mean. Thank you.

I think that's the one thing that could hurt him. Allow me to explain:

I don't think that Astarion doesn't love Tav; I think he almost loves them too much. Love and possession are one and the same in his mind. His lover, his pet, his consort, his spawn-- it's all the same. Mind you, he'd been kept in slavery for hundreds of years, and what conspired in Cazador's palace left a deep, scarred crevice over where his love map should be. He is a ruthless creature with a fixation on total power and domination, and Tav throws a wrench into that. They are a variable that he cannot technically control that has a measure of control over him, no matter how much he smacks them around. When he becomes a vampire lord and they a spawn, he now wields a power over them that he clearly abuses.

What he wants is total love, adoration, obedience, and desire. That directly conflicts with how he intrinsically views 'love.'

You cannot possess someone and love them at the same time. He cannot have the things he wants from them without breaking the parts of their personality that he fell in love with. Tav was a strong willed, powerful, independent creature-- so strong willed and powerful that it's basically what got him to where he is to begin with. What he expects from them isn't love, and Tav knows that, but it's too far gone to salvage him.

Rather than talking things out, compromising, bonding, and taking time for each other, Astarion can bypass all of that 'hard work' by simply commanding them. He sees no problem with it at all. After all, isn't that his right? When they disobey, isn't that how you set them straight? It seems a bargain at first, but every time he does, some part of his Tav is chipped away never to return. The trust, love, and care that they'd built over the course of their adventure disappears forever.

He is essentially robbing himself of that love, and that very love is one of the things that he desires most. So much so that he literally will not let them leave. He very much is in love with them, but he becomes Cazador in his own right, only he is so obsessive over Tav that the detachment that Cazador had to his spawns doesn't come into play. Cazador couldn't have cared less about them. They were a means to an end. He didn't care whether they liked him or not.

But Tav? Astarion loves them. So much so he wants to literally spend eternity with them, bound to each other until the sun burns itself out.

That's just it, though. What he is doing is suffocating the Tav he loves. They cannot shine as they once did under his thumb. They cannot be themselves. Something in them dies, and it's the very thing that Astarion fell in love with. With their free will gone, it is essentially a never-ending torture. And what happens to the mind when you are being tortured constantly?

You disassociate. You go somewhere far away and lock yourself there. Your body is a shell-- a prison-- so you leave the only way you can. It's what you do to survive.

They go hollow. Those sparks of life that Astarion craves slowly whittle away. They don't look at him with fire and passion any longer. Only with cold, dark, empty eyes that convey nothing at all. They don't lean into his touch and they don't recoil. They simply sit still. In bed, he can do as he likes to them, even command them to reciprocate, but it's one grand pastiche of what it used to be.

He craves reaction after a while. Any reaction. Anything genuine. But when Tav is allowed to do so, he feels rejected and abandoned and frightened of losing them, so he commands them once more.

It leaves him empty as well because he knows the truth.

There is a point of no return and he has long since crossed it. If he frees them from his thrall, they'll run. They'll run far away. He knows because he's done it. He knows exactly how they feel, the resentment they harbor, how much they hate him. He could scour Toril to bring them back, of course, but they'll never find that lost part of them. That part that kept him warm. That part that kept him alive.

He is irrevocably in love with them, but their love has long since left him. He knows that. He can force them to say all the right things, make all the right moves, dance all the right steps, but it's nothing but a puppet show. Tav will never love him back. Not now. All he can do is pretend as hard as he can, squeeze tighter around their neck, keep them leashed as closely as possible and pretend as hard as he can when he forces them to tell him that he loves him.

All he can do is picture how it used to be: the nights they spent under the stars together, the thrill of blood and battles, the walks in the sun with their hands entwined, the taste of their enthusiasm and how they used to look at him with softness. Sitting together by the fire, joking and laughing and enjoying each other's company while roughing it on the road-- How long has it been since he last heard them laugh or saw them smile?

Where all that once was, there is now just a cold edge-- the precipice of nothing. An abyss. He can't even see himself reflected in their eyes anymore. When they look at him, no matter what they say, all they see is their own Cazador. One that has violated more than Cazador ever dared.

If you love something, set it free.

And Tav would never return.

So, he'll never set them free. It's a pyrrhic victory. A hell of his own making.

#morgana and friends #Astarion spoilers

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bg-brainrot · 3 months

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's coping mechanisms, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma

WC: 2.1k words, 13/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 3, set prior to facing Cazador (part of the Pale Elf questline). Rogue!Tav and Astarion face some of the his past.

Ao3 | [Hug12][Hug14] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and, to be quite honest, you don’t know how to deal with what your lover just said. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge, and you will all live again. The words buzz in your ears, their blatant, painful lie only known to your ears. You’re glad that everyone else remains blissfully asleep, lest they see this farce for themselves. But that does mean this is up to you– you can’t let him do this, not to himself and not to his siblings.

“Have you no heart, Astarion?” you ask, before his siblings can respond to the offer. “You’re asking them to die for you in this ritual.”

Astarion turns to you, a touch of annoyance on his face. “Don’t look at me like that,“ he says, his tone almost accusatory. “With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it.”

You try to right your face, but you’re certain the pout is, in fact, present. The disappointment can’t leave your face, especially when you know that he can be better than this. That he’s been better than this. He needn’t feel chained to Cazador in any way, let alone taking his place in this profane ritual. “I don’t need cuddly Astarion right now, I just need you. The real Astarion.”

“I can’t be what you want to see in me,” he says, a desperate, pleading tone to his voice. You’re not sure how to respond to that, as his expression just about tears your heart in two. You want to say that you see him, a man who just wants to pave his own path, a man who has already overcome so much and can overcome so much more– but who are you to say that?

You don’t have the opportunity to respond, because his siblings interject. “‘Die’ in the ritual? Whatsoever are you speaking of? We are going to cheat undeath.” Aurelia says, self assuredly.

Dropping your eyes from Astarion’s searing crimson gaze, you turn to her. “You’re slaughter-lambs,” you say, refusing to paint the picture any prettier. “Cazador needs your souls for the ritual.”

She doesn’t need to roll her eyes to express her disbelief, but she may as well have. “The master doesn’t need to lie to us,” she says patiently, as if you’re another pretty fool for her master. “He controls us, fully. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope.”

Leon speaks up, understanding dawning on him. “Because it’s more cruel. Shit. We’re doomed.” A moment of silence passes as he processes, but he’s surprisingly business-like as he continues, “Alright, what do you need from us? We’ll help you.”

You don’t get to enjoy the breakthrough though, as they begin to glow red with compulsion, their bodies struggling against some invisible force. It seems like no matter what you’ve managed to say, whatever warning you’ve been able to deliver, a vampire’s bidding will win out.

What follows is an intense few minutes of fighting, but between the two of you, Astarion’s kin don’t stand much of a chance– not even Shadowheart, the lightest sleeper of your party, stirs. It certainly helps that the vampire spawn are not aiming to kill, rather capture and stay alive. You can see clearly how careful Cazador is with his spawn, summoning them back the second they seem to be imperiled.

Of course, this doesn’t mean your blades don’t find purchase, that blood now litters the floor of the Elfsong Tavern, and that your companions won’t have a plethora of questions in the morning.

“What a mess,” Astarion says with his usual flippancy, as he shakes off some blood. “Well, at least you’ve met my family now.”

You entertain a brief thought about how this comment might normally be cute. Unfortunately your concern and a building fury take far greater precedence. “I can’t believe you tried lying to them,” you say, unable to hold back your rage any longer. “You would have them die for the Rite to happen?”

“What does it matter? There’s only six of them,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you, as if the equation is basic arithmetic, as if you weren’t just speaking to two of those six a moment ago, witnessing their struggles under Cazador’s thumb firsthand. “And they are vampire spawn.” The comment is added as an offhand comment, but there the answer is– he’s not valuing their lives any higher than his own. He only sees himself as the lucky sod who gets to take advantage of them.

“You’re a spawn, Astarion,” you say, quietly. “Don’t you have any sympathy for the others in your exact situation?”

His tone changes to something angry, centuries of torment weighing each word. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind word to me.” Then, realizing you’re right there with him, he softens, “You’re the only one. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you.” The shock in his voice tugs at you, as if he’s constantly surprised that you’re still there. He follows it bitterly with, “No one is like that.”

“There are others like me,” you say, a worry creeping in that he may be blind to the love of each and every one of your companions. But you’ve seen him. He talks and jokes with the others, but he never lets this side of him show, not fully. “They will care for you, if you let them.”

Astarion scoffs. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” When you don’t react to his compliment, he continues, “I’m doing this for you too, you know. To make sure that we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“I appreciate that,” you begin, treading lightly and aiming to understand his fears. But you can’t help it, sometimes you just want to flick his pointy little ears and jolt some sense into him. “I just want you to know that we can make it through this without completing this ritual, without sacrificing your siblings. We always figure something out, don’t we?”

“Oh, I know we do. Though it’s not always what I envision,” he says, a sigh escaping him. “I just want you to keep an open mind when we reach Cazador, love. That’s all I ask for.”

“Fine, but I only ask the same of you,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He grimaces, but nods, a solemn look on his face. “Very well, as long as we deal with Cazador soon.”

“We can go in the morning,” you assure him. “As long as we finally manage to get some sleep. I swear this inn could do with some better locks.”

“My dear, I don’t think you’re allowed to critique any establishment’s security,” he laughs lightly, cleaning some blood off his hands and preparing to return to bed. “No one is safe from your lockpicks.”

You grin before joining him with soap and sponge. “Quite right. And between the two of us? Cazador can’t hide behind his palace walls for long.”

–

As it turns out, getting into Cazador’s palace wasn’t the difficult part. Unlocking the inner door was actually quite trivial and his guard dogs fell easily. You don’t truly find yourself facing an impasse until you’ve made it to Cazador’s hideaway, the very depths of Szarr Palace. There, Astarion comes face-to-face with the truth of his last 200 years of life, the meaning behind the endless parade of lovers.

“He’s played us for such fools.” Astartion tilts his head down, an angry and dangerous look in his eyes. Seeing his glare, reading his posture, Karlach and Shadowheart move on ahead, leaving you a moment to yourselves. “Not just seven spawn to placate the devil. Seven spawn and seven thousand souls bound to them in blood. Everyone who ever trusted me to let down their guard… innocents, idiots, and the unlucky.”

“Not that it needs to be said,” you step forward softly, gauging his reaction as you do. “But you didn’t know.”

He doesn’t move, either toward you or away. Instead, he shakes his head, clearing it of the dark cobwebs that have begun to cloud it. “It doesn’t matter. I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual.”

“Or…” you begin, tentatively exploring his mood, probing gently. “You could choose to save them.” You take another step toward him, palms open.

“What’s the point? They’re as good as dead,” he says, frustrated. It feels like you’re losing him, the weight of his sins a suffocating burden he wasn’t accounting for. “I thought they were dead.”

“But they’re not,” you reach for one of his hands, only to find it limp and despondent in your own. You thumb over the back of it, aiming to infuse your own life, warmth into him. “They’re alive, your siblings are still alive, and you can give them all the chance you didn’t receive.”

“If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. They will be ravenous. They must die. Better they serve a purpose.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself more than you at this point, and you sense the barrier around him is cracking. Another few prods and you may break through.

Despite the pounding of your heart, the worries of pushing a broken man to a precipice he may not be ready for– you steel yourself for your next words. “We’ve narrowly missed each other so often. In another life, you’d have led me here,” you say, plaintive. “Not that pretty clearing in the forest.”

“Gods,” he breathes out in anguish. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I can only say I'm so glad we didn’t meet then. I don’t even want to think what would have happened to you…”

You’ve never been above challenging your lover’s sullen moods, facing his avoidances head on. So you stare him down fiercely when you say, “Don’t you avoid this, Astarion. Face it, like you must face them. You would have killed me.”

And just like that, something in him buckles. All of his blustering blown away in the stark reality of his previous life. “I would have killed you.” Astarion’s shoulders bow, his head turns away from you and it’s all you can do to hold back a fierce, rib-shattering embrace.

Not yet, you think. You’re not done yet. “And?” you ask. “Would you kill me now?”

“Gods no,” he hisses. “I… I can’t even bring myself to think it.”

“Good, let that be a reminder to you: you’re not under Cazador’s control.” You release his hand to grab both of his shoulders, pinning him down with an intense look. “You choose for yourself, remember?”

Astarion nods at you wordlessly, and you know now’s the right moment. You pull him toward you by the shoulders, avoiding his armor as best you can to wrap him in a smothering hug. He reciprocates slowly, but firmly, his own arms wrapping around you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder blades.

You hold the position for as long as you can, deeply breathing in the familiar scent of his hair and drowning out the stench of decay, blood, and mildew. It’s clear that neither of you want to let go this time– as though by holding each other you can keep in one piece.

After some amount of time, you hear whispered in your ear, “Whatever might happen, I just want to say: Thank you.”

Finally drawing away from him, you take a moment to look at him somberly. His words sound so final, it scares you. Placing a single gloved hand on his cheek, you say, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just here to remind you that you have choices.”

“I know.” He turns his nose toward your hand, placing a single kiss on it before continuing, “But does this real Astarion of yours know that?” You think back to your conversation with his siblings, just last night. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

However long ago it was, you need to make sure he understands what you meant. “Spawn, elf, whoever you think you are. You’re Astarion before any of that, and I just need you to know that.”

As he takes in your words, his face hardens, he turns away from your hand in a gentle rebuke. You’ve tried your best, but know his mind won't be swayed by you, not now. “Maybe I don’t know who that is. Maybe that man doesn’t exist, never existed outside these palace walls.” He steps away, and a part of you leaves with him. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

You nod tersely– the only way out is through now– and you follow him deeper into the bowels of Cazador's lair.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 8 months

Note

I love your Astarion work! I was curious if you could write a semi lengthy (if possible) angst/jealous Astarion x Tav/Reader??? Also hurt reader/Tav is always great too. I crave comfort lol

I hope you like it!

Rated: M

Warnings: spoilers for dark ending, transformation, vampiric

The manor is oppressive, heavy as if a ball and chain are leashed to your neck forcing you to bow, this place screams for submission. The want to give in, to let go, be controlled, dominated. It sickens you as Astarion guides you around the home of all his trauma. Naturally, you want to comfort him, hold his hand, and squeeze it to reassure him. However, this is not the time or place. The deeper you both travel into the bowels of Cazador’s palace, the heavier this weight is on your back, choking you as if you misbehaved.

Then came the cells. The sins of the past stabbed and twisted between Astarion’s ribs nicking his heart.

He is distant… You try to tell him this isn’t his fault, that Cazador is to blame. He was used just like they are.

The rules of being a vampire do not help as it is revealed what happened to Cazador’s master is part of the cycle to learn, adapt, and succeed. The rule of two where one will kill the other and repeat the cycle with another. The throne of blood you pray Astarion wants nothing to do with as he sees what is the cost of power.

The Black Mass is unholy and you silently pray to Lathander for his radiance to shine and burn that bastard Szarr to ashes.

Wishful thinking as the moment you enter the ritual chambers things go south, fast.

With now all seven of his spawn, he is strong-- Stronger and though using the spells and holy water do weaken him (barely), he is stronger than most foes.

"Perhaps after my ascension, I shall take your spawn friend as my own." The taunt is spoken during the battle as you struggle to keep up and your hirelings are spread out fighting the summoned bats, werewolves, and ghouls. The words are intended to be salt upon the wound as Astarion is helpless to fight against his master and this ritual. The screams do not help, the blood in the air does not help, and…

You… Are afraid.

This is too close to what happened to you, at the temple of Kanchelsis. Your master was pleased to watch as you writhed in agony as you turned into the beast you are. A vampire who shares the bestial madness of a werewolf.

Being tossed into a column like nothing as the vampire lord takes special interest in attacking you. Your body is in pain, bruises with internal bleeding, and the mental fear is keeping you on the ground struggling to get up. The laugh echoes, your vision blurring, and when you blink you… See your master standing above you with the bat-shaped head of the staff making you tilt your head up.

“Stay right there.”

He… He is going to win… He is going to ascend…

He is going to kill Astarion!

You must push on! Every muscle in your body protesting as you get up, your blood spilling as your form shifts to that beast, bigger, deformed, and grotesque. The whispers of the dark father in the back of your mind as you roared like a beast unleashed from its cage. Jaheira had been teaching you druidic magic as it seemed you had a talent for it. Seems that comes from the beast within, it hungers and Cazador looks like the perfect toy to chew on.

There is a cost, you know it, this power is tapping into the essence of vampirism. The beast, the hunger that comes with the gift and blessing of Kanchelsis; that cost you care not about, not now. No longer will you allow yourself to be chained down by the memories of the years of torture and abuse!

Astarion needs you, you need him, and you need each other.

Damn the cost! Damn this place, damn everything!

The beast roars with rage! An animal instinct as it recognizes Astarion as the mate, a mate in danger.

The slaughter is fighting to this bat-shaped form you are in, Cazador can’t keep up even in his mist form. When you try to rip his head off or attempt to fly and grab him; he knows how to flee.

“Scurry and scatter like rats!” Your voice is not your own, it is the beast that relishes in the hunt this lordling provides.

There are points when you blackout, in and out of a waking dream, then when the bloodlust no longer consumes your body and mind. Your body is back to normal but the wounds are worse, you need blood soon in order to properly heal.

“Wake up!”

Astarion. The sigh of relief hurts though it is being healed, well attempted to, away by the hireling cleric. Your eyes watch the scene of long-awaited and overdue revenge take place.

“I need your help.” His voice does not hide the desperation, the need.

This was your warning, you should have told him to stop or… You can’t raise a claw against him. There is too much between you to end it with steel or claw. So your eyes and mind are his to see through.

It is through those he seals his fate and the fate of seven thousand souls.

#fanfiction #reader insert #astarion #anon ask #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3

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bardic-inspo · 1 month

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Midnight Chimes

Chapter Seven: Morbid Curiosity

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“Tell me what I taste like, and I’ll show you what you’re missing.” The tadpole twists behind his eye and twists his stomach with it. She really does mean to show him. “All right,” Astarion drawls. He combs his mind for his favorite endearments, pinching the prettiest from its stem and fitting it between his teeth. He leans forward, near enough to catch the slight scent of lavender beneath the staleness of her sweat. “I’ll do my best, darling,” he purrs, “but you should know there’s nothing from my mouth that could do justice to how exquisite you tasted all. Over. Mine.”

Chapter CW: None

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“My friend,” Astarion drawls, patting the earth beside him.

A faint sigh leaks from Naomi’s lips, folded down with the weight of the world. She doesn’t heed his invitation, opting instead to stand there and ogle him. He can’t blame her for being so captivated. He’s a sight to behold, after all.

Astarion’s legs splay in front of him, his back propped by the rough trunk of a tree. Cool air licks the lithe stretch of his bare chest, soaked in starlight. Naomi’s gaze seeps over his skin, down to the white shirt bunched in his lap. He sets his handiwork aside for the moment, tucking his needle away for safekeeping.

“Darling, I’ve been looking for you evvvverywhere,” he says with only a little slur. Enough to put an arch in her brow.

“I wouldn’t have been hard to find if you were,” she mutters skeptically. “Are you drunk?”

She takes a tentative step towards him in someone’s else’s shoes. They’re far too big for her feet. Silly little squirrel lost her own boots, stumbling around in the swamps. Poor thing.

“I have drunk. A bear,” Astarion hums happily, the tip of his tongue swiping languid over his lips. The woodsy, syrupy sweetness of the bear lingers there. Naomi’s eyes do, too.

She’s too slow to bury the bob in her throat, not far from where his fangs sank in. Her feet shuffle beneath her. Caught. Astarion’s smirk curls like a noose.

I know what you’re thinking, he could say. Because I’m thinking it, too.

But it’s too soon. He wouldn’t want his little squirrel to go scuttling away. Not now that he knows how delicious she is.

But soon, he thinks, with a twinge of melancholy. Soon, he’ll say all the right words. Like a spell, she’ll be beneath him all over again. And he’ll have the rest of her to taste, too. Perhaps her body is as sweet as the nectar he drew from her neck.

It doesn’t matter, truly. Whatever petty cost Astarion might have to grit his teeth and endure is already worth it. She dealt with that insufferable Gur hunter handily. Artistically, even. But Gandrel won’t be the last hunter that comes calling. He’ll need Naomi to still feel as generous when Cazador sends more fearsome foes.

For now, at least, he only needs to convince her to be as generous with her presence as she was with her blood.

“Sit, my sweet,” he says, insistent. “See the stars with me. I’ll regale you with the poetry I promised.”

“Poetry?” She scoffs, as if it’s something a bard shouldn’t appreciate.

“For your fine vintage, of course,” Astarion croons.

He lets her see the hunger in his eyes as they trail down her figure. She’s wonderfully pert in the tunic she slipped into for sleeping. Even if the flutter of it by her heels makes her look like a specter.

“Don’t you remember?” He prods. “You wanted to know what you tasted like.”

It’s that promise, or morbid curiosity, that spurs her closer. She looks like a ghost, blanched silver in the moonlight, stark shadows haunting the hollows beneath her eyes. But she moves like the shambling dead. Her shoes drag, floppy on her feet, interrupting the quaint melody of crickets chirping intently in the long grass. Astarion’s nose wrinkles at the noise.

“You look dreadful, you know,” he says flatly.

It doesn’t dissuade her from dropping to a seat beside him with a dull thump. The tree takes her weight, leaving only a thin sliver of space between them. Astarion’s attention snags on her tunic, sliding off her shoulder. Pale blue skin peeks out, peppered in the same purplish freckles that powder her nose.

“Well, I feel dreadful,” she mutters darkly. “So I suppose, for the moment, my matching looks are one of the few things that make sense.”

“I do hope it wasn’t our last evening together that put you out of sorts,” Astarion says with the slightest pout.

Her collar doesn’t cover her souvenirs from their prior late-night liaison. The two perfect punctures have faded almost entirely. Now she wears the new necklace of bruises that the hag traded her for her old amulet.

He did try to be gentle, when he bit her. A bit, at least. It’s not guilt, squirming in his gut, exactly. She gave him permission, after all. Still, his tongue feels weighty with a question he should’ve asked sooner.

“Did it hurt much? I already know you liked it,” he says, smoothing his tone. “I’m more curious how much you like pain. That priest of Loviator certainly painted a pretty, pretty picture. It had all my favorite colors.”

Naomi scoffs. “Has the poetry started yet, or are you just warming up?”

“Warming you up, dear.”

“It was fine, Astarion,” she sighs again, exasperated this time. She props her knees to her chest and loops her arms to hold them there. “My head felt a little fuzzy afterwards, and I might’ve lost my mind along with my shoes. But I don’t think you get to take credit for that. Not everything’s about you, you know.”

Astarion surveys her blankly. His face feels heavy, lips still abuzz with the blood of the bear, his mind awash with it.

“Oh. You mean that business with the hag?” He waves a hand, as if casting a thoughtless cantrip. “You said it yourself, it was just like that debacle with the harpies. Though, they didn’t resort to extortion. I suppose that was some precious trinket of yours, that necklace she took?”

“Nothing worth dying for,” Naomi shrugs, gaze guarded. “They’re a dime a dozen, back home.”

“Mm,” Astarion hums, fingers rapping against a gnarled root. “And what is ‘home’ like for you, darling? I’ve had this drab little cave in my head this whole time, you know. I don’t know much about the Underdark. Never once been.”

Her lips twitch. The start of a smile, maybe. Something for him to tug on, and perhaps something to tug her shoulders down from her ears. Ease that strain holding her taut so he can slip through the cracks in her armor.

Her tone is a teasing one. “Tell me what I taste like, and I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

The tadpole twists behind his eye and twists his stomach with it. She really does mean to show him.

“All right,” Astarion drawls.

He combs his mind for his favorite endearments, pinching the prettiest from its stem and fitting it between his teeth. He leans forward, near enough to catch the slight scent of lavender beneath the staleness of her sweat.

“I’ll do my best, darling,” he purrs, “but you should know there’s nothing from my mouth that could do justice to how exquisite you tasted all. Over. Mine.”

Her smirk blooms wide. “You’re hedging, dear. Shaky way to start. Self-deprecation isn’t what I’m into. But do go on.”

“Hm?” Astarion huffs, cocking his head, indignant. “My bittersweet treat isn’t impressed? Even with her cheeks all warm and flushed? I think your body betrays you, dear.”

“‘Bittersweet’ is the best you can come up with?” She tuts. “Surely you can do better.”

“You were my first, you know,” he blurts. “I don’t have much to compare it to.”

The words leap from his tongue in reflex, without a trace of sweetness. And the aftertaste of his admission lies more bitter on his tongue than Naomi’s fading flavor did. Astarion’s jaw shifts tightly as he watches her amusement melt into sickly sweet pity.

It needles him with a dozen daggers, that look. Astarion rips his gaze away to the indifferent night sky. Naomi’s face still burns behind his eyes, like vivid blots of color staining his sight after staring too long at his favorite star.

He snuffs out any chance she has to say something insufferable.

“I’ve wondered what the others might taste like, now that I’ve had you,” Astarion carries on dryly. “Only theoretically, of course. Take Karlach, for example. Her blood’s been aged in the hells. She’d be potent, like a fiery whiskey. Wyll must be something palatable. Perhaps a sugary cider. And Gale, his blood strikes me as something rich, refined. Like well-aged brandy.”

“Shadowheart has to taste at least a little like red wine,” Naomi muses. “She drinks enough of it.”

“Mm. She’s enigmatic. A vintage port on two legs.”

A smile steals its way back onto his lips. She’s been a good little bard, playing along with his game. Astarion angles a glance her way, letting his voice drop husky.

“And then, there’s the lovely Naomi Tavriel. A bouquet I’d know anywhere for the rest of my days.”

She blinks back at him, wary, but spellbound nonetheless.

“I could say she tastes of soft-crushed lavender and sharp, vibrant citrus. But I’d only be telling a thimble of the truth,” Astarion says in a rough-edged whisper. “Her blood sings. She is a tremble on the tongue. A current with sweetness so consuming, all that’s after can only be bitter.”

It works too well, this poetry in lieu of flattery. The twangy pitter-patter of her heartbeat gives her away, though her expression stays tamed. Her tongue darts out to wet the plump curve of her lower lip while he watches. Their gazes meet, and the daintiest pastel pink melts across her cheeks.

He only told a thimble of the truth, after all; Naomi’s blood in his mouth hardly painted the world in bitterness. On the contrary, it cast everything before in dull monochrome, and everything after in vivid, throbbing flavor. Possibility. Potential. Power. It all roared awake in his veins with only one taste.

His next words are brimming in nothing but honesty.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like,” he says wistfully, “to ever have enough of you.”

“Better,” Naomi says beneath her breath, before her eyes flutter shut.

Unbidden, Astarion’s eyes close, too. His delectable daydreams dissolve into plummeting darkness. Warmth envelopes him. When his eyes tear open again, he sees furling heat instead of misty starlight.

Astarion’s lungs burn in some old instinct for air as he breaks the surface of Naomi’s memory. Gasping, he bobs in water of brilliant, simmering turquoise. Salt burns his eyes. He blinks feverishly. The scent of fresh earth and moss turns in his nose.

His bare toes scrabble against the pebbled lakebed. Panic bubbles up in the back of his throat. He can’t swim. Not really. Not that he’s tried to, in the past two hundred or so years. He finds a solid foothold and stills, eyes sweeping his steam-kissed surroundings.

No reflection shimmers in the shallow water as clear as a mirror. Silver fish as thin as hairs dart past his ankles. A steady tremor ripples across the surface, tingling pleasantly against his submerged legs.

Reeds rustle behind him. Winged bugs flutter between, unbothered by his presence. Butterflies, he thinks, but then he frowns. Their wings are leathery. Bat-like, but beautiful in deep jewel tones of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. And it’s fungus they flit between, not grasses; it grows in narrow, perforated tubes of luminous yellow. The tiniest breeze plays the fronds like flutes.

Far from his safe haven in the shallows, a waterfall veils the cliffs in delicate silver. Astarion’s neck aches as he cranes back, following the stream to a split in the rocky ceiling and up, up, away into infinite darkness. Perhaps it tumbles down from the heavens themselves. Its roar could rival a dragon's.

Past the falls, the faint glimmer of blue torchlight catches his eye. If he squints, he can make out the rough shape of crystalline spires twined with indigo rock and veiny, black stalactites. A standard hangs from the stonework, set with a familiar symbol. Naomi said it was a temple. She used to wear the emblem of the dark dancer strung around her neck, before she gave her amulet of Eilistraee away to the hag.

A softer sound drifts through the pouring percussion of the falls. Music. It emanates from the temple, washing gently over his ears like a slant of sunlight.

Astarion’s eyelids grow heavy. Cool air, damp with mist, caresses his cheeks. He could happily stay here for hours, swirled in warmth, mesmerized by the drumming falls, ears peeled towards the faint tease of a fiddle. But a flurry of splashing on the nearby shore shatters his piece of peace.

Astarion whips his head around to see a storm of children bearing down on the lake. Water sloshes, frothy with their reckless abandon. A scrawny half-dozen drow, none older than a decade, blunder past him. Astarion grates out a bristling groan none of them seem to hear.

His attention latches to a little girl, white hair knotted atop her head, strings of it sticking wet against the angled ears she hasn’t quite grown into. She wades ahead of her comrades, jaw set, her lilac nose scrunched with a warrior’s determination.

He knows her, even without her freckles, or the birds tattooed on her cheek. It’s not so different from the way Naomi looked him over, fangs and all, before she shoved her way into his own memories.

Naomi leaves her friends behind in knee-deep depths. She swims on, striking out towards a splinter of radiance searing the blue water near-white. Sunlight, he realizes with a pinch of surprise. The tiniest, hairline slice of it.

“Touch it!” One of the children calls out, hands cupped to his mouth.

“I dare you!” Another shouts.

Snickers follow. “She’s too scared.”

“She’s not. Look -- look!”

Astarion tenses. Naomi stills, treading water just a few inches from that slash of sun. She reaches out a trembling hand. Light bleeds across her fingertips.

Bat-winged butterflies burst from the reeds. Naomi’s scream bounds off the stone. Astarion’s ears ring raw with it, even after the shriek cuts to crickets.

A sudden chill plunges him back to the present. Astarion shifts around a shiver, scowling. Rough bark rubs between his shoulder blades. The starlit summer evening in the forest feels tepid now. Not nearly so warm as the brilliant waters were.

“That was…breathtaking,” he mutters mournfully. “Until you broke it. What in all the hells was that wailing about?”

Naomi’s laugh is an easy one. “I thought it melted my skin. I’d never seen it that shade. I’d never seen myself in the sun at all.”

“My, my. We are birds of a feather, it seems. Though, your little venture didn’t result in you roasting,” Astarion says, lip curled. “It’s quite different, I promise you.”

“O-Of course,” Naomi stammers hastily. “But it was enough to keep me in the Underdark for some time.”

“How long did you choose to stay in the dark? I wouldn’t know what that luxury is like.”

“Well, I’m nearing a century and a quarter, and I only surfaced about eighteen months ago,” she says, toeing the dirt. “Strictly speaking, it was a choice to stay down there. But we don’t always realize what it is we’re choosing. Especially when we’ve never known any different. Especially when we’re afraid.”

Astarion swallows the sudden lump in his throat, gaze flitting down and away to his own feet. His hands itch, restless, until they find the stowed needle again and take once more to stitching. He barely has to glance at the hole in his shirt sleeve to pull it neatly closed with thread, but he does, anyway, just to have reason to look elsewhere.

“You’re not wrong,” he sighs, irritation relenting to weariness. “And a year and a half isn’t long in the light.”

It would be a mere drop in the bucket in his centuries of torment. Barely a ripple in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that could make up for the rest of it. But what a gift it would be, to have that much sunlight.

He should be so lucky.

“It’s not like there isn’t light down there at all,” she murmurs. “Just not much from the sun.”

“A vampire’s dream, indeed.” Astarion answers, hollow.

“When the freckles came, I thought I was dying, you know,” Naomi laughs again, but it sounds flimsy, like a board bent near breaking. “I wrote home and everything. Said my goodbyes. Felt like a fool once I figured it out.”

Astarion pauses his stitching, the corner of his mouth curving in spite of his envy. If she let out such a shriek from that little leak of light, he can only imagine the kind of caterwauling that came out of her when she was fully bathed in it for the first time.

His tentative smile comes with a strange twist of sympathy. That day, on the beach, with the sand seared white with high noon, and his own skin blessedly unburnt, Astarion had run for the shadows as if Cazador himself hounded his heels. He’d wanted to laugh. To retch. To cower. To dance. All at once.

“It’s a jarring change,” he says, glancing her way again. She’s pensieve. And staring quite intently at the needle poised between his fingers, dipping in and out of his sleeve.

“Lots of drow get sunsick,” she says quietly. “Some never get over it.”

“Some fare just fine, it seems. The sun suits you as well as the stars do, darling.”

Naomi’s eyes flicker to his. He wonders, with a sharp pinch beneath his ribs, what she sees when she says so earnestly, “Likewise, Astarion.”

Dismay sinks in his chest as she peels her eyes away to the trees and a new knot bends her brow. He loathes the weight of the feeling. Loathes, even more, that it struck all the harder for having caught him by surprise.

“You’re having a terrible time up here, aren't you?” he asks gently.

“It’s not a walk in the park down there, either,” she says flatly. “None of those other kids you saw with me ever saw the sun again. They didn’t live long enough to have a chance.”

Astarion’s heard how harsh the Underdark can be. The slice she showed him was brimming with beauty. And he knows well enough the cruelty of pretty things.

“But you thought it would be different,” he says. “That all of this would be different.”

“Ever since--” Naomi stops short, jaw clenching. “Well, something about all the undead, scheming devils, murderous githyanki, and hungry vampires is making it hard to sleep at night.”

“Sleep?” Astarion raises a brow. Something you don’t want to see in a trance? He wonders, but he doesn’t ask.

It’s another aversion they’re both familiar with.

“We’re all having a terrible time, Astarion,” she sighs, voice wrung raw. “We’ve been tadpoled, for fuck’s sake.”

“Speak for yourself. I happen to be flourishing. In no small part thanks to you.”

He shifts, ostensibly to stitch another hole he’s spied in his sleeve. But the motion lets their shoulders brush. Just the barest stroke of skin over skin. Her breath hitches softly enough, keener ears wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m grateful, you know,” he says just as softly.

Astarion’s needle sinks into the fabric again, pulling the gap closed. Naomi adjusts her seat against the tree. Oh sweet thing, he thinks, as her shoulder settles warm against his and stays that way. How long since you’ve been touched, if all it takes is just the one to have you hooked? He feels an odd strain of sadness alongside his swell of victory.

What a lucky thing she is, to know such sanctuary in her own body. How lucky she is, that he knows just the touch to make her feel holy in it.

Any good spell has three ingredients. She’s already succumbed to the somatic component. One touch started a thirst for more. She’d shared her blood, binding them in something material. All that’s left is to say the magic words.

Astarion toys with them in his mind, shuffling innuendos like a deck of cards. I could show you a much better time. Show you how grateful a hungry vampire can be. Help you sate your own hunger, so to speak. Don’t you think you deserve some fun too, darling? A little treat for my little treat.

Naomi clears her throat pointedly. “I don’t know you half as well as I should, to have been half as helpful as I’ve been.”

Oh, I was thinking we could get to know each other intimately--

“Tell me something about yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion stiffens. The magic of the moment expires, but he doesn’t mourn it.

“I won’t tell you about ‘home’,” he says curtly. “If you want to know about the Gate, ask Wyll, and he’ll recite half its history. But, after what happened with that awful Gur, I suppose you should know about Cazador.”

He tells her, sparsely, of his life when he still knew sunlight. The little he remembers fits in one mouthful. She interrupts to ask if he can still see that life in reverie.

“No, I can’t,” he answers sharply. “And I can’t see any of my prior lives, either. If I do manage to die, I won’t have another life after this. Arvandor doesn’t take souls sullied with undeath.”

That shuts her up for a good while. Arvandor doesn’t take drow, either. Kindred spirits thrice over, he thinks ruefully. Shunned by sunlight, sleep, and salvation.

He tells her of his untimely death at the hands of vagrants. Of Cazador’s Szarr’s too-perfect timing. The only choice he thought he had, and one he never would have made, if he could do it over again.

Most of all, he tells her of his tormentor. Astarion finds that once he’s started the telling, it all spills from his mouth with a feverish momentum. He speaks as if he’s running downhill; it has more to do with gravity, pulling him down from dizzying height, than any of his own volition. It falls out of him with the stony weight of inevitability.

He’s left with a familiar, noxious dread at the bottom of his belly, at the end of it all. He doesn’t look at her, sure he can’t stomach her pity after sloughing through that mountain of shit. She doesn’t say anything he thought she might.

Instead, she says, “You’re very good at that, you know.”

Astarion’s head jerks up to trace her gaze to his own hands, with the needle still fitted between his fingers. “I had to be,” he blurts without meaning to. He scowls darkly. “Hm. I do hope you were paying attention to my words as well as my hands. I won’t be repeating myself.”

Naomi’s expression hardens. He thinks of her as a little girl again, striking fearlessly into the unknown. Shrieking when it bit her. “If Cazador comes calling, he won’t find you alone, Astarion.”

A laugh punches from his lungs. “And what do you think you’re going to do about it, dear? If he wanted to, he’d kill everyone in this camp like that.” He snaps his fingers, teeth clenched.

Naomi studies him carefully. “I guess we’ll have to get creative, then. Or, at the very least, you’ll have good company on your way out. And a good last supper. You can feed from me when you need to, you know. As long as we talk about it first.”

Astarion flounders. “T-That sounds…eminently reasonable. And so very delicious.”

“Mm. I’ve heard from a reputable poet that I taste so good, nothing else does,” she says wryly.

Her eyes drift shut as she leans heavily against the tree they share. His shoulder takes some of the burden of her, too. Astarion allows it.

She’s been such a generous thing. And her warmth is a balm to the disquiet riled by that same generosity. Astarion’s stomach knots. Every sweet thing he’s known has been a bitter one, too. If not during, then after.

He rubs the needle between the pads of his fingers, staring out into the space between the trees while the black of night bleeds into morning blue. Birds take to shrill song and flapping among the branches. Except for the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat, his little bard stays quiet as the grave. Too quiet. He’s acutely aware of her hair, loose from her bun, trailing over his collar. Tickling like a feather to his neck.

She’s too soft. Too pretty to be anything but poison. Too sweet to be anything but bitter in the end. Astarion means to end it here, while it’s still the former. He’ll ply pleasure and loyalty from her another night.

He glances down.

“Oh.” He blinks, dumbfounded. “Oh no. No, no.”

Astarion goes rigid, throat thick. She’s asleep. At long last.

She twitches fitfully. It’s not a good sleep. Elves aren’t usually that good at sleeping at all, unless they’ve practiced like he has. But better she has bad sleep than none at all. Someone has to say things to the druid, Halsin, tomorrow. They’ll need their leader to lead.

And Astarion needs to finish the spell he started. She’ll need to be rested. Ready for him.

Once she settles, he’ll leave. She’ll never know the difference. Easy enough.

So he waits. He watches the wrinkle in her brow. The restless fussing of her legs. Glares at her gods awful shoes, steaked in dried blood and dirt. Glares at her pouty, purple face. Contemplates if her horrible footwear should be fed to fire or to wolves.

Gingerly, he leans forward just enough to rid her feet of said shoes. He throws them to the woods with a vehemence. She doesn’t stir even slightly. But he stays, with his body pulled taut as a bowstring, in case, any second, she might. So he can be gone before she bats her eyes open.

Astarion’s not sure how long he stares at the slow rise and fall of her chest, or the smush of her cheek against his steel-stiff shoulder. But it’s been enough time that when Gale’s shadow washes over him, Astarion has to squint when he looks up. Daylight and a seething wizard glare back.

“What?” Astarion hisses, wincing as stiffness prickles along his neck.

Gale’s eyes burn between Astarion and the still-sleeping Naomi. Gingerly, Astarion shirks free of her at last. He stands, dusting off his breeches. Gale unfurls the blanket he came bearing and tucks it to cover Naomi’s bare toes.

“Oh, let her be,” the vampire chides, as he makes for the cave and Gale stays rooted. “She’ll wake soon enough.”

“Perhaps someone should stay--”

“I can hear her pretty little heartbeat from inside the cave just as well as I heard your snoring from all the way out here.” Astarion sneers. “I’ll know the moment she wakes. Or if she finds her way into trouble again.”

It’s far too easy to pluck on Gale’s nerves. Far too much fun to stop. Reluctantly, the wizard falls into step beside Astarion, leaving their bard to her makeshift rest. As soon as she slips from sight, Gale’s lecture starts in earnest.

“If she chooses to help with your hunger, then so be it,” he fumes. “But after such a trying day as yesterday, I won’t stand idly by while you leech--”

“I kept my teeth to myself, thank you,” Astarion says blithely. “It was our fearless leader who came seeking my calming company, if you must know. Poor thing couldn’t trance all by her lonesome. Something a fellow elf can understand like others can’t.”

Gale isn’t going to have any of his own teeth left if he insists on grinding them so roughly. Astarion grins widely, letting the points of his fangs peek from his lips.

“Maybe,” Astarion croons, “she didn’t seek you out since you won’t shut up about ‘making transcendent love to Mystra’ for more than five minutes. You should really curb that habit, or your goddess will be the last lay you ever have, you know. No one wants to hear about how good your ex was.”

“Naomi’s a good person, Astarion,” Gale answers tersely. “And I'd wager she’s been through more than she’s letting on. If comfort is what she wants and what you’re offering, then by all means, make merry. But if you mean to take more than you give--”

Astarion barks a laugh, bracing a palm against his own chest. “Gods, Gale, really? You’ve come around on my thirst for blood, but it’s my more mundane hungers you have a problem with? Well, fret not. I’m a consummate lover.”

Gale flushes to a perfect, pained pink. Astarion snickers beneath his breath. He brushes past his mortified magician to peruse the loot they’d gathered from the goblins’ fortress.

“And besides,” Astarion drawls devilishly, “all we did was talk. All night long. No wonder she’s so tired.”

“Is there something in particular you’re scavenging for?” Gale grumbles.

Astarion paws through the crates, past crusted chainmail, crude clubs, and flimsy maces. Finally, he finds his prize.

“She needs shoes. These will do nicely.”

They’re sturdy, at least. What the plain leather boots lack in character, they make up for in not falling apart. And they should actually fit her. An improvement for Naomi, to be sure. But Astarion can do better.

He takes them back to his tent and sets them aside while he roots through his stash of thread. Green isn’t her color. Black would blend too close to the dark shade of the shoes. Red, of course, looks lovely on her but--

Astarion stills, turning over a spool of blue. It isn’t the same vivid shade as the lake she showed him. But it’s bright like a sunlit sky. Astarion takes a needle in hand, and takes to stitching sharp-tipped swirls, reminiscent of waves, into the leather.

When he’s done, she’s still asleep. She stiffens, suddenly, at his approach, groaning her displeasure. Astarion freezes.

He’s gone before she bats her eyes open. The grass is still flat where he sat beside her before, and where the boots now rest in his stead.

A/N: I truly do have nothing against Gale, but it’s just too much fun to have Astarion harass him, hehe.

I’ll tease that for those of you chomping at the bit for the ‘eventual smut’ tag to come to fruition. You won’t have to wait much longer ;)

If you want something spicy to keep you sated in the meantime, I did recently post a smutty Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride evil power couple one-shot called “Blood in the Mortar”. I’ve also got a multichapter in the works for them that I intend to get drafted further ahead on before sharing.

I love each and every one of you who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. Seriously means so much to know I’m not writing in a vacuum. I appreciate you all, and hope life is being kind to you!

Divider credit to @cafekitsune.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #naomi tavriel #midnight chimes #my writing

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chaoticbardlady99 · 4 months

Text

Lethal Woman- Chapter 9 (Astarion x GN! Daywalker Vampire reader) MDNI 18+

Author note- I deleted so many drafts. This is not really edited. I don’t like this one much but it’s the best I have right now. Hopefully the next chapter is better.

CW: Violence, gore, torture, oral sex (female receiving), mentions of sexual trauma, fluffy (?)

Chapter Ten

Everyday in the Underdark is worse than the last. On the first day- the various creatures and the requests were easy to deal with.

On the second day, you had made friends with the local Myconid colony and began helping the locals. You and Astarion are happy and healing together- putting together your future plans and he finds an excuse for you to stay in his tent every night. You and your other companions have lots of fun together for the most part. You all enjoy several bottles of wine and some of Halsin’s ‘special nature leaves’ as you and Astarion have begun to call it. The food is good, the company is good, and you feel good.

For once- despite the tadpole in your head- you felt truly genuinely happy and at home.

Until you went to sleep on the third night.

You woke up entirely inconsolable and you couldn’t breathe. Dahlia was here and you could tell because your dreams were… grotesque.

You thought she would continue to terrorize you with your guilt about losing Tessa if you crossed paths, but instead, she showed you Astarion.

He was being torn apart with Cazador’s knife as Dahlia helped rip the flesh off the bone. He is fighting back so hard, but it’s too late. Dahlia and Cazador have killed him, mutilated him, and turned him into a zombified version of himself. It was a threat- a promise.

You’ve seen this dream in different and more grotesque variations every night after the third night since you arrived in the Underdark 8 days ago. You feel insane and on edge. Dahlia keeps telling you that your companions despise you- you really are beginning to believe it.

You are a selfish horrible creature? Why would they want to protect you? Once you have outlived your usefulness- they will all drop you.

But I won’t abandon you because I love you.

Dahlia is constantly finding ways into your head to crack you. On the second day, she began twisting people’s words. You had to ask them to repeat sentences several times because you couldn’t believe what your ears were hearing. Dahlia was able to break you enough to convince you that every word that she warped from your companions’ mouth was actually what they were saying to you.

Astarion and Karlach had been the worst- Karlach made an appearance in your dream the night before and you had to sit and watch as she fought in the blood war because you led Zariel to her- you are a selfish creature who gets all your loved ones killed because you can’t let go.

Astarion holds onto you as you bite into your arm and disappear into yourself the first two nights, trying not to scream as the nightmares slowly pull you farther and farther from your reality. You could feel him flinch with every painful bite your jaw leaves on your arm. Your skin was completely destroyed, but you couldn’t stop.

If you scream- it will only get worse and Dahlia will hurt you more. She keeps explicitly telling you that and you are far too tired to think rationally- let her think for you. You are 13 again and you resent it.

You have absolutely no doubt in your mind after day 3 that Dahlia is after you. This was one of the ways Dahlia had picked you apart when you were 13. You aren’t sure how she is able to insert herself so easily into your mind now, but this is how it begins- Nightmares.

Then, she goes after your ability to eat. You had hoped the tadpole would prevent it, but apparently the secret dream visitor only wants to help if it benefits them.

After she has stripped you down to your bones, she begins the physical abuse and training.

No matter how much you are suffering, you merely told your companions that you just were adjusting to the new environment. You just aren’t good with change. You don’t want them knowing a psychotic vampire could break into camp at any point and massacre them all. Dahlia had thoroughly managed to persuade you enough to believe they all secretly despise you and are waiting for an excuse to kick you out. Especially Astarion. She tells you he thinks about it everyday.

The words he would say were constantly twisted to tell you how awful he thinks you are, how much of an easy fuck you are, and every horrible thing that ‘he’ thinks you deserve. You became hyper paranoid around him- refusing to be close by but also still dreaming about him dying a horrible, slow death almost every night.

Astarion kept trying to get you to come back and sleep with him in his tent, asking you to come cuddle with him, saying he’ll protect you while you sleep but you would sit, shivering from the fear hibernating in your bones and stare at the fire- jumping at every sound.

When he had tried again on the 5th day- you had gone absolutely ballistic and refused to be near him. He looked heartbroken, but you think you are saving you both the trouble.

“No!,” you had hissed, “you are selfish and obnoxious. Besides- why would I want to be with the likes of you?”

Your current regret was not saying anything and now you are too scared to say anything.

This is what ultimately leads to where you are now- throwing up violently and shaking because Tessa’s severed head had been staring up at you from the cauldron.

You had screamed bloody murder- then you put your arms and hands all the way into the boiling hot water, giving yourself skin melting burns, but you weren’t even aware of that. All you could hear is her screaming for you to save her and you are desperate to.

More and more of Tessa keeps coming up to the surface and it’s so real. You are screaming her name- begging the voice of Dahlia in your head to stop hurting her.

Astarion was able to wrestle your arms back to your sides, and as Shadowheart and Halsin made quick work of healing your arms- you began panicking and having tunnel vision because you screamed and you are not allowed to scream- before you ultimately began dry heaving and vomiting up stomach acid. You clench your eyes shut- you cannot show you are in pain.

“Ha! I’ll show you pain!”

The memory hits you like a bus and you don’t know how it happened, but she has broken you. One year of freedom was completely erased by 5 days of torment.

You collapse onto the ground- pulling yourself away from Astarion, and begin to scream in agony for your parents- covering your face like a child- as she changes your hallucination. You watch your mom’s deceased corpse being eaten by pigs while your dad continues to be decapitated over and over again. Astarion’s screams of pain fill the background and Karlach’s resentment towards you is scraping at your skin as your ‘friend’ is telling you how much you deserve this- how you are the reason Zariel was able to get her back. You killed her.

You can feel your broken sobs and you are belligerently begging to be left alone, to go back home please. You miss your tent- you miss your simple life and the streets of Westgate. You wish you could go back to the night before- the last night you truly lived.

Dahlia still won after this entire time and you don’t care anymore. Just like 10 years ago.

The realization hurts, but she pushes it out of your mind with her next sentence. Fear grips your heart, but you can’t get yourself to tell anyone what is happening to you. You can’t trust anyone.

Don’t worry child, I love you and I’m going to bring you home.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion is beyond worried for you at this point. You had gone from being this bright light in your group of melancholic anti-heroes to a completely terrified, paranoid shell of yourself.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Halsin identified the cause- someone had put a curse on you at some point. Halsin theorizes that you have been carrying around this curse for a while considering the individual has to be able to physically carve this curse into your bones for it to be a spell that can be manipulated to be on or off- provided the original bestower is still alive and within the same region.

The curse was Insidious Insomnia- it had allowed this person to access your dreams and slowly build upon them because you were going mad from exhaustion and nightmares you wouldn’t show Astarion- no matter how much he begs you to let him back in.

Gale put together that a Hallucinate spell is probably what caused you to see whatever you saw in the Cauldron.

Gale revealed a new chilling detail- whoever this is must be around their camp often and they are coming by more because you are getting worse and worse. Also Hallucinate was not a wide range spell.

You had pushed Astarion away and that broke his heart.

You had told him to go fuck himself, if you “were that easy of a fuck” then why not just take advantage like the selfish asshole he is, and how he is worth absolutely nothing to you- how he is a fool for even trusting you. Astarion had been so confused. He had never said any of that to you.

At first he resented you- how dare you trick him into stumbling head over heels just to pull the rug out from underneath him. You gave him hope- talked about traveling and seeing the world with him. He had definitely sat in his tent and cried- not having enough energy or willpower to go kill anything, but also feeling so ashamed of himself for even thinking he could ever open up his heart to someone in the first place. Cazador was right- he was a pathetic boy.

He hated you and cared for you all at the same time and it was painful. Astarion was trying to figure out what went wrong- then it began happening to Karlach not even an hour later. She had run up to Astarion’s tent in tears asking if he knew what she had done wrong. The fact that you were suddenly dropping both him and Karlach at the same time with irrational reasoning behind it was too convenient. Something had to be wrong.

You were hostile with the others as well, but it was not nearly as bad. It was like the more you care about the person, the worse your revulsion to them is.

It was a lot easier to breathe when everyone had all agreed that your behavior was incredibly bizarre and abnormal. It’s entirely possible you don’t mean a single word you said to him and that gives him hope (stupidly enough). The you he is grieving and missing is still there underneath a horrible curse.

Halsin, Gale, and Shadowheart were all frustrated- trying to come up with some solution because none of them are okay with watching you suffer. Everyone in camp cares about you- even if they don’t particularly care about each other - because you take the time to know them, learn from them, and make them feel important.

Astarion is the most frustrated that there isn’t a solution in sight. Everything had been amazing up until the third night in the Underdark. Now it’s day 8 and he doesn’t recognize you anymore. Watching your pain is unbearable and he knows he eventually needs to talk to you about how he feels- if you ever come back to him.

Astarion had begun to slowly accept his feelings as he would do silly little things for you- like braid your hair differently, trying to make you laugh, helping you clean your armor, and he would stitch up your low quality shit that he knows you can afford to replace- which he will be making you when you arrive at Baldur’s Gate.

This is not you. He knows you and something has to be very wrong for this to be happening. It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but he is scared to truly lose the first real companion he’s ever found. He adores you and he knows you adore him- it will be okay.

Karlach is sitting next to your angry, thrashing figure as Shadowheart tries to bind your arms and legs for your safety- she’s trying to remind you of all the stuff the two of you had gone through together since meeting, but you are gone and screaming at her to stop fucking lying.

“I CANT TRUST YOU,” you scream and spit at the top of your lungs, your voice cracking, “ALL OF YOU ARE FUCKING LIARS- LIARS!!!”

Karlach got up and looked at him with tears in her eyes. Astarion knows they’ll be talking about all of this later- the two of them depending on each other to get through watching you become something that is unrecognizable.

“Fancy seeing you here- nin nikym mor .”

*elven translation literally means my (Nin), Dagger (Nikym), Darkness/ the True Death (mor). What I hope the sentence says is ‘my dagger of darkness’

Her voice runs down his spine like a fever. Astarion immediately knows who the woman is without having to look.

“What do you want Dahlia,” you manage to hiss through the delirium

“Oh just that little Spawn of Cazador’s” Dahlia looks at Astarion before she gives you a disconcerting smile, “I am so excited to see you nin úvanimo. I do miss the old you though. You looked so much better with corpse eyes. So much more…. Empty.”

(*elvish here translates to my Monster.)

Astarion feels fire burning up under his skin. This is the woman who has tortured Rowan for the last 11 years.

You look different now- you look really fucking pissed actually.

“So go on my little úvanimo,” Dahlia coos, “kill the Spawn and I’ll release you from your curse.”

“Over my dead body,” you snarl in an animalistic manner.

Astarion looks at you with surprise and realizes something- Dahlia may be able to twist your perspective on everyone else’s point of view, but she will always be Dahlia. Predictable, malicious Dahlia. There isn’t a single anxiety to have there.

And Astarion, despite whatever you think he thinks of you currently, will always be Astarion. You will protect him- despite how horrific you feel and the offer on the table. You are in so much pain and you are declining to turn him over to be saved. Astarion would kiss you if he didn’t think you’d physically rip his lower lip off with your teeth at the moment.

Dahlia glowers at you, “I’m sorry- I think I might have misheard you.

“I’m going to give you a second chance- go fet-“

“No,” you gasp in pain as a wave of red energy goes pulsing through your body, “get out of my head- now.”

“Pft! None of these people love you- you fucking moron,” Dahlia begins to step forward and Astarion steps to block you from her, “especially not this little fucking joke of a Spawn.”

Dahlia continues to try to glare past Astarion, suddenly making a hand motion that makes her eyes glow an even brighter red, “you will obey-“

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!!!!!” You scream, your voice contorted, “GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD!”

The abrupt outburst causes all of them to look at you, but Astarion makes sure to glance at Dahlia. He can’t help, but feel satisfied by her expression.

Dahlia has a look of realization- it won’t matter how much she tortures you. She has created the perfect killing machine, has tortured you for months like this, and all it did was teach you how to fight through the pain, her commands, and exhaustion. On top of it all- she made you an Apex predator by turning you into a Deathbringer. Dahlia had taught you- molded you- too well and it is about to be her undoing.

Dahlia starts to fling cantrip after cantrip at you and, while it is an impressive display of power, your ability to dodge and weave through your mad haze was a thousand times more worthy of being sung about by the bards. You fling her against a tree and right as you go to land the final blow- your jagged, broken dagger in hand- Dahlia glows bright red and flings a ray of enfeeblement at you.

“Blood magic,” Wyll says in horror.

The twisted magic went through the air so fast you didn’t really have any time to react before it hit you. The scream that leaves Astarion’s mouth is foreign to his own ears. You fall to your knees- evidently in a lot of pain and you cry out.

Then the first several stabs happen- Astarion begins sprinting in Dahlia’s direction when she sends him flying painfully against the concrete wall.

It knocks the wind out of Astarion and his whole body is throbbing in pain, but he is fighting to get up. His vision is swimming in black dots. Your screams are filling the air and Astarion’s thoughts become murderous.

As his vision improves- he sees the rest of their companions fighting more twisted Deathbringers. There are a lot of them, but they are slaughtering them with ease. His attention moves back to you.

“Remember the rules? If you scream- I get to hurt you even more. If you are quiet,” Dahlia slits your vocal chords and a guttural noise leaves your mouth, “I will stop. And do you remember why,” she stabs you, “we,” another stab with a twist this time, “have these rules?!”

You painfully nod and she slams your head into the concrete, Astarion is going to be sick. He has to get up or he is going to watch you die and be taken away to die at his former master’s hands by this terrible woman.

“I don’t think you do- you arrogant,” another stab,”shit!”, she slams your head into the floor again, “That insubordinate Spawn of Cazador’s has tainted you- ruined you. You are a weapon! My weapon! You will treat me with fucking respect! I made you WHAT YOU ARE!”

Dahlia slams your head against the concrete one last time- you are fighting the urge to scream and Astarion is finally up right. His head is throbbing, his body aches, but none of it quells the unrelenting fury consuming him.

Dahlia is outraged and isn’t paying attention to her surroundings. Astarion can very easily work with that.

Dahlia picks you up by the back of your collar, dragging you behind her, and you are basically limp. You are whimpering and silent tears are falling down your face.

Dahlia begins to walk towards the way she came from with you being roughly scraped across the ground.

“I can’t wait to watch the look on your face when he dies screaming,” she seethes, “I thought it was a little joke of Cazador’s- you and his Spawn fancying each other. You insufferable haaku-“

*Haaku means idiot in Elvish

Dahlia hits the ground and releases the back of your shirt because of the force Astarion hits her with. Astarion hits Dahlia with every amount of strength he has- breaking her long sword in the process.

Dahlia says something in Elvish- harnessing some form of magic and as she lets it go- Astarion casts Fire Bolt. They create an explosion and only Astarion goes flying backwards- the majority of the blast being sent back towards him.

Astarion’s vision is doubled as he watches Dahlia stalk towards him. He knows life isn’t fair and maybe under different circumstances- he’d appreciate Dahlia’s shenanigans and her inability to play fair, but right now it’s just really infuriating. He’s going to fucking die, you are going to die, or worse- she’ll make you Cazador’s spawn and you’ll experience the same torture he has until Astarion can save you.

“DAHLIA!”

The woman whirls around in the direction of her name. You are standing there shakily- your clothes are completely blood soaked.

They all watch in silence as Dahlia stares into your wild eyes with fear- your vampiric stare boring into hers. You are practically rattling- whether from exhaustion or anger, Astarion has no idea.

You get close to her much quicker than Astarion thinks anyone anticipated- despite her grasp on you and the multitude of stab wounds- you run your hidden blades into her chest and the soft part of her jaw. You are snarling at her and paralyzing her with terror.

Astarion swears that you are the most beautiful creation in existence as you bare your teeth at her with a wide, malicious grin. He could not be more proud to know you.

Dahlia is gurgling on the ground as you take two ragged steps backwards and cast flaming hands on her- her gurgling becomes akin to screams of terror before dying away completely.

You slowly turn around and Astarion remains frozen- not wanting you to be startled.

You smile at him briefly before coughing up blood and collapsing to the ground.

Astarion has never run faster in his life.

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

The smell of bergamot, rosemary, and brandy floods your nose as you slowly blink awake. You must be in Astarion’s tent.

You are exhausted. Everything hurts- even your head which is currently pounding.

“Soldier,” Karlach whispers fearfully, “are you back with us?”

It comes back to you now. You killed Dahlia. Actually you more so wiped her from existence entirely, but you don’t know how you had been able to put yourself together just enough to get up and fight. You couldn’t let Dahlia have another chance to turn you into something hollow and miserable so you did the only thing you knew how to do- you rolled with the punches as she taught you and you killed your mark. Maybe if it hadn’t been her, Dahlia would have actually been proud.

You look up at Karlach and the fog Dahlia had been forcing you to look through was gone. Your mind is not terrified or clouded in paranoia. You cry and smile brightly and Karlach beams.

“I- I’m back,” you say roughly, “I- you don’t hate me?”

“Gods no!” Karlach says, “what in the world would make you think that!? I love you to pieces! I would do anything for you! You are never ever allowed to believe I hate you ever again- you hear me!?”

You break down completely and hold Karlach’s gloved hand. Karlach doesn’t hate you. Karlach still loves you and is still your best friend. Dahlia had been lying.

Before you can even begin to calm down, you hear the tent open, and Astarion is pulling you into him and just holds you. You weakly hold him back and cry into his neck. You feel his own tears paint the delicate skin of your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “I am so so sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Shhhhhhhh, Darling,” he whispers into your ear, “you are okay, I am okay- we are okay. I’m just so happy to have you back.”

You breathe a sigh of relief- camp is home again. Camp is safe.

All you have ever wanted is peace and to feel safe- two things you were denied up until a few hours ago. You want to hate Dahlia despite all the torture and pain she has inflicted upon you- you just couldn’t.

All you feel when you think about her now is peace. She is gone and you are finally free.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion can’t help but kiss you like he’s starving. He is- he needs you. He doesn’t necessarily feel like having sex, but he wants to be as close to you as he possibly can right now.

You aren’t pulling at his clothes or touching his back. Your hands are simply tangled up in his hair and you are matching his same, needy and slow pace. Eventually you have to pull back for air and Astarion begins to kiss along your jaw and neck- nipping the sensitive skin.

“Are you hungry?” You ask.

Astarion freezes and looks at you in bewilderment.

“Darling, you just basically came back from the dead- less than 24 hours ago, mind you- and you are asking me if I’m hungry?”

“I suppose I am!” You say matter of factly, “Astarian Acunin- ARE YOU HUNGRY?!”

Astarion smiles in spite of himself and chuckles before putting another soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“I am starving,” he says breathily and relishes in the vibrations of the giggles that come from your beautiful, swollen lips.

“Then drink,” you say while stroking his hair, “don’t think about yesterday. I want to do this for you.”

Astarion hums against your neck and begins kissing over the spot where your pulse is the strongest. Astarion has begun to trust that you aren’t hiding anything from him when you say you want to do something for him. You aren’t going to stake him, flay him, or feed him a rat- it’s not a trick question when it’s coming from you. You- for whatever reason- are fond of him and it has him on edge sometimes.

His thoughts are interrupted as your blood rushes into his mouth. The way you taste is overwhelming and insatiable all at once. You taste absolutely incredible- you remind him of a well-aged whiskey.

Astarion struggles to remain aware of how much of your blood he is taking- your hands stroking his hair and your hums of pleasure make him want to never stop.

Well, until he thinks he might have killed you- which he did accidentally kill you the first night and you really just haven’t let him live it down since. You think it’s hysterical and the only other person who found it as funny as you did was probably him (after lots of assurance it was all in good fun) and Karlach.

Astarion is determined to never make that mistake again, but you make it so difficult not to. Your reaction to him is electrifying and full of pleasure- it consumes him.

He stops as he feels your hands begin to loosen in his hair- knowing you won’t tell him to stop, but he needs to. He laps the flowing blood that comes from the wound until it is no longer bleeding.

Astarion looks down at you and smiles wildly- a drop of your blood falls on your forehead and you just start laughing.

Of all the people who he could have ended up on this journey with- he is glad it is you that survived that hellish Nautiloid ship. He can’t think of a single other person who would be able to laugh off all this bizarre vampire shit.

“What are you thinking about Star?” You sleepily ask.

Honestly? Astarion’s mind keeps being distracted by the way you look underneath him in his clothes.

Astarion had been very embarrassed when he asked you to wear his shirt to bed- you were freezing and your clothes were ruined from the brutal attack yesterday.

Now he is very grateful he had asked. Astarion feels like you are his when he looks at you in his shirt- not in an ownership way, but in a “I am yours and you are mine” kind of way.

Watching you succumb to madness and not being able to do anything was hellish- to say the least. Astarion had never felt more helpless and was beginning to worry that you were never coming back.

It’s alarming how much he likes you and how quickly he became smitten with you. While you were losing your mind- Astarion quickly realized he hates being without you. It’s incredibly lonely and boring. He also missed you sleeping in his tent- quickly becoming accustomed to it after a couple of days.

Astarion scans over you one last time- his shirt stops just below your navel and just barely shows your underwear. Astarion is grateful you neglected to wear a bra- the sight of your pert, sensitive nipples underneath his shirt is delicious.

He hums into your ear as he responds, “I was just thinking that you should wear my clothes to bed more often, my Sweet.”

The heat from your skin as you become flustered is one of Astarion’s favorite sensations.

“I guess if you are offering,” you say flirtly back, “I could take your shirt off your hands from time to time- give you one less thing to worry about for a night.”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “oh my beautiful Knight in Shining Armor, what would I ever do without you?”

You erupt in giggles and Astarion can’t help it- he immediately presses his lips to yours, swallowing your laughter as it turns into gasps as he bites your lower lip or slips his tongue in your mouth. He is so attracted to you and the way your laugh lights up your face only made you 1000x more incredible to look at.

You continue to respect his boundaries- allowing him to touch you and guide the ‘conversation’ as you had so awkwardly called it one time. Your companions quickly caught on to what Astarion meant every time he told you he needed to have a ‘conversation’ with you- many of them walking in on your school yard make out sessions.

You told Astarion that you find it rather funny that the whole camp thinks you have an absurd amount of sex when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You very rarely end up having sex together and when you do it’s really quite amazing, but you both enjoy kissing each other so much that he is easily content with that alone for hours or days on end- just kissing you doesn’t make all of those gross horrible feelings of self-loathing rear their ugly head like they do when you have sex.

The smell of your arousal hits Astarion’s nose as he continues to kiss you. He feels some guilt for not fucking you when he amps you up like this, but you are never upset about it.

He wonders if just pleasing you would make him feel self-loathing. Astarion has never had the luxury of actually choosing how he wants to engage with someone intimately up until he met you- considering you never initiate.

“Darling?”

“Yes Star?”

“Open your legs wider for me.”

You happily comply. Astarion moves one of his hands between the two of you and gently swipes at your clit- you gasp and arch your back into him.

He kisses down your jaw and leaves small love bites along your neck. His other hand slides up your shirt- eagerly pinching and rolling your nipples while making sure to pay attention to both.

Your keening is like music to his ears and he adores the way you look at him as he hovers over you.

Astarion removes your underwear and his cock hardens at the sight of your arousal.

You are soaking and panting with want. You get on your elbows and you look at him with a serious expression.

“Astarion.”

“Yes, my Dear?”

“You aren’t doing this because you feel like you have to- right?”

Astarion pauses and thinks about it for a second- if only to provide you with some comfort in knowing this is what he wants

“No,” Astarion muses, “I’m doing this because I need to taste you- desperately. I did tell you I was starving, didn’t I?”

You fumble and Astarion doesn’t even give you a moment to ask what he means before his tongue is circling your sensitive clit.

Astarion holds your hips down with his hands- gripping them just hard enough that you’ll have slight finger print shaped bruises along your hips.

Astarion begins to alternate between teasing your clit with his tongue and lapping at your sweet arousal between your folds.

“You taste so good, Darling.”

You say something incoherently between moans and Astarion hums in approval against your sensitive nub.

He inserts one of his fingers, curling it so that he barely brushes your g-spot, and works to coax every noise he can out of you.

You are a mess underneath him. Astarion makes a point of teasing the areas that cause you to grip his bedroll until your knuckles are almost ripping the fabric.

Astarion’s cock throbs as your fingers clench around him harder and harder as you get closer to your peak. He uses the ground underneath him to provide him with some relief. Astarion is close from watching your pleasure already, but the friction causes him to cum much faster than he wanted- your orgasm following close behind.

Astarion pulls himself up to your face and kisses you slowly. You hum in bliss against his lips and clasp your hands loosely behind his neck.

“And the verdict is?” Astarion says teasingly against your lips.

Astarion hopes he is able to hide his nervousness. He wants you to enjoy yourself and if this is pleasurable for you then he would certainly enjoy doing this again.

The feelings of guilt and shame were not nearly as strong this time. Everything that just occurred went exactly how Astarion wanted it to go and was exactly what he wanted. He just hopes it’s enough.

Astarion laughs into the crook of your neck and places soft kisses over the fresh bite wounds.

“Your mouth and fingers are good at too many things,” you say breathlessly, “I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried you’ll dominate the world one lock and snarky remark at a time.”

“So- should we revisit this particular conversation more in the future then?”

“Oh we will definitely have to revisit this conversation in the future.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #astarion romance #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #karlach #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion x gn! reader #astarion x AFAB!

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