#Shadowheart: Dying in her corner

[the-weeping-dawn]

Another htank you to Lae'zel for being the character whenever I need someone to need to ask exposition questions which would be more obvious to the rest of the group.

[impossible-rat-babies]

they got that incredulous swag

[aspenmissing]

Can I request headcanons for Karlach, Gale, Halsin, Astarion, poly Gale & Astarion, and poly Astarion & Halsin flustering her/his/their shy female s/o by showering her with kisses because she absolutely loves it but she's always feel extra bashful afterwards please?

ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ

ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ | ᴋᴀʀʟᴀᴄʜ | ʜᴀʟꜱɪɴ | ɢᴀʟᴇ | ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ/ɢᴀʟᴇ | ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ/ʜᴀʟꜱɪɴ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4692 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ʏᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ! ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀɪᴏɴ | ᴋᴀʀʟᴀᴄʜ | ʜᴀʟꜱɪɴ | ɢᴀʟᴇ

ASTARION

The fire crackled softly, casting a golden glow on the mossy rocks and worn leather bedrolls. Shadows danced on nearby trees like slow-moving ghosts, and the occasional breeze carried the scent of pine needles and smoldering embers. The night was calm—a rare, precious gift after a day marked by bloodshed and the screaming of the dying.

The others had drifted off to their corners of camp, either asleep or feigning it. Gale was mumbling in his sleep again, something about “Weave compatibility,” while Karlach’s snores rolled through the clearing like distant thunder. Shadowheart sat in her tent, quietly reading. Lae’zel had long since retreated to sharpen her blade—or her temper.

But not you. And certainly not Astarion.

You sat beside him near the fire, your knees drawn up, your hair slightly damp from a hasty rinse in the river. The ends curled softly in the heat. You’d just finished recounting a particularly mortifying story from your childhood—one Astarion had insisted on hearing, after expertly needling you into it with those teasing eyes and that unbearably smug smile.

“Oh gods,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the final detail slipped from your lips like a death sentence. “Why did I tell you that?”

Astarion let out a delighted laugh, sharp and musical, like chimes caught in a summer wind. It made your heart stutter, every time.

“My dear, that was positively adorable,” he cooed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Who knew the mighty, fearsome warrior of our little troupe once got her foot stuck in a pumpkin of all things?”

“Please,” you moaned, voice muffled by your hands. “Let me melt into the ground now.”

“But if you do,” he said, scooting closer, “how will I keep you all to myself?”

You peeked through your fingers to find him already far too close, the firelight reflecting off his pale skin like moonlight on silk. Instead of mocking you further, Astarion did something worse—far worse.

He reached out, gently taking your wrists in his cool hands, and pried your hands away from your face. His touch was light, reverent, as though you might vanish at the slightest protest. When your gaze met his, you forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“I simply can’t resist you when you’re like this,” he purred, his voice dropping into that dangerous velvet register. “All pink in the cheeks, lips twitching, trying so hard not to smile…”

“Astarion—” you warned, though it lacked any real conviction.

His lips brushed your forehead.

You froze, the warmth of the kiss blooming through you like wine in your veins.

Then he kissed your temple. Your breath caught.

Another kiss landed on your cheek. Then another. Then another. Quick, soft pecks. Featherlight. Mischievous. His mouth moved like a whisper across your skin, never lingering, always chasing the places you didn’t know you needed to feel.

He was grinning now, and your face burned hotter than the fire.

“A-Astarion!” you squeaked, trying to twist away, though the attempt was more symbolic than sincere. “You’re doing that thing again—”

“Oh? You mean the thing where I absolutely shower you with affection?” He captured your hands again, bringing them to his lips. He kissed each knuckle slowly, as if savoring the taste of your skin, like royalty or a relic. “Guilty as charged.”

You whined, half-laughing, half-mortified, your face so hot you could have sworn it was glowing. “You’re awful.”

“I’m charming,” he corrected smoothly, trailing his kisses down your wrist. “And—what was it?—irresistible? Wasn’t that what you called me the other night after your fourth glass of wine?”

“That was the wine talking,” you mumbled, hiding behind your free hand again.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, brushing his lips up your arm now, slow and lazy, “but you’ve never needed wine to look at me like I hung the stars.”

You peeked at him through your fingers again, flushed and trembling and melting in equal parts. “You said there was a secret.”

He raised an infuriating brow, smug as the devil. “Ah, yes. A little secret I’ve discovered about you.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “You love it when I do this.”

Your hands dropped to your lap, betrayed by your own curiosity. “...Do not.”

“Oh, really?” His eyes gleamed, and before you could think of a rebuttal, he began peppering kisses along your jawline. One, two, three—pausing only to smirk against your skin as you squirmed in his grasp.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice like silk dragging across bare skin.

You bit your lip, eyes squeezed shut, and tried very hard not to giggle. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, “you still haven’t stopped me.”

“I’m trying to hold onto some dignity,” you mumbled, voice featherlight and almost pleading.

“Darling,” he chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours, “I stole your dignity days ago. Right after you told me you dreamed of me feeding you grapes on a velvet couch.”

Your eyes flew open. “That was one time!”

“And a delicious detail it was,” he purred, all mischief and moonlight.

Then, without warning, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap. You landed against his chest with a soft yelp, and he held you there with startling gentleness.

“You’re far too precious,” he whispered, the tone of his voice suddenly shifting—less teasing now, more reverent. “Every time you blush, I swear my unbeating heart stirs.”

You buried your face in his shoulder with a muffled groan. “You are the worst.”

“And you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple again, “are mine.”

The silence that followed was warm and heavy, broken only by the fire’s lullaby and the soft beating of your heart against his. He ran his fingers slowly along your spine, his other hand gently cradling the back of your head as though holding a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.

You stayed like that, tangled in moonlight and warmth, your heart thudding embarrassingly loud in your chest while his lips found the soft spot just below your ear, the place that made your breath hitch every time.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

You never really meant it when you did.

KARLACH

The lake glittered under the afternoon sun, each ripple catching the light like a tossed coin. Wildflowers lined the grassy shore, and dragonflies skimmed lazily across the surface of the water. It was quiet—peaceful in a way the road rarely allowed. No shouting. No blades clashing. Just the hush of the breeze and the gentle lapping of water against smooth stones.

Y/N sat in the grass a few feet from the shoreline, boots kicked off and legs tucked beneath her. She ran her fingers absently through her damp hair, tugging out little knots and brushing dried blood from the ends. The fight earlier in the day hadn’t been bad, but it had been enough to leave her nerves buzzing, heart still trying to decide whether to calm down or stay on edge.

A shadow fell over her.

She looked up just in time to see Karlach grinning—wide, radiant, and slightly mischievous.

Before she could react, strong arms swooped down and lifted her off the ground.

“Karlach—!” Y/N yelped, flailing a little as she was hauled effortlessly into the barbarian’s lap.

Karlach plopped them both back into the soft grass with a huff of laughter. “There she is,” she said, nuzzling into Y/N’s shoulder like a happy bear. “My favourite girl.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands, already blushing furiously. “You can’t just—pick me up like that out of nowhere…”

Karlach leaned in, her voice warm and teasing in Y/N’s ear. “Pretty sure I just did.”

Y/N groaned softly, trying to hide in her own sleeves.

“Stop it,” she muttered, the words utterly devoid of conviction.

“Stop what?” Karlach asked innocently. “Showering my adorable girlfriend with affection?” She punctuated it with a kiss just below Y/N’s ear, then her jaw, her cheek, her temple—soft, rapid-fire kisses that made Y/N squirm and gasp with every one.

“Karlach—!” she half-laughed, half-whined, trying to duck away. “You’re not being fair!”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m not trying to be fair.”

Before Y/N could wriggle out of her grasp, Karlach leaned them both back into the grass, rolling until she hovered above her. She braced herself on one arm while the other gently cupped Y/N’s flushed face, thumb brushing lightly against her cheek.

Pinned beneath her, Y/N looked up with wide, dazed eyes, the sky a perfect summer blue above Karlach’s silhouette.

The cold press of Karlach’s infernal engine brushed against Y/N’s stomach, barely felt through the fabric of her tunic—but it was the heat in Karlach’s eyes that made her breath catch.

“Look at you,” Karlach murmured, grinning down at her. “You’re blushing so hard I think the sun’s getting jealous.”

“D-Don’t say stuff like that,” Y/N stammered, covering her face with both hands again. “It’s embarrassing…”

Karlach chuckled low in her throat, eyes crinkling. She bent down and gently pried one of Y/N’s hands away, pressing a lingering kiss to the centre of her palm. “You love it,” she said smugly.

Y/N shook her head stubbornly, lips pursed into something between a pout and a bashful smile. “N-No I don’t.”

“Oh really?” Karlach grinned and kissed her nose. “Then what’s this?” A kiss to her cheek. “And this?” Another to the tip of her chin. “And this one right—here.”

A slow, soft kiss to Y/N’s lips shut her up entirely.

Y/N let out a tiny, startled noise, one hand curling into Karlach’s shirt like an anchor. She was melting—absolutely melting. Her thoughts turned to mist, her whole body tingling in the warm sunlight and the weight of the woman above her.

Karlach pulled back just enough to brush their foreheads together.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” she whispered. “Like, devastatingly cute. I might never recover.”

Y/N made a soft, strangled sound, now covering her face again with both hands and mumbling something incoherent.

Karlach laughed again, a real belly laugh that rumbled through her chest. She leaned in, nuzzling against Y/N’s neck with exaggerated affection, nose scrunching up like a big, overgrown puppy.

“Okay,” she whispered dramatically. “I’m gonna keep kissing you until you admit you love it. No escape. This is your life now.”

Y/N peeked between her fingers, still bright red, voice muffled. “…Maybe just one more.”

Karlach froze. Then slowly, that grin returned, wide and unstoppable. “Oh, baby,” she said, voice low and warm, “you have no idea what you just unleashed.”

And with that, she kissed her again—slow, deep, sun-drenched—and didn’t stop for a very long time.

GALE

You were quietly reading by the campfire, the flickering flames casting warm, golden shadows across Gale’s face as he watched you with that familiar, soft smile that always made your heart flutter. The crackling fire filled the night air with a comforting rhythm, and for a while, nothing else mattered but the simple pleasure of being together.

You loved moments like these—peaceful, simple, shared.

The book in your hands slipped a little as you caught Gale’s gaze lingering on you, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He looked almost… mesmerized. You smiled softly and glanced up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Before you could say a word, Gale leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing a deep rose as a surge of warmth spread through you.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, voice low and tender, almost a secret meant just for you.

You swallowed, heart pounding, but before you could respond, his lips trailed down your cheek, slow and featherlight, teasing the sensitive skin beneath your eye. Then came the tip of your nose, which he nuzzled playfully.

You instinctively tried to pull back, eyes sparkling with laughter, but suddenly a shimmer of sparkling blue magic flickered around your wrists and ankles—a delicate yet firm Hold Person spell.

“Gale! What—?” you giggled, caught between surprise and amusement as you realized you were frozen in place.

He grinned like a mischievous child, eyes twinkling with delight. “Just a little spell to keep my favourite person still. I want to make sure I can show you exactly how much I adore you without you running away.”

Your cheeks burned hotter, both from the magic and the affection radiating off him in waves.

His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as he leaned closer, lips capturing yours in a soft, insistent kiss. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you—firelight flickering, your breaths mingling, and the steady beating of your hearts.

He pulled back just enough to pepper a dozen little kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone, each one igniting tiny sparks beneath your skin. You sighed against him, body melting, heart pounding so hard you feared it might burst free.

When he finally released the spell, your limbs tingled, freed but reluctant to move. You instinctively tried to pull away, cheeks flushed a bright crimson, voice barely above a whisper.

“Gale… you’re… you’re impossible.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and deep, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tender touch. “Only for you,” he replied softly.

You hid your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm your own racing pulse. The moment felt infinite—intimate and perfect.

“More kisses?” you dared to ask, still shy but secretly hoping, your voice trembling with a bashful excitement.

Gale’s smile deepened, eyes shining with affection and a hint of playful mischief. “Always.”

Without hesitation, his lips found yours again—gentle, lingering, and utterly full of love. You laughed softly between kisses, the bashfulness melting away into pure, happy contentment.

When at last you pulled back, breathless and flushed, Gale tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and whispered, “You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smiled shyly, fingers threading through his. “And you make me feel like I’m the most loved.”

He leaned in once more, a single tender kiss pressed to your forehead before resting his cheek against yours. The fire crackled on, but you barely noticed — because in that moment, nothing else existed but the warmth of his love and the sweetness of his kisses.

HALSIN

The forest around you was alive with the soft sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdcalls, but your focus was entirely on the steady, quick rhythm of your own heartbeat as you darted between the towering oaks. The air was cool and crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth—a scent that grounded you even as adrenaline surged through your veins and made your pulse race with excitement.

Your feet barely made a sound against the thick carpet of moss and fallen leaves, your movements light and fluid beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. You weren’t running from danger—far from it. This was a game, a chase woven from laughter and shared moments, something wild and free that you cherished more than you could say.

Glancing behind you, just once, you caught sight of a familiar figure moving effortlessly through the trees. His amber eyes glinted with something playful, something warm that made your breath hitch and a smile tug at your lips despite yourself.

He was gaining on you fast, closing the distance with sure, steady strides that never broke the rhythm of the chase. You knew, without a doubt, that he could catch you whenever he wished—but the thrill was in the trying, in the momentary hope of escape.

You pushed yourself harder, laughter bubbling from your lips like a melody, light and bright as the sunbeams around you. Branches brushed against your arms, leaves tickled your skin, and your hair danced wildly around your face. Your heart soared, not from fear, but from the joy of being alive and being seen.

Just as you thought you might slip away—just as the soft whisper of victory brushed your mind—a rush of warm air brushed past your cheek. Before you could turn your head fully, strong arms wrapped gently but firmly around you, pulling you down onto the soft moss with careful ease.

You landed in a tangled heap, breath leaving you in a startled gasp as the world shifted beneath you. For a moment, all you could see were those warm amber eyes—bright, amused, sparkling with quiet delight��hovering just inches from your face.

A faint, tender smile played on his lips as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch was soft and reverent, like he was handling something precious, something delicate and dear.

“You thought you could outrun me?” The words came then, low and teasing, but you hadn’t even realized he’d spoken until you heard the rich rumble of his voice. It was a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, warm and comforting all at once.

Your cheeks burned as you struggled to meet his gaze, feeling utterly exposed and wonderfully vulnerable beneath the intensity of his eyes. “I… I wasn’t running away,” you said quickly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to sound casual and composed.

His smile widened, slow and affectionate, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter and your knees go weak. Before you could even find the words to respond, he leaned down, his breath warm against your skin. A gentle kiss pressed to your temple, soft and tender as the caress of a summer breeze.

Then another—softer still—landing on your cheek like a whispered secret meant only for you.

You barely had time to breathe before his lips found your jawline, each kiss slow, deliberate, like a promise held close and treasured. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart swelling with a blissful warmth that bloomed through every fiber of your being, a feeling that words could never quite capture.

When he finally pulled back, the flush in your cheeks deepened, and your breath came faster, uneven and shallow.

His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek, tracing a path so gentle it was almost a question. He caught your shy smile, his own amusement and tenderness shining through like the golden light filtering through the trees.

“You really do love this, don’t you?” His voice was barely more than a murmur, teasing yet filled with something softer, something entirely his own.

You bit your lip, cheeks aflame, trying—and failing—to hide just how flustered you were beneath his gaze. “Maybe…” you whispered, voice soft, almost shy, the tiniest smile playing at your lips.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear with delicate care. “Good,” he said simply, eyes gleaming with warmth and affection. “Because I’m not done yet.”

And then, with a final, lingering kiss pressed to your lips—slow, sweet, and full of quiet adoration—he wrapped you in a gentle embrace, holding you close beneath the ancient trees, the forest around you seeming to hold its breath in reverence to the moment.

You rested your forehead against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your skin, your own pulse still racing. Whispering breathlessly, you said, “Next time… I’m not running.”

He smiled against your hair, his voice low and certain, like a vow and a promise all at once. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

GALE / ASTARION

The dappled sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of ancient trees, casting warm golden patches on the mossy ground beneath your feet. The forest was alive with quiet sounds—the distant call of a bird, the soft rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze, and somewhere nearby, a brook babbled in a soothing murmur. The air was crisp and fresh, filled with the scent of pine and wildflowers, grounding you in this peaceful moment far from the chaos of the road.

You, Gale, and Astarion had just finished dealing with a particularly troublesome patrol of goblins that had been harassing the trade routes. The fight had been swift but exhausting, and now you had a moment to catch your breath. The tension in your muscles began to ease as you sank down onto a smooth, sun-warmed stone, letting the soothing quiet wash over you.

Gale came to sit beside you, his presence steady and calming. His eyes, filled with that familiar blend of kindness and admiration, softened as he looked at you. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “You fought admirably,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, a tenderness threading through every word.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. Before you could respond, a shadow shifted nearby, and Astarion stepped forward from where he’d been lounging on a fallen log, his usual roguish grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight. “And it seems our dear is as fierce as ever,” he added, his tone teasing but genuine.

Your blush deepened, cheeks flaming like embers as you tried to suppress a shy laugh. But before you could protest or deflect their praise, Gale leaned in gently, closing the small distance between you, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. The warmth of his lips sent an immediate shiver through you, as if a current of electricity had sparked beneath your skin.

No sooner had Gale pulled back than Astarion slid down from the log with catlike grace and closed in on your other side. His lips brushed lightly against your cheek in a feather-light kiss, his breath warm and scented faintly of herbs and danger. “We do enjoy reminding you how much you’re adored,” he whispered, his voice a velvet caress that made your heart hammer wildly in your chest.

Your pulse raced as two pairs of lips lavished you with affection, each kiss feather-soft but charged with promise. Gale’s hands settled on your shoulders, steady and grounding, while Astarion’s fingers traced delicate, teasing circles along your forearm, sending delightful sparks of pleasure radiating beneath your skin.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, savouring the sensation. When you opened them again, both men were watching you intently—Gale with that warm, open expression, and Astarion with a playful, almost triumphant gleam in his gaze.

You felt like you might melt where you sat, cheeks flushed with a deep rosy hue, lips parted slightly as if trying to find the words that seemed just out of reach. Instead, all you managed was a soft, breathless whisper. “You’re both impossible…”

Gale chuckled quietly, reaching up to brush his thumb lightly over your flushed cheek, the touch gentle and tender. “Only for you,” he said, voice thick with affection.

Astarion’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with unrestrained delight. “And we both rather enjoy making you this adorable,” he added, his tone teasing but filled with warmth.

You couldn’t help but glance up at them, heart swelling with something fierce and sweet all at once, warmth spreading through your entire being like sunlight on a cool morning. You bit your lip, voice shy but daring as it barely escaped your throat. “Well… maybe don’t stop, then.”

At that, Gale leaned in again, pressing a slow kiss just beneath your jawline, and Astarion’s lips found yours in a tender, lingering brush that left you breathless. Their hands found yours, fingers entwining easily, grounding you in the moment.

For a long while, the three of you simply existed in that quiet, sunlit glade—two men showering you with affection, and you, utterly and blissfully overwhelmed, basking in the warmth of their love, your cheeks forever stained with the sweetest kind of bashfulness.

ASTARION / HALSIN

The campfire flickered softly, casting warm, dancing shadows on the faces gathered around it. The air was crisp, carrying the subtle scent of pine and earth, but Y/N felt a comforting warmth radiate from the glowing embers nearby. She sat cross-legged on a soft patch of grass, the firelight catching the soft flush on her cheeks—part from the cool evening breeze, part from something else entirely.

Halsin sat quietly close by, his calm and steady presence a soothing anchor. He caught her eye and gave her that gentle, reassuring smile that made her heart flutter just a little. Across the fire, Astarion lounged with his usual mischievous smirk, the gleam in his eyes telling tales of some impish plan.

Y/N felt a quiet thrill run through her, knowing she was surrounded by two people who cared so deeply for her, even if their expressions said “plotting” more than “sweet moments.”

Then, without warning, Halsin’s form began to ripple and shift. His human features softened, muscles expanding, fur sprouting thick and glossy beneath the campfire’s glow. Within seconds, the massive, powerful bear stood where he had been only moments before.

The great, furry bear padded over to Y/N with surprising gentleness, each step soft despite the size of his paws. His warm breath brushed against her skin as he lowered himself carefully. With a low, affectionate growl, Halsin plopped down right on top of her, his broad, heavy body pressing her gently into the soft grass.

Y/N gasped, caught off guard, her breath hitching in a burst of surprised laughter. “H-Halsin! You’re—” She squirmed beneath his warm weight, trying to push him off playfully, but he was too steady, too strong.

Before she could get a proper protest out, Astarion was at her side like a shadow, graceful and quick. He leaned down, lips brushing over her cheeks, her jawline, her neck—each kiss soft, teasing, deliberate.

“Looks like we’ve got you, little one,” Astarion whispered with that sly grin of his, voice low and velvety as his lips trailed warm, feather-light kisses down her skin.

Y/N’s cheeks flamed hotter than the fire. She squirmed again, laughter bubbling out as her heart hammered in her chest. “S-stop… you’re going to—”

A deep, rumbling growl vibrated through Halsin’s thick fur, low and affectionate, as he nuzzled her gently with his massive head. His warm breath brushed her cheek, and with careful, deliberate weight, he settled himself to keep her pinned just enough—firm but tender.

Y/N’s bashful smile was a quiet confession. She did. She loved it. She loved how safe and adored she felt wrapped between these two—Halsin’s protective strength, Astarion’s playful intimacy.

Astarion’s lips lingered a moment longer just below her ear, a tender, teasing kiss that made a shiver ripple down her spine. Then he looked up at Halsin, eyes sparkling with affection and amusement.

The bear let out a soft huff, a contented sound like a purr, and gently pawed the grass beside her, as if marking this moment sacred and tender without words.

Y/N’s heart fluttered wildly, caught between embarrassment and the pure, joyful warmth that blossomed inside her chest. She felt the steady beat of Halsin’s heartbeat through his thick fur and the soft brush of Astarion’s breath on her skin.

Her cheeks burned as she whispered, “You’re impossible...” but the smile she gave them was full of affection and secret happiness.

Astarion grinned wider. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Another affectionate growl rumbled low and fond from Halsin, the bear’s eyes soft as he rested his massive head near her shoulder.

Y/N let herself melt under the weight of their love, surrendering to the safe, playful cocoon of their kisses and embraces. The night stretched on around them, the stars blinking down like silent witnesses to this perfect moment—full of laughter, whispered promises, and the sweet, electric joy of being utterly cherished.

[brabblesban]

I hope you die screaming.

One-shot, angst/comfort, astarion/f!tav

After you refuse to help Astarion ascend, he leaves you with a venomous goodbye. Unfortunately the vampire has to come back to get his things.

The idea was to mix up the warding bond rings, Astarion’s final words if you refuse to help him, and Tav suffering and dying (not permanently!) in his absence.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

It had been a miserable few days of being alone in Baldur’s Gate, without most of his possessions, but Astarion was loathe to go back to the Elfsong. For one, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d be there to do. To grab his things and go? A possibility, but not what he would rather do. To get on his knees and ask you to take him back? What he really wanted to do, but the chance of you forgiving him was slim, and he couldn’t face that rejection. So he stayed near the tavern, torn between showing himself and walking away yet again, when the ring on his finger pulsed with a strange magic and the ward protecting him dissipated from his body.

He had known you were still protecting him through the paired rings even as he stormed out of Cazador’s palace. The soft, pleasant feeling of the ward had not disappeared at all, and it had proven quite useful once or twice when he inadvertently offended someone enough for them to attempt to stab him. He didn’t get a lot of injuries - only minor cuts and scrapes - so as much as he felt guilty he figured you would be more than capable of handling it. In any case, should you want, you could just take off the rings, he reasoned.

So when the ward fell away right now, he huffed a bit and took the ring off. You must’ve finally remembered he had the other one, and there was no longer any point protecting him, after everything.

After what he said.

He entered the tavern and sat in a corner, waiting for your group to come back. He’d decided to come get his things. Without the ward’s protection, he would need his potions and armor to survive solo.

Soon enough, the door burst open and Gale came stumbling in. The gore and blood on his robes was normal enough, but his expression wasn’t. The man looked ashen and pale, and he immediately ran to the stairs. “Shadowheart! Come here. Now!”

Before the vampire could even put down the goblet he was holding, Halsin came in, something bundled in his arms. The air that wafted through hit Astarion, and he almost choked on it: blood. Your blood. A lot of it. He watched with wide eyes as Halsin carried the bloody bundle in his arms. It was a body, that much was obvious, but they had wrapped it in blankets. The fabric was stained everywhere, but it pooled the most where the chest would be. Halsin dipped his head and gently placed a kiss on the head of the body, and as he did so the blanket covering the face fell away. Astarion’s heart, if he still had one, would have stopped as he saw the face underneath the blankets. Yours.

He immediately stood up, heading towards Halsin. The larger elf saw him and let him approach, his expression one of sorrow.

“Halsin? What- is she…” he closes the distance. Your eyes are closed, as if you were sleeping. He knows it, knows he can’t hear your heartbeat and can’t see you breathe, but he still reaches out to cup your cheek. Cold, as cold as his hands were. He chokes back a scream that threatens to bubble from his throat.

Halsin moves, slowly climbing the stairs. “Come, Astarion. I shall explain.” As he made his way to your bed, he talked. “She hasn’t been well since your departure, but that is to be expected. We had a fight with the Steel Watch. She was a little too slow, too tired, and they won.”

Astarion growls. “You should all have protected her! Did you all cower when-“

“No.” Halsin rounds on him, eyes glinting with what was almost like anger. “We all have our injuries. We all tried our best. We weren’t the ones who left her.”

He laid you down on your bed, grabbing a wet cloth to clean your wounds. Astarion gripped the elf’s wrist. “Why aren’t you using a scroll to revive her?!”

He sighed. “You might not remember, Astarion, but the scrolls were all in your bag when you left.”

Shit. He had forgotten. He quickly rummaged through it, finding one. He saw Shadowheart approach and asked her for some healing potions as well. While everyone was preparing, Halsin kept cleaning your body up. Astarion scowled and grabbed his own wet towel, gently trying to clean around the hole in your chest. He winced at the amount of blood he saw as he tried to peel off the bloody shirt, then paused as he realized it was his camp shirt. Biting back the urge to scream, he kept working.

Shadowheart came back with several bottles of the potion, and they got to work. Halsin used the scroll, and as he did the vampire began pouring the potions down your throat. It didn’t take long for him to hear your heart start to beat again, and he exhaled roughly as he poured more bottles, just to be sure. He watched the color flood back into your face as you healed, unable to stop some tears from falling.

A hand gripped his shoulder and he turned to see Gale. The wizard sighed. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said dryly. “Seems like you got your wish,” he said bitterly, gesturing to you.

Astarion bared his fangs and got up, ready to tear him from limb to limb. Halsin barely had enough time to stand between the two men. “There is no point to fighting each other. What’s done is done. And she’s doing better now.”

Gale sighed. He nodded at Halsin, then at Astarion. “I suppose the druid is right. You’ll still have some explaining to do, but it can wait.” He leaves to see Shadowheart to tend to his own injuries. After a moment, so does Halsin, squeezing Astarion’s hand in solidarity as he left.

Astarion continues his ministrations, weeping openly now that no one was here. He leaned forward, kissing your forehead. When you were clean, he puts you in your nightclothes, then wraps you up in his blankets. It doesn’t escape his notice that you’ve moved into his bed, his things still there, as though you were waiting for his return. He sleeps there that night, wraps himself around you, the sound of your soft breathing something he sorely missed.

You wake up a few hours later. Your head pounds, but when you open your eyes, it is blessedly dark. The last thing you remember was a steel watch monstrosity’s blade coming straight through you. You take a breath, nuzzling the blankets. They still smell like him, and you worry that soon the smell will fade. Then there would be nothing left of the man you loved. Well, other than his clothes-

Wait. His clothes. You run a hand down your chest, wincing at the movement. You realize you’re in your own camp clothes. It must’ve been torn in the fight, ruined by the gore. A soft cry escapes your lips. It felt all too much like losing him again. You whimper, helpless. Every movement was pain, but the most painful thing even now was your heart.

You suddenly realize you’re not alone on the bed. An arm sweeps across, wrapping securely around your waist. Someone nuzzles you, shushing your cries. In the darkness you can barely see, but the scent and the temperature of said arm hits you.

“As-Astarion?”

He swallows nervously. “Darling. I… I’m here.” He can see your face in the dark, eyes wide and afraid, and then a glimmer of hope as you realize who he is.

“You came back,” you manage to croak out. Your hand finds his, and he squeezes it tightly.

“I did. I-“ the happiness in your face stuns him. You should hate him. He doesn’t deserve to be welcomed back with such open arms.

“I was in the Elfsong to gather my things.” Before you could get the wrong idea and get hurt, he pushes on. “But I think I knew even as I walked in I’d be here to beg you to let me stay.”

“There’s no need to even ask, love.” Your hand moves to his hand, feeling for the ring. It isn’t there, and you feel a small pang of sadness. “You took it off.”

“Only today,” he says. “The wards fell. I thought you got rid of it, but your ring is still on your finger. I guess it just stopped working when you-“ he swallows past the lump in his thoat. “You- you know.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Noticing his distress, you move your other hand to cup his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I got clumsy. I was… I wasn’t at my best.” You look away, embarrassed to admit how much you missed him.

“Darling. No,” he turns your cheek to meet his gaze. “I left you. I broke your heart. All because I was too afraid to see the right path to take. And I wished… I said terrible things. I would take it back, all of it back. I regretted it as soon as I left the dungeons. But I didn’t think you’d let me back in. If I stayed, maybe you’d be alright. You’d be-“

His words are broken by soft lips that press against his. It was tender, and he couldn’t help but lean into it, kissing back carefully and gently. More tears fell from him, and you thumbed them away. Pulling back, you offer him a kind smile. “I forgave you as you left, love. I get it. It’s just that I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too.” With those words Astarion finally breaks down, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He didn’t deserve such tenderness, such love, after what he did. He vowed to do better with your heart, to give what you deserve as well. Not for any other reason than that he wanted to.

He meets your eyes, and he finally lets the words that had been sitting in his chest for ages out. “I love you. I have loved you for a while, darling, I just didn’t know how. I’m not good at this, obviously. I choose the wrong words, do the wrong things, and you still let me back in.”

You chuckle a bit, hands carding through his hair. “That’s because I love you too, idiot.”

You’ve told him that for some time now, accepting that he couldn’t say the same yet. But every time you say it his heart still soars. He captures your lips in yet another kiss.

“Forgive me?”

“Of course. You’ll have to put your ring back on, though. Maybe when I’m more healed, on second thought.”

You bite your lip, frowning.

“Oh. And I might have ruined your camp shirt. Could you fix it for me? Please?”

He puts on a show of pouting and sighing. “If I must. What would you do without me, hm?”

You roll your eyes and tug him close to you. All too quickly, you drift off, finally having a good night’s rest. He watches your face become peaceful, noting the huge bags under your eyes.

Astarion holds you through the night, vowing to never leave your side ever again.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Mortality Defined

Masterlist Word count: 1.6 k Halsin x Reader Read on AO3

Summary: You are a human, Halsin is an elf. Your lifespan is much shorter than his and he wonders if life is worth living if you're not in it.

Writer's note: I don't know why but I still can't post a full work here. I don't know why. Tumblr just doesn't allow me to add any words to these one-shots. If anyone has any solutions for me, please let me know. I'm getting frustrated.

The year changes from sunlit beach days to a sunset of leaves. Halsin always admires this time of year. The dying of the world in anticipation for new life. It's a wonderful thing and something he often ponders on.  A year is an hour in the long, long lifespan of an elf. In Halsin's busy and chaotic life it feels more like a second, but these past weeks travelling with her and the other friends he made felt like centuries. She, so humble and kind, carried the world on her shoulders.  He feels he will never understand her fully. She is human. Where he has already lived 350 years, she will get a 100 if she's lucky. With their way of life, it will probably be less. A human's body dies around them every second of every day after they're done growing.  She was 27 when they embarked on their journey to safe Faerun, a young adult in human years. When he was 27 he was just latching off the helping hands of his parents. She told him she had been living on her own since she was 18.   Now she's 32 and has been living with him since the Absolute was put down. He can tell she's slowly ageing. She is forming some smile lines and little crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Halsin hadn't really thought about elderly people as his kind doesn't visibly age much after a certain point, but then he was confronted with Shadowheart's mother who looked so frail. It suddenly made him realize that she will someday look like that as well.  Even so, there's this thing that is only found in those that are human. The phenomenon of the Impenetrable Human Spirit. A death grip on life, refusal to let go in the direst of times. When all the odds are stacked against you but you refuse to let them define you. Which sounds strange until you meet a few humans in time of war. After he realized that, he understood why so many Flaming Fists are human.  He hopes he'll never have to witness it again but to see someone so fiercely cling onto life while any other would have already perished in the same circumstances is truly a sight. Humans are a force to be reckoned with. Even with their short lifespans, they try to put something worthwhile on this plane. They want to feel accomplished.  'Halsin, dinner's ready,' her angelic voice calls from inside and Halsin snaps out of his trance. 'Did you want to eat outside?' He looks over his shoulder through the open backdoor of their cosy little cottage, straight into the kitchen where she is plating up dinner. She's a wonderful cook, an amazing partner, and a great artist. His days are spent trying to find the best way to worship her being in hopes it'll buy her another year.  'That'd be lovely. Thank you.’ She walks out with two plates and a smile on her face. He takes his plate from her as she sits down on the grass next to him.  'You were so far away all day,' she notes with her smile still on her lips, 'where did your mind go?'  'My heart, you would not want to know.'  'Don't worry me, love. You can tell me.' Halsin takes a second to compose himself, playing with his food for a second. She always tells him everything, what reason does he have to keep his worries to himself? She'll understand. She always does.  'I was pondering your mortality.'  'How so?'  'Well, I have nothing but time, but that is not the same for you. I have lived over three centuries. That's three, maybe four, human lifetimes. You are merely a tenth of my age and yet you feel like an equal.' He looks over to her, a somber smile now plays on her lips.  'That's not all, is it?'  'It is not.'  'Are you worried you will be alone after I pass? That you won't have enough time to know me?'  'Something like that, yes.'  'Something like that?' 

Read the remainder on AO3

[soulessjourney]

Sick

Paring: Astarion x fem!DurgTavReader

Word count: 766

Summary: The moment you let out a cough in camp Astarion turns to his necormancy book for answers.

Warnings: OOC Astarion, Humor, Astarion doesn't know how to comfort sick Tav, Astarion believes Tav is dying, fluff

A/N: This one is just a tiny little humorus work that I had sitting here in my drafts, I thought the idea was cute as we apprach out spring months.

The changing of seasons was the one time you dreaded being alive. Transitioning from winter to spring meant a massive shift in temperature, often resulting in catching a cold due to the sudden change. Seated on the ground between Shadowheart and Halsin, you observed as he taught you the art of carving a small wooden duck. A few feet away, Astarion was engaged in a lively argument with Gale about who knows what, while Lae’zel tirelessly sharpened her sword against the stone wheel for the fifth time that day.

“Gently slide the dagger over this portion of the wood; the trick here is to apply pressure and scrape for a smooth outcome. Now, give it a try,” he instructed, handing the small wooden figure to Shadowheart.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you watched her work, following Halsin's guidance. Her tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a sign of her focused concentration. An itch filled your throat, and you cleared it a few times to relieve the sensation. A cough escaped you, catching Astarion's attention as he turned to look at you. “What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Raising a brow in confusion, you glanced at the others, only to receive shrugs in response. “What was what?” you asked, shifting on the ground. Another cough slipped past you, and Astarion quickly approached, shoving his finger in your face.

“That! You never cough, Darling. Are you dying?” A laugh sounded from Shadowheart, and Halsin shot Astarion a confused glance before looking at you. A fit of coughs overtook you, causing you to lean over in an attempt to stop them. “You are dying. Out of everything we have been through, I cannot let this be the one thing to take you out,” Astarion declared, rushing towards his tent.

Once your coughing fit ceased, you followed his movements, watching as he tore apart his tent in search of something. Shadowheart leaned over and nudged you gently. “Who's going to tell him that you simply have a cold?” she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on him. Halsin, from the other side, laughed and took the dagger and wooden duck from Shadowheart.

“I've never seen Astarion care so much. What is he looking for, anyway? If you were dying, I could've simply helped you,” Halsin remarked, shrugging. Everyone turned their attention to Halsin, nodding in agreement.

Just a few moments later, a loud ‘Ahah!’ echoed through the camp, and everyone's heads snapped towards Astarion, their eyes widening. Gale stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Now, why did you pull that out? She's not dead, Astarion. There is no need to bring out the necromancy book,” Gale said, eyeing the book in Astarion's hands as the stone placed in the center of the cover glowed brightly.

Astarion scoffed as Gale continued trying to convince him to hand over the book. “I know she’s not dead, but if by chance she does die, I can simply bring her back,” he stated, flashing Gale a confident smile before shifting his gaze to you. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I would love you even if you were undead.” Your jaw dropped open as you shot to your feet, placing your hands on your hips.

“My gods, Astarion, I’m not dying. Put the damn book down; I just have a cold,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes as you met his stare. “If I were dying, I don’t think I would be standing right now.” Shadowheart stood, sensing a shift within you. Whether it was from standing too quickly, being sick, or both, black dots filled your vision, and you felt yourself collapse to the ground. Shadowheart dove to catch you, breaking your fall.

Astarion looked between the group of your friends before flipping to a page in the book and beginning to read a spell from its contents. A chorus of “No” echoed from the group as everyone lunged to tackle Astarion, preventing him from reading any further.

Karlach walked up to the camp, a deer hanging over her shoulder, observing her groupmates tackling Astarion, Gale prying the book away from him, and you lying on the ground a few feet away from everyone. Dropping the deer to the ground beside her, she caught the group’s attention. “What in the nine hells is going on?” she shouted, her eyes staying trained on you. “Well, don’t stand there; bring her back!”

The group groaned as they scrambled to keep Astarion from grabbing the book again. “She’s not dead!” they simultaneously yelled, the sound of their voices bouncing off the rocks around them.

[feyascorner]

2 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. While seeing him leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you. You should hate him, truly.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. and he finally makes an appearance;,; ik the first two chapters are a bit slow but i think i can start picking up the pace now woohoo!! Reader/Tav’s feelings are supposed to be confusing on purpose but I may have overdone it a tad,,

He hadn’t had time to gather any of his belongings when he left. And while your other companions graciously rid of everything they could into a single box packed away in the corner of the basement, even they could not bring themselves to throw the handheld mirror away–whether because of the intricate designs framing its reflection that surely held value or because of your apprehension for throwing it out, you’re not sure. You haven’t used it yourself, too afraid of even touching its handle out of fear it may crumble away.

One of the orphan children that Cora’s harboring places a cup in front of you. You raise a brow at her, silently asking how Cora’s doing, and she only shakes her head solemnly before scurrying away.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?”

“They’ve already said numerous times where they were,” Lae’zel spits in the Flaming Fist’s direction. “Are all Fists this incompetent, or are you just a special case?”

You run a hand down your face while Gale attempts to calm Lae’zel. Shadowheart’s had her eyes trained on the cups perched around the table for quite some time now, occasionally glancing up to listen to the Fist’s interrogation. Unfortunately, the cups lack their usual alcohol, but you don’t complain about the water with how dry your throat is. You pat her shoulder, and she finally meets your eyes, nodding before resuming her focus on whatever the Fist is saying. You’re not sure yourself at this point.

“As Flaming Fists, we must put the guilty in their rightful place, regardless of whether they’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate or not,” he straightens his back, then narrows his brows at you. “And right now, all witnesses point here. You were seen leaving the tavern with a man reported as missing this morning. Care to explain that?”

You can hear Gale’s chair scrape against the floor. “You can’t be serious. They saved the entire city, for Mystra’s sake! If they wanted bloody murder, they would've been positively drenched in blood by now.”

However, all you feel is the searing stares of your other companions, who remain blissfully unaware of the encounters of your previous night. But you can tell they’re not accusing you, unlike the Fist—they never would—but rather demanding an explanation. You sigh deeply. “I didn’t go home with him. We spoke for almost two minutes before I left.”

“And what proof do you have of that?”

“Considering I woke up in the Blushing Mermaid, I’m sure you can do a little questioning there to find some witnesses,” you stand, the chairs of your leg scratching against the tiled floors. “Are we done here? I need to go speak with Cora, because her husband just died."

“Sit,” he hisses, his fingers reaching for his weapon. “I won’t repeat myself.”

The air becomes tense in mere seconds. It'd been uncomfortable moments ago, but not as much as this—not enough to make Lae’zel reach for her sword as she’s doing now. Your eyes narrow warningly into slits at the Fist, but his subordinates only step forward to stand on either side of him as if daring you to take another step. From the corner of your peripheral, you can see Shadowheart’s palm spark with light. The others occupying the Highberry household, even from outside on the patio, are talking in hushed whispers, all gazes trained on your very breath. And after a suffocating silence, you hear a chuckle from the door.

“Now, Yevir, we shouldn’t be treating our city’s most esteemed citizens with such hostility.”

Grand Duke Ravengard–Wyll’s father–steps into the home, shaking his head. The Fists, who were willing to go head to head with you mere seconds ago, are now turned and saluting the Duke, which makes Lae’zel scoff at your side. “You lot are dismissed under my name. Though I do have a word to exchange with the bard.”

Former bard, you want to correct him.

Your companions exchange an apprehensive glance at one another before you step forward. “And what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with the Duke?”

“You jest. We are all allies here,” he smiles. “Come, we must speak privately.”

You grin wickedly at Yevir as Ravengard steps past you toward the office in one of the other rooms. Yevir only shoots knives with his eyes, and you return the sentiments by sticking out your tongue mockingly, which earns a snort from Shadowheart. Then you quickly follow after Ravengard, shutting the door behind you.

“Have you had any news from my son?” he asks, facing the window with two arms locked behind him.

“Karlach’s been sending a few letters. They’re limited, as you might expect, but they do come,” you say. “She says Wyll is doing alright. They both are.”

He lets out a breath that can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is: relief. “Good. Now, as for what went down between you and Yevir in the other room, I apologize on his behalf. He’s always been too passionate for his own good. Righteousness is admirable, but not when it blinds your judgment.”

“A lot of things can blind judgment. I don’t blame him.”

He turns to you, and despite the questioning gaze in his eyes, he ignores it. “I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s been occurring in the city—you recently received a first-hand experience.”

“So has half the people on the block, apparently.”

“I’m not talking about Cora’s husband.”

He reaches behind his back, pulling out a slim file and holding it to you. “The number of victims is increasing every day now.”

Flipping through the pages in the file, each one is etched with the murder scene of each victim. There’s one with a man haphazardly buried half in the ground, another with a woman collapsed next to the alleyway in Wyrm’s crossing, another of a man bleeding out in the fields of Rivington. You flip the pages again and again until you arrive at one you would’ve preferred to forget.

“Colin Hedgins,” Ravengard says. “Though most of the Fist, including Yuvir, is unaware, his body was found this morning.”

His silvery hair is stained with what you can only assume is blood. His face, which is stretched in horror, makes you wonder if maybe slitting his throat yourself would have given him a more peaceful leave to the afterlife. Not that he really deserved it. You swallow hard, shutting the file away. “So you think I killed him too?”

“No. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Then why show me this? This is classified information, no?”

“Each one of these victims has one similarity aside from their brutal deaths,” he frowns. “The puncture wounds on their neck, and the fact that their bodies seem to be drained of blood.”

Your breath hitches. While you’d had your suspicions, surely not all of them could have been of vampires? With Orin and the Bhaal worshippers now defeated or retreated into the shadows, the city had gotten eons safer—this just felt like a slap to your face. One group of murderers after another, it seemed. Instead of replying, you stare at Ravengard with pursed lips, urging him to get to his point.

“Wyll has told me of your relations with the vampires,” he says, and it makes your teeth clench. “He was gone by the time I’d joined your camp, but Wyll tells me you had a vampire for a companion for most of your journey. Could he be involved in-”

“No.” The answer is fast. Almost instant. And while a part of you feels disgusted for defending him, even now, another part refuses to let you live while the city thinks of him as nothing but a bloodsucking monster. Even if everyone thought of him as one now. “He wouldn’t have.”

The worst part is that he fully could have, even if you don't want to believe it. Your mind flashes back to the way his hands had felt around your throat, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Ravengard’s expression softens, and you see it again. Pity. Gods, you’d do anything to never see that kind of face again. “I’m also aware that you two had an—-arrangement. One that involved more than just mere friendship. But you must know if we cannot catch the vampire spawns that are running rampant in our city, dozens if not hundreds of more people will die.”

You want to tell him that he should not search for sympathy in you. Because you were once a person willing to get rid of 7000 spawns for the sake of one lover, who only ended up trying to kill you. “He won’t talk to me anyway. I’m sure you also know he didn’t leave on good terms, seeing as you seem to know everything about my love life. I can’t help you.”

The words come out snappier than expected, but Ravengard doesn’t react like he expected this.

“I see,” he says. “Then perhaps you’ll at least be able to keep an eye out. And please, report to me.”

You don’t budge.

He takes it as a sign to leave and moves toward the door. “If you do change your mind, let me know.”

You want to tell him your future is not a matter of what you want. It’s what he wants, and he’s already chosen your fate.

“And is anyone else aware that an entire horde of vampire spawn is living under the city?” Shadowheart says in exasperation. “No wonder they think Astarion’s the one who did it. They think there aren’t any more vampires here anyway! With that many vampires, imagine what destruction they could bring if they miss a few meals!”

“Surely we can convince our sharp-toothed friends to lay low in the Underdark with the others for a while? We convinced half of them. I don’t see why we can’t convince the other,” Gale suggests.

“A warrior who seeks blood shall have blood,” Lae’zel hisses. “I see no reason for them to leave. If I’d been a spawn, I would stay behind a city full of cattle than return to a place of eternal darkness.”

Your head hurts. From continuously sleeping anywhere but the comforts of your bed or from what’s going on, you don’t know, and you don’t care. You just want a nice long bath to wash the dirt on your face and a hot meal to go along with it. Your companions continue arguing, and it’s times like these when you wish Wyll and Karlach were still traveling beside you—they were usually the diffusers of the group.

To an extent, you had been too. Not anymore, though. That was the least of your worries.

“Why must we fix Astarion’s mess in the first place?” Lae’zel adjusts the sword she’d been cleaning on her lap. “We are not dogs to do his bidding. And from what I recall, we have no longer relations with him.”

This finally urges you to speak, almost instinctively. “We have to help. That’s final.”

It's not often that you reinforce your power as the appointed "leader" of the group, preferring to incorporate their opinions rather than choosing all on your own. They all turn to you with a mixture of suspicion and mostly cringe from Lae’zel. Your face flares in response. “I’m just saying we can’t just let a bunch of innocent people die!”

“Of course,” Gale coughs.

You can feel yourself losing your composure, your palms feeling clammy. Still, you straighten your back. “Astarion has nothing to do with me either. I’m doing this for the city.”

“Right.”

You opt to just clear your throat. “I’ll talk to Petras. We’ll figure out a way for all of us to be happy.”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, but Shadowheart only raises a brow. “And how exactly are you going to find Petras? It’s not like he has a mailbox or an address.”

“I’ll figure it out. Always do,” you smile, and her face softens. “In the meanwhile, I’ll have to rely on you guys to pick up my work for rebuilding the city so I can focus on tracking him down. I don’t think it’ll take too long—maybe a week or so.”

Gale’s face knits together in concern. “And you’re quite sure you won’t need any of us to accompany you?”

“They’re fully capable of taking care of themselves, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “Very well, then. We’ll await good news.”

Looking back on it, perhaps you did need the help.

Days upon days of searching, yet nothing. You’re sure you covered almost half the sewers at this point, and you’re not sure if you’re just insanely unlucky or the vampires just left while you’d been searching elsewhere.

But the number of deaths says otherwise. 

So you’d turned to a new approach. If you couldn’t find them, you’d let them find you.

The days stretch longer, with the city being in its summer season. And while you’re grateful, since it means vampires will have less time to hunt, you always despise the way this cloak is sticking to your skin and the hairs that seem glued to your cheeks with the hood stifling any hope of breathing freely. Still determined, you force your legs forward into the darkest alleyways you can find.

Though you’ve had a few fruitless days, pacing aimlessly throughout the city during the dead of night into early morning, a part of yourself keens at the moonlight draping over you tonight.

It had been on a night like this, one where the clouds make way for the moonglow to illuminate what lurks in the city during the night. Though at the time, instead of the comfortable bed in the house you and your companions managed to buy after scraping enough gold together, you were sleeping on a bedroll that did little to shield you from the rocks, doing nothing to even the ground below.

Back then, your companions were nothing but that—companions on a journey you hoped to end as quickly as possible to return to the taverns and bars of Baldur’s gate, where you would spend your nights singing the familiar tunes that your patrons enjoyed most. So after the camp celebration with the Tieflings, when Astarion led you to the forest clearing where you first felt skin other than your own, you realized this adventure of yours was more than just that. It was a new stepping stone in your life.

He’d held you close to him, offering you whispers of affection while his hands ran through your hair. He’d kissed you, his hands caressing either side of your cheek. He’d let you marvel at the scars on his back, his hands resting on your waist.

The same hands that wrapped around your throat months later. You can still feel them sometimes.

Despite your speech to Gale before Cora’s husband showed up dead, you weren’t sure how you would react if you ever saw your former lover again. On nights that weren’t plagued with nightmares, you stayed up, wondering if you’d cry. If you’d reach out for him, embracing him in a hug you never wanted to let go from. If you’d let him brush his knuckles on your cheeks, if you’d let him press a kiss to your forehead, if you’d let him love you again.

You weren’t sure. And a part of you—the part shoved deep inside the corners of your heart—wonders if never seeing him again was a blessing. That regardless of the ache in your heart now, never seeing him would save you from something worse.

So deeply lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the murky figure swinging a pipe at your head.

Nearly scathing the surface of a concussion, you dodge, but he’s too fast. Before you’ve even begun reaching for your knife, the figure swings you toward the wall, and you swear you can hear it crack as your back collides with it. Your vision only manages to straighten itself once the figure has you shoved onto the ground, either of their knees on the sides of your hip. 

Instinctively, your hand flies up to stab at their arm, but you’re no match. They twist your wrist, forcing you to drop the blade, and pins either of your arms to the ground. You can’t see anything but the glint of their fangs against the light.

You’d fought vampires before, and you had never seen one so fast. So aggressive. So primal. Astarion had entertained you with friendly spars, but you’d also fought Cazador to the death. Even he hadn’t been this fast.

“I just want to talk to Petras! I’m not going to hurt you, I–” Your pleas go deaf on their ears.

When you squint, you can finally see the blood staining their fangs, and you realize that they’ve already fed.

They’re fed, and they’re still hungry.

A fed vampire, is a strong one, you remember. And if you add their hunger on top of that...

Even as you try to yank yourself away, they only squeeze their grip harder, enough to cut off blood circulation. The color drains from your face, your expression almost fearful. No, it does scare you. It scares you that this is only a spawn, but they can still attack someone so ferociously. It scares you that Astarion could have done the exact same thing to you.

The spawn yanks your head to the side with a claw on your hair, allowing them access to your throat. You thrash and kick, but to no avail, forced to watch as they’re about to sink their teeth into you. You hate your mind because even at death’s door, all you can think about is him.

Is this what he would’ve done to you had your companions not been there to save you?

Is this what he wanted to do the day he first approached you, asking for your blood?

Anger burns in your chest, and with the last bit of your strength, you lift your head and bite them first. Your teeth sink into their throat, feeling the break of skin just before they rip you away, wailing in pain as you’re carelessly tossed to the ground. As they grasp at the wound on their neck, you take the opportunity to lunge for your knife.

You feel genuine rage for the first time in what feels like forever. No self-pity, no dejection, no sorrow for losing the man you’d given everything to, but rage for the state you were reduced to just because of him. And that while his leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you.

You thrust the blade into their chest, and they stop. It’s no stake, but it’ll do for now. And as their throat gurgles with blood, all you can hear is the desperate panting of your own breath when their body falls to the ground, face first. 

You pray they’re dead.

Then, your vision in one eye blurs with red. When you lift your hand to your forehead, you feel the warm blood trailing down, probably from when you collided with the wall. The little strength left in your legs vanishes as you reel forward, your knees crashing onto the mud beside the spawn.

Though you thankfully manage to collapse on your back rather than your poor counterpart who’s probably choking on the dirt and grim of the city grounds even in death, you can feel your head going light, even as your hands tighten around the knife laying on your chest. You greet the moon again, this time with a breathy laugh.

Seluné must be smiling back at you, surely.

You’re not sure who’s standing above you when you open your eyes again, being only seconds away from entirely blacking out. But you think it must be an angel, with his snow-white curls and how he revels under the veil of the moon. You want to reach out to him, but your shaky arm says otherwise.

He’s beautiful, you think, even if you can’t make out his face.

You hope the angel doesn’t pity you.

Apparently, heaven is at Elfsong Tavern. You’d imagined being greeted with the smell of roses and a fresh stream rather than the overwhelming stench of booze, but you suppose it’s fitting considering how you’d died in a puddle of what you assume to be a concoction of cat piss and your own blood.

No, that can’t be right.

Looking around frantically, you lurch forward, the sweat and mud sticking your hair to your skin. Multiple pairs of eyes bore into you. You’re slumped in the tavern's kitchen, several Fist soldiers peering at you curiously. And finally, you manage to make out Shadowheart, whose hands are hovering over you with a gentle glow.

“Lay back down, I’m almost done,” she frowns.

You ignore her request. “The spawn! I’m not sure if they’re dead–”

“Never mind that,” she snaps. “They found you blacked out on the ground next to a dead body and a broken wall. What in bloody hell happened last night? Do you know how much it scared us when the damn Fists were banging at our door at 4:30 in the morning?”

Your head spins, and you clutch at your head. “Got ambushed. I tried to talk to them, but apparently, they just wanted a midnight snack.”

“Heavens above,” she breathes. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“No, I was so close, Shadowheart,” you shake your head frantically, smearing at the mud still plastered on your face. “I’ll be more prepared next time. If I manage to just capture one of the spawn alive, I could ask them where Petras is-”

There’s a loud yell from the hatch leading to the basement. Your head whips in its direction, then to Shadowheart, staring at her inquisitively.

She sighs, finally lowering her hands to her side. “Look, I need you to listen to me very closely. As your friend, I can’t have you losing your composure in front of the Duke downstairs. They’re in the hideout, but they’re also with–”

You hear Gale’s voice holler. “You’re the only one who knows them well enough, Astarion!”

Suddenly, your blood runs cold. While Shadowheart tries to keep you still, nothing can stop you as you yank the hatch open, sprinting downstairs. You run through the secret entrance to the hideout, your mind racing rapidly with words you can’t even decipher because they’re going by so fast. You want to hide away and barge into the room simultaneously, and the pounding of your head does nothing to help.

You're different now, you assure yourself. A part of you hates him for what he did, and you're willing to act on this hatred. You won't be passing out on the street, drunk on the pit of isolation he left behind, praying he'd appear from thin air and assure you things are fine. You're better now, and you did it all without his help.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

The room is cold–empty, except for three figures alongside two more guards standing at the door. Ravengard, standing at one end of the circular table, has his arms crossed, brows knitted together comprehensively. Gale, who had been pacing back and forth around the room, freezes instantly when he sees you. So does everyone else.

“Ah, and here comes the star of the show.” You haven’t heard his voice in so long. It almost feels foreign.

Standing between the other men on either side of the table, Astarion’s eyes bore into you, lips curled in a grin barely showing off his fanged teeth. When you lock eyes, yours grows wider as you take him in.

He looks almost the same. The same curly white hair, the same blood-red eyes, and the same smile that once brought you joy yet now only fueled the endless longing of your nightmares. While you expect yourself to feel anger, relief, or shock, all you feel is the rapid beating of your heart, your mind void of everything besides how uncomfortable the dried mud feels on your face. Your breath hitches as he lifts a finger to the side of his head. Only then do you also feel the warm liquid sliding down your cheek.

“You’re bleeding, darling.”

With the inevitable urge to barf up nothing from your empty stomach, you're back to being the same person as you were four months ago.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova

[im-am-not-a-weenie]

🍓period comfort

This is self indulgent 😃.

Reader is AFAB and I will be using she/her pronouns

shout out to all the girlies who don't like taking medicine and just power through it the cramps.

hinting at period sex with astarion, yknow how it is

spelling errors <3

see end for a/n

Gale, Astarion, halsin,

🍓Gale

you felt like shit. utter shit. if you didn't believe in the gods now you did because you've been praying for them to end your suffering hours ago. you were curled up in a ball in the corner of your tent

"Love, are you in here?'' your pity party was interrupted by your darling boyfriend Gale.

you let out a grunt to signal that you were in fact under the heap of blankets in the corner, you could hear a faint chuckle and footsteps nearing you

Gale crouched down and his knees gave a loud pop which made you smile a bit. "are you ok?" he asked gently. you shook your head under the blankets. "can I see you please?" his voice soft and words kind

with a huff you peaked out through the blankets. "there she is" Feeling his hand tuck a piece of your hair away you looked up. "what seems to be the matter?"

"I'm dying" you groaned. he immediately removed all your blankets and began scanning your body for injuries. "what's hurt, are you ok. you should tell me when you get hurt. or at least see Shadowheart or Halsin-." he rambles on

grabbing his worried hand and bringing it up for a kiss getting him to stop his ramble. " I'm fine gale, is just my period" That got him to stop, "oh" his face flushed, and just looked at you for a few seconds

"Why didn't you say that" he left the tent. before you could even get up to check on him he was back with a small basket filled with different plants food and canteens

you made a face of disbelief "Where did you get all of that on such short notice" The only answer you received was "I'm a wizard" he started to pile the blankets back on you but this time joining you in the pile

"eat this" he gave you a purple looking plant "it'll help your cramps " he said gently, you just shook your head. "cmon it'll make you feel better" he prompted." "I know," you said with a shrug and just snuggled into him

"Dont want icky medicine" he wrapped his arms around you pulling you close "Then what do you want" his hand started to play with your hair. "you" he let out a soft chuckle "That I can do"

you lay there in comfortable silence before Gale interrupted it. "you know I will make you eat that later right." you giggled "I'd like to see you try Wizard Boy."

spoiler alert, you ate the plant

🍓Astarion

let's be honest. he could care less (lies). astarion is one of those people who passively aggressively takes care of you

in a similar fashion you were in your tent curled up on the floor before astarion rudely barged in. "what are you still doing in bed." he asked dryly. you just groaned.

rolling his eyes he walked over and nudged you with his foot "Get up." looking up at him with a baffled expression you just stared at him "Did you just kick me?"

he scoffed "Darling I nudged you, you'll see kicking if you stay in bed any longer" he threatened with a smirk. "fuck off astarion i don't have to deal-" you cut yourself off with a groan as you doubled over and clutching your abdomen.

"stop being dramatic. it's not my fault you stayed up with Karlch and Wyll all night. you gave yourself the hangover now deal with it- why does it smell like blood in here." he looked confused and looked back down to you noticing how you clutching your lower stomach. it took a minute but finally, he connected the dots.

he sighed sitting on the ground and pulled you into his lap. "oh my poor dear." it was one of those rare occasions where his voice was soft and genuine

his hand trailed down and rested on your lower stomach. "does it hurt right here?" he asked softly as his other hand played with your hair. after answering with a simple nod he started to softly massage there trying to relieve some pressure.

"y'know," he said with a mischievous smile "you smell delicious right now. Gasping you hit him playfully "astarion." he giggled and held you tight against him. "come now dear we both know it wouldn't be the first time" he pressed a kiss on the top of your head

rolling your eyes fondly you giggled with him. "maybe later when I'm not feeling like I'm being stab." "of course darling, just think of it like an extra meal for me" that earned him another playful hit.

🍓Halsin

walking. sooooooooooo much walking, when will we stop walking. you think to yourself, you and your companions have been walking for almost the whole day, and for what. to look for a stupid necklace for a stupid-

"my heart are you alright" Internal monologue was interrupted by your mountain of a boyfriend Halsin. "No, I'm alright" quickly dismissing his worry. you didn't really want to do this quest but you knew the sooner you got it done the sooner you could make camp

he looked unsure but nodded making sure to slow his strides to walk with you. you felt his hand grasp yours. everything was fine until it wasn't, you felt a sharp pain in your uterus. you inhaled a deep breath and stopped moving, closing your eyes and trying to collect yourself

halsin stopped to observe you "Are....are you sure you're feeling well?" you felt a hand on your shoulder. your eyes met his, you gave him a reassuring smile "It's just cramps bear, I'll survive"

he looked at you worried "You started your cycle?" it made you laugh a tad. "no, not yet."

"then why-" "Halsin my love, I get cramps before during, and after. I'm fine" you explained calmly. another painful wave washed over you. this time Halsin picked you up and started walking in the opposite direction of anyone else

"Not that I'm complaining but what are you doing?" you giggled at the sudden lift. no matter how big you were Halsin made you feel small, but in a good way

"I'm taking you to camp," he said simply and left no room for arguments 'if you are suffering I'd rather you suffer in my arms in our bedroll' he kissed the top of your head.

you felt safe and loved, the rhythm of Halsin's steps made you drift to sleep. when you awoke you were wrapped up tightly in Halsin's arms, your bodies tangled together you smiled and kissed Halsin's cheek before falling asleep again

hey. i did it i posted on time. anyway, i hope yall liked this! it was purely self-indulgent. also thank you for all the love of my last post! I've never gotten that many notes before. my inbox is open for requests. and i also can write for other characters bg3. <3

[justporo]

Tavern Talk

I really wanted to write a little something about the companions enjoying a moment of banter at breakfast - so have them complaining about Astarion and Tav not being able to keep their… nightly activities subtle… Spoiler warning!

Pairing: Astarion / GN!Tav

Warning: Talk of sex

(Gif from here!)

The whole party was sitting together eating breakfast in the tavern they stayed in - except, Tav and Astarion sat a few tables away and none of them were really eating. While the vampire and the wood elf were sitting at their small cozy table in the corner being all cute, the rest of the party sat at the big table in the middle and openly stared at the couple - a spoonfull or two even forgotten halfway to its destination.

„I swear to all Gods that will listen that if I have to endure them going at it one more night, I‘m going to kill myself right here, Absolute be damned“, Gale moaned pressing the balls of his hands into his eyesockets. He did indeed look even more tired than usually. Seemingly, the fact that he had one of the two rooms next to the happy couple was to blame.

„I agree, maybe Tav should‘ve taught this wretched vampire to not moan so loudly - even the bard‘s yapping would have been less annoying“, Lae‘zel agreed - she had the other room next to them. She stabbed the fruit on her platter as if she tried to murder it and chewed it angrily. Karlach snorted a little at the githyanki‘s murderous mood while she took a bite of bread.

„Well, if it‘s in his nature to be this vocal than it‘s better to let it out than forcing it down“, Halsin chimed in, a somewhat dreamy look in his eyes while eating another big spoonful of his porridge. He was the only one that wasn‘t really staring at the two other elves.

The druid‘s comment made all heads turn to him for a hot second. „Eww“, Shadowheart made quietly and scrunched up her nose while she kept twirling her sole cup of tea in front of her around.

„Tchk, druid, if you don‘t mind sleeping next to what sounds like a dying owlbear then I‘ll happily swap rooms with you and maybe you can ask to join next time they‘re at it“, Lae‘zel spit towards the towering elven druid.

„That‘s absolutely not what a dying owlbear would sound like“, Halsin answered very matter-of-fact, staring down at the table now with furrowed brows. His pointy ears had turned a telltale shade of light pink.

„You‘re all just jealous“, Karlach entered the conversation. She sat relaxedly on the bench leaning back and crossed her arms over her chest: „Jealous, because they are getting some and we all don‘t.“ „Tss, getting some is not the problem. But you don‘t have to rub it into everyone‘s faces how much amazing sex you‘re having“, Shadowheart responded, nose still scrunched up in disgust.

„So, what I‘m hearing is that you might have a big orgy with an endless amount of lovers in your room every night and none of us would ever know and you would absolutely never sass us about it in your sarcastic little tone you have sometimes“, the wizard replied dryly to Shadowheart‘s remark while raising an eyebrow at the half-elf and gesturing towards her with one hand. „Well, I wouldn‘t tell you, for starters, Gale. Just because you can never keep your mouth shut doesn‘t mean the rest of us can‘t - stop projecting yourself on everybody else.“ That earned Shadowheart snorts and chuckles all around the table - and the wizard did not have a witty reply anymore.

Silence spread through the group. Lae‘zel kept murdering her breakfast, Halsin munched on his food as did Wyll. Karlach kept forgetting to put her bread in her mouth to actually eat it while still throwing glances over to where Tav and Astarion were now holding hands and leaning their heads together like the lovebirds they were. Shadowheart and Gale kept holding on to their hot beverages. Shadowheart usually skipped out on eating for breakfast - and Gale seemed to still fight with being deprived of his beauty sleep.

„But what‘s changed? We all know they fucked before“, Karlach finally broke the silence. The comment earning mumbled approval and more groans around the table („Don‘t remind me, tiefling“, Lae‘zel spat). „They smooch all the damn time in front of everyone and at the most inappropriate times. I mean, it‘s not like they‘re trying to hide anything“, Karlach continued and shrugged. „Yes, by the Gods, I‘d hope they would hide it“, Gale whispered under his breath and stared at the ceiling in desperation.

„I‘d assume what‘s changed is that they‘re both now truly free to choose the one they love and act upon it - without ulterior motives or fear behind it.“ This was the first time Wyll offered any insight on the topic. He had rather politely held his tongue on the matter, not wanting to judge and indulge the gossiping.

„Hmm“, the druid agreed with him and nodded solemnly, „I would think breaking out of your slavery of two hundred years and experiencing real love and genuine connection after that can quite positively turn your world around for the better.“ „Don‘t romanticise that they can‘t be more subtle!“, Shadowheart immediatly exclaimed and crossed her arms over her chest.

„Well, for what it‘s worth I think they deserve to enjoy their love in peace for a bit but if you‘re all so bothered about it, I can go and talk to them about it later“, Wyll offered, completely being the diplomat about the whole thing.

„Chk, warlock, don‘t bother - I feel like these people don‘t want a solution, they‘d rather sit here every morning and gossip and bitch about it“, said Lae‘zel who had finished her food and was now just sitting between the others while brooding.

„I‘m all about handling this like adults“, Gale said and lifted his cup of tea halfway ,“but if they insist behaving like rabbits, we might as well-“

The group never found out what the wizard would have proposed, because he made a sudden jolt and splashed his tea all over himself. Gale squinted through the streams of liquid running down his face and turned around.

Astarion had snuck up on them and kneed Gale in the back, making him spill his drink. Murder twinkled in the vampire‘s red eyes. Karlach and Halsin had broke out into full, body-shaking laughter, even Wyll and Lae‘zel let out a chuckle while Shadowheart just shook her head in disappointment.

„If you keep talking about Tav and me in terms of critters, I will gut you like one, wizard. And that goes for all of you“, Astarion hissed after he had leaned down to Gale who was trying to soak up the spilled beverage with some napkins.

„Please do, if you two keep insisting on being godsdamned lovebirds. You‘d be doing me a favour“, Gale replied. Astarion hissed again - but now with a dirty smirk on his face: „Well, if that‘s the case you‘re also happy to come over and watch next time, bastard.“ „You should clear that with Tav first, Astarion“, Shadowheart added dryly. The round chuckled again and now seemingly relaxed. Astarion still looked ready to spill innards but the tension in his shoulders had loosened a little.

„Yo, Tav“, Karlach shouted over to the elf after she had calmed down a bit from all the laughter „keep your guarddog in check, would ya?“ Then she laughed again. Tav just flipped her off across the room and started laughing as well.

Halsin meanwhile had finished his meal and made to get up. He walked over to Astarion and patted the vampire on the back who winced at first but relaxed quickly again. „Maybe keep it down a little next time, so we can all keep being friends, eh?“, the druid offered in a friendly manner and smiled at the vampire.

Astarion made to protest: „I‘m not your…“ But then he stopped while his gaze wandered over this unlikely party of adventurers and back to Tav as well and realised the druid was right: they were, all of them, his friends.

[nordicmuse]

Down by the River - Astarion x Tav Romance/Sm!t

After Astarion is shamed for what he is, he and Tav find themselves confronting the dynamic of their relationship, and if it can even be that.

Fading embers crackled as the group sat around the dying fire. It was late, and conversation had dulled to the occasional mumble about stiff muscles or the notice of a previously looked over wound. Tav stifled a yawn as she lazily spun a dagger between her fingers, having now cleaned it of goblin blood and polishing it until it shone her worse-for-wear face in the firelight.

Shadowheart rolled her head on her shoulders and sighed as an unpleasant pop sounded. Tav winced. To her right, Gale was nursing a sore knee, courtesy of a bad tumble, and sat with it out sideways, wrapped for support. They’d taken a hell of a beating today, but they were alive - more than what they could say for some of the druids and tieflings. Guilt still weighed heavily there it seemed.

Shadowheart stood on stiff legs and sighed, breaking the silence. “Well, I don’t know about the lot of you all, but today’s kicked my ass. I’m turning in.”

Tav opened her mouth to speak, but the rustling of leaves silenced her, making her palm her dagger. She relaxed as a mess of white hair pushed through the bushes and Astarion stepped into camp. His shirt was torn and bloodied from the day’s events, both his and slain foes alike, but where earlier they had browned as they dried, fresh bright splotches scattered amongst them. They were minimal, but undeniably there. He’d been feeding.

“Welcome back. Not that we noticed you were gone,” Shadowheart teased.

Gale rolled his eyes. “Must you go and do that while the rest of us are awake? We don’t exactly care to see-”

“Gale!” Tav whisper-shouted. She flashed apologetic eyes towards the vampire spawn.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “No, please, let him go on. You’re so very charming. I accept, but with a request of my own. You can’t eat in front of me either. Have to play fair, after all, and it’s hardly kind to rub it in that what I used to enjoy can’t sustain me anymore.”

“You should know to just ignore him by now,” Shadowheart chided him.

“Or better yet,” Astarion continued, “You eat whatever you want at any time, but if I see a speck of gravy on your shirt or a stray crumb, I’ll remind you just how inconsiderate you are.” His smirk did nothing to hide the pair of stained, elongated teeth at either corner of his mouth.

“You are vile,” Gale berated, raising awkwardly to stand on his bad knee.

“Hmf. Suppose that you are entitled to your opinions.”

“It’s not a huge favor to ask that you keep those monstrous tendencies to yourself. Though you clearly had no problem making it Tav’s prob-”

“That is enough!” Tav shouted, bolting to her feet. She pointed an admonishing finger at Gale. “You’re going to lecture him about what he eats when I had to watch you consume a pair of boots just yesterday? For fuck’s sake, find something better to gripe about!” she hissed.

“And you!” She turned to Astarion. “Learn when to walk away!”

A pregnant pause fell over the group as she stared them both down.

“Tav is right,” Shadowheart said. “We need to stop bickering. We’re all complicated. No use in pointing out what makes it different.”

Astarion glanced down at Tav, then brusquely averted his gaze. “Suppose you’re right. Now, if there’s nothing else to be said, I think I’ll be changing into fresh clothes and turning in.” As he stepped away, Gale scoffed to himself. Tav watched as Astarion hesitated that half-step, sighed, and continued to his tent.

Shadowheart and Gale excused themselves as well, but Tav stayed by the fire, sitting on her bedroll. Thoughts consumed her. Why were people so vile to him? He hadn’t hurt any of them. She grimaced. Well, not exactly. But she had let him. Of course she was aware that he had snuck up on her that first night. But she had offered himself to her freely, once the shock had passed. And, try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself that he would have fed from her if she had never stirred or simply refused. He tried to deny it at every turn, but that glimmer was there. Humanity.

And it made it all the damn more conflicting when she had offered herself to him again. And again. And again.

There was no denying it. She couldn’t hide the bruising or puncture marks on her neck, and she was admittedly lethargic the day following a feeding, but seeing him so rejuvenated made it somehow worth it. It didn’t make any damned sense. Why was she sacrificing herself for someone people saw as a monster? Probably because she didn’t see him that way at all. Not anymore.

And then something strange happened - Astarion had reeled her into a conversation about that fateful night, talked about how it seemed to have awoken an appetite (though he swore he had no intention of feeding off of Gale of Shadowheart), and being his musing, hypothetical self, he had asked her who she would feed off of if she were like him. And the answer came a bit too quickly. You. He’d laughed it off with thanks for the flattery, but she realized she had admitted something deeper than that.

Tav looked up from the all but extinguished fire, barely an ashen glow. Lanterns were snuffed out around the campsite, but the full moon illuminated the woods in a pale glow. She stood, muscles aching and face still stinging from the slash it had taken across the bridge of her nose and down her cheek today. She told herself she was just taking the long way around to her tent. It wasn’t her fault that it passed his. Besides… she wanted to check on him.

Her hand fell to the tent flap, hesitating as she was unsure of how best to get his attention when knocking wasn’t an option and she didn’t want their other companions to hear her call out to him. She pulled the tent flap back.

“Looking for me?” a saccharine voice whispered. She turned to Astarion’s tall frame leaning against a nearby tree, and dropped the flap.

She hung her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry-”

“Hush,” he said, a finger to his lips. He crooked his finger, beckoning. “Let them sleep. If you want to talk, I suggest we wander off some.”

She nodded, following him down a winding path to the riverbank, where the steady flow of water sang, drowning out their conversation.

“What were you doing out? I thought you were going to bed, too.”

“I could accuse you of the same. But if you mean to ask if I was feeding, then no, so you needn’t worry.” Defensive malice dripped from his words. 

Her heart stung. Was he accusing her of being appalled? “You know I don’t care about that - not in any bad sense. So then what were you doing?”

He leaned back against a large boulder, arms crossed over his chest. “Thinking. I might be able to be in daylight now thanks to our little passengers, but I’ve been a dark dweller for hundreds of years. It’s oddly comforting once you’re used to it. A monster can hardly change its true nature,” he bit out.

“You’re not a monster.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“You don’t get to decide that! I let you feed off of me. Why would I let you do that unless I gave a damn about your wellbeing? When I know you can survive off of animals, yet bare my neck and let you take from me?”

He averted his eyes. “I never meant to insult you.” He stepped away from the boulder, staring into the black water. “But even I have to admit that you’re a puzzle I can’t solve.”

“It’s not a puzzle, Astarion. I just… I just want you to be okay,” she admitted, surprised by her boldness.

“I’ve survived how many more lifetimes than you, darling girl? I’ve managed,” he quipped.

You feel it, too. You have to…, her mind wondered.

Tav stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Astarion’s arm. “You might actually believe you’re a monster, or maybe that’s what you tell yourself to prepare for the inevitable storm of assholes that can’t see past their own prejudices. But I’m telling you what I see, and that has to be worth something.”

He turned, red eyes locking onto hers. “And what is that?”

Had her chest been heaving this hard a minute ago? Her breath stuttered. “I see you.”

His eyes fell to her lips, she shook with anticipation. Was he wondering what it would be like to close that gap just as much as she was? Her hand fell to his arm again, trailing down to his fingers as she locked her hand into his. Was he shaking? Yes, he was undoubtedly glancing between her eyes and lips, torn in the middle of a decision. One she wanted so badly to make for the both of them - but he needed to be the one to decide. To be allowed to choose for himself.

After what felt like many moments of empty promise, she pulled back, her hand leaving his. As she turned away, his eyes widened, like the loss had panicked him.  He grabbed her hand and stared at her, uncertainty in his red eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” And she meant it, by every definition.

He pulled her body against his, lips crashing onto hers with fervor. His hands cradled her neck as he backed her against the nearest tree, all semblance of his self-control lost. Good. She didn’t want it. His tongue searched for hers, a different kind of ravenous, and he groaned pleasurably as she wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers into his hair. His kisses trailed down her neck, hesitating at the marks he had left on her. He needed to be distracted from where his mind was returning to. 

She used her leg to pull him flush into her body, an unmistakable hardness pressing against her. Both gasped at the contact. Her hands flew to his fresh shirt, opening the first few buttons, but he put his hand over hers. Breathless, he asked, “Leave it on. Please.” Shame clouded his eyes, brows furrowing. “I have… scars.”

“We all do,” Tav said, confusion riddling her voice. “Hell, I have an open cut running across my face right now. That will probably scar, too.”

Though his desire was palpable in the air, he pulled back another excruciating inch. “These ones are… different, to put it lightly.”

“From the transformation...” Her confused look softened, but turned to horror in her eyes. But not at him. At whoever could have done that to him.

Astarion didn’t say it, but he didn’t deny it. He backed up a step, though he looked physically pained to create the distance. “You don’t actually want this, Tav. You deserve better.”

“I want all of you.”

He grimaced. Fucking grimaced. “There’s not a lot of me left.”

She advanced, hand touching his cheek. “Then let me take whatever you will give.”

His eyes clouded with something - relief, resolve? But he nodded fervently and lurched in to kiss her like she was air and he was suffocating. She ran her hands over the planes of his chest exposed by the few buttons she had opened, wishing she could run them along his back, but respected his wishes. She would only take what she was given. His hands fumbled for her belt, unbuckling it as she pushed them down her thighs, exposing herself to the chill night. Her pants and boots were thrown haphazardly to the side, and they both heard the unmistakable tumbling and splash of something heavy hitting the water nearby.

They hesitated long enough to laugh as he lifted her into his arms, bracing her against the boulder. Tav cried out, biting off a moan as a long finger slid through her slick heat. Astarion groaned, producing the soaked finger in front of him. And sniffed. He was fucking smelling her.

“Oh, darling,” he purred. “I’ve tasted your blood. But this is going to be divine.”

Words couldn’t form as he sank to his knees, barely giving her a moment to realize his intentions before his warm tongue slid against her. She gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. She couldn’t help the involuntary tug when he sucked her clit into his mouth, working over the sensitive bud.

“Delicious,” he sighed against her.

Her brain fogged, and certainly not from the damned tadpole. But was it possible that everything she was feeling, he felt, too? It would explain the sense of mesmerized pride she felt.

“As-Astarion!” she begged, bucking her hips against his mouth.

He placed a steadying hand over her hip bone and broke away, causing her to cry out in frustration. “Quiet, now, or you’ll let everyone in on our little game here.”

Suave as he was, she knew. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed if she was caught with him. And it burned her, because nobody else gave a damn who fucked who the night before. Unless it was him, apparently.

“Let them hear,” she whispered. “I want them to know.”

“You say that-”

“Then believe me.”

She sank to her knees, shoving him backwards so she could straddle him. She unlaced his leather pants, growing frustrated with them and allowing him to free himself. He groaned at the relief from the confines, and need radiated in her core like alchemist’s fire. He was going to be the death of her, but not in the way he worried about.

Her hand encompassed him, and he jolted, lips parting. “Darling, I don’t mean to rush you, but I’m afraid you’re going to spoil your own fun if you keep that up.”

A smirk played at Tav’s lips. “Been a while?”

“What can I say? I’ve been a bit preoccupied with being kidnapped and turned into a nursery.” But the sharp, joking tone of his voice dropped. “But, yes. I don’t often take people to bed. Despite Gale’s prodding, I do still have impulse control, and I don’t seem to enjoy meaningless little trysts.”

She hesitated. “Are you saying this means something?”

“Please, don’t make me answer that tonight. But I think you already know that answer, even if I can’t bring myself to say it.”

“I understand.”

He took her hand, holding it between them. “Thank you.”

He coaxed her off of him and kneeled, closing his eyes as he unfastened the last buttons of his shirt.

“Astar-”

“I know what I said. And I have no plans of letting you see that. Not tonight, maybe not ever… but I’m not about to bed you on the cold ground,” he explained, pushing the white shirt off his shoulders and laying it on the ground. He beckoned her closer, drawing her into another fervent kiss and laying her onto the thin fabric. He kneeled over her, supporting himself on his forearms. They both sighed as his cock nudged her entrance. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Thank Gods.”

He pushed into her, sinking in inch by inch until his hips were flush with hers. Tav gasped, hooking her arms around him. She felt the marks a moment too late, and her eyes flew open, boring into his. But he was just watching her, studying her like he was waiting for regret to ebb into her eyes. It never came.

Her body ached from more than the ass beating she had taken today. It ached for him, wanted him impossibly closer. Her hips bucked as she tried to draw him in, causing his breath to stutter as his gaze grew hazy, setting a steady rhythm rocking into her.

“Astarion, fuck-” she gasped, pulling him flush to her chest. “I need you. Please.”

“Darling, you have me,” he rasped, punctuating the thought with a tantalizing grind of his hips that rubbed her clit as he moved. His movements grew feral as he kissed her fervently, head dipping down to her neck. She groaned at the distinct feel of his teeth grazing her neck. And though she knew he only did it to heighten her senses…

“I want- want you to- fuck… I want you to feed on me,” she begged.

Astarion’s hips stuttered as if the thought alone was going to drive him over the edge.

“Tav, now isn’t the time. I’ve had enough to satiate me.”

“But not enough to fill you. And you said it yourself - it can be extremely pleasurable in the right circumstances. And I want to give it.”

“Are you sure?” he breathed, eyes wide with doubt even as his hips rolled slowly against hers.

Her hands guided him to the healing bruise on her neck, and a moment passed where she questioned if he would accept her offer. And then a sharp sting radiated pain thorough her neck and shoulder. Pain and wooziness and… yes, that. She quivered, surrendering to his touch, to everything that was him. She would die for this, would beg for it without shame. She was his, whether his heart understood that or not. Even if it never did.

Her stomach tightened, release a cliff edge she just needed the slightest push towards… Maybe their minds were more interconnected than she thought. “Come for me,” Astarion groaned, reaching down to rub her clit and punctuating the thought with sharp, dizzying thrusts.  And the world shattered.

“Astarion!” Tav screamed, orgasm ripping through her like earth-shattering magic.

He panted against her, pushed her legs up to drive into her impossibly deeper, sweat beading on his forehead. She gasped, sensitive from her climax, and fell deliriously into a second one as he groaned, burying himself to the hilt and stilling, cock twitching inside of her as he finally broke apart.

He stilled, lowering her legs and bracing himself, eyes closed as he fought for breath. He slid out of her slowly, regretfully, and fell to the ground beside her. He pulled her into him, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, damp with sweat.

Laying on his stomach, he tucked an arm under his head and turned tired but sated eyes on her. No, more than sated. Adoring.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, disbelief heavy in his eyes.

“So are you. Wonderful and handsome and smarmy and arrogant sometimes… but amazing. I meant it. I see you, Astarion.”

His throat bobbed, then his gaze fell to the dirty, frumpy shirt they were lying on. As if realizing his position suddenly, he swore, jolting upright and turning his scarred back away.

“Damn it. I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean for you to see that. You just…,” he sighed, “make it too easy to let my guard down.”

Tav pulled herself into a sitting position. “I don’t mind it, Astarion.” She cupped his cheek, directing his eyes to hers. “And, for whatever it’s worth… you’re beautiful. Unique. Something I want to spend a thousand nights mapping out.”

He smiled. “Then you’d be the first. And some horrible, selfish part of me wants you to be the last,” he admitted softly.

Tav leaned forward, wiping a droplet of her own blood from the corner of his mouth.

“I think I would join you in that eternity. We’ll find a way to make this work, if that’s what you want, too. I promise.”

“I… I believe you,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms.

“We should get back to camp. I’m sure tomorrow can’t wait to kick our asses again, and we both need rest.”

They dressed in silence, minus one boot that might have accidentally somehow ended up in the river. He apologized, but she could only laugh. He surprised her when he outstretched a hand. She took it as they strode silently back into camp.

With his tent just past hers, Astarion hesitated outside of her tent, lingering. Their hands stayed locked as he pressed his forehead to hers appreciatively. “Goodnight, you strange and wonderful thing,” he mused, smiling down at her.

It was a reach, but she couldn’t just let him walk away. It was some agonizing fear that if he left now, he would convince himself that this was all just for fun, that this was a distraction for both of them. “Stay,” she asked, searching his eyes.

“If I stay, the others-”

“I don’t care. Stay.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Alright.”

She fell asleep in the folds of his arms, not minding the dirty shirt he slept in. Hopefully he would ease about his back scars over time with her, reveal more of the history, but she was just content to be held by him tonight, and hopefully many nights after. And Astarion slept peacefully beside her for the first time in many long nights.

She woke to his gentle gaze roaming over her, taking in her face, her hair, her breathing. He adjusted as she stirred, almost apologetic.

“Good morning,” Tav murmured, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning. I apologize for staring, but… I wasn’t convinced it was real when I woke up this morning. I’m still not.”

Sleepily, she moved forward and pressed her lips softly to his.

He sighed, relief melting over him. “Thank Gods.”

Between his hands running through her hair and his adoring words, she drifted back into the daze between sleep and waking. Just resting her eyes a bit longer…

Except when she opened them again, Astarion was gone. The distinct voices of Gale and Shadowheart filtered through the tent walls. Camp was awake. Had he snuck out unnoticed, still embarrassed to be discovered? Her heart sank at the thought.

She left her tent, strolling into the center of camp where Gale was cooking breakfast over the fire and sitting on a cut log.

“Good morning,” Tav said, nodding towards Shadowheart who sat polishing pieces of her armor.

The cleric nodded. “Good morning.”

Gale nodded curtly. “Morning.”

She knew she was showing her hand too much, but worry ebbed into her veins. “Has anyone seen-”

“Your boot. Yes. Found it by the bank behind your tent, actually,” came his steady voice. Astarion waltz into camp, throwing the soggy leather boot down by the fire to dry. “It’s, eh- a bit damp. If it doesn’t dry well, we can visit a merchant in town, no doubt. Or check at the grove.”

Her relieved smile met his content one. “Good morning, darling. Sleep well?”

“You mean you actually got sleep last night?” Gale retorted, shooting Astarion an accusatory glance.

If at all possible, the elf paled, but a snarky grin masked it well. “What gave it away, Waterdeep? Her beautiful sounds, or the shirt I’m wearing? Had to wear the dirty one I bedded her on top of last night so as not to wear that bloody one that upsets you so.”

Gale stiffened, not expecting the crass admittance.

“But… yes,” Astarion said. “Tav and I are… trying this. And I don’t give a single damn what you think. All that matters,” he laced his fingers into hers, “is what she thinks. What I think.”

Shadowheart smiled. “If this is what you want,” she glanced at Tav, “ I’m happy for you.”

Tav nodded, lacing her fingers tighter into his. “It is.”

Gale nodded. “Seems like I’m on the unpopular opinion side of this debate. Which also means that I might have been wrong about you,” he said, locking eyes with Astarion. Astarion nodded, and the conversation ended. A quiet agreement of mutual respect.

Hours later, Tav ripped at the buttons of Astarions shirt, shoving it partly off his shoulders so she could roam her hands freely over his chest. Her tunic followed swiftly as he laid her onto his bedroll in his tent.

“Last night,” she gasped between kisses, “I told you- that I- wanted to explore you for a thousand nights. This is only two.”

“You’re foolish if you think I’m giving you up after the thousandth,” he rasped.

She laughed, falling into their passionate embrace.

[eliteseven]

Not the same anon but I would also love jealous Shadowheart HCs. A one shot would be amazing if you can but no pressure!

Lolllll

Jealous Shadowheart HC's, by Popular Demand (3 ppl).

I've long said this, but Shadowheart doesn't do jealousy. I think she's never had to. She grew up in the cloister- we know she mentioned having secret trysts or flings or w/e, but no serious relationships. She thought she was training to be a weapon, really. So...relationships- monogamy- I don't know if it ever crossed her mind? Probably not her scene.

Also, while I love her confidence, "I know I'm beautiful, but it's nice of you to say" etc. I think she's accustomed to suitors bending over backwards for her, but a lot of the time it was superficial- none of them knew her, it was purely physical.

All this to say: she's never had the inclination of being possessive of anyone, until...Tav.

Tav comes along with her stupidly tender touches and that look she gives Shadowheart, like she's the most resplendent being she's ever met. Shadowheart realizes she wants that all to herself forever. But Tav loves everything about her- her temper, her less than composed moments. For the first time in her life, Shadowheart's in love 💕

Shadowheart isn't oblivious- Tav is beautiful, she's going to get her fair share of attention. Tav's a people person, and she has a background in nobility- which meant a lot of schmoozing and cajoling. She has a way of enticing people- but unlike Shadowheart, she's never really weaponized it. She isn't really aware of how she draws people in (which pisses Shart off lol)

Most of the time, Shadowheart is content to let it happen. But for those lingering gazes on Tav? The way the barmaid touches her arm when she leans over suggestively to serve her? Nah Shadowheart is not standing for it! She will tilt Tav's chin and kiss her senseless in front of the entire tavern. If there are bedrooms (or perhaps even a hidden corner) Shadowheart is making use of them immediately.

Maybe it's a little residual Sharran domme energy in her, but Shadowheart expresses her discontent in the bedroom by marking Tav up. The camp pretends not to notice Tav's neck the next morning. (Tav fully encourages this behavior 😅)

The one subject that riles Shadowheart up every time: Tav's past in Cormyr. I won't mince words- Tav was a noble, pent up in her estate with stuffy rules, dying to live, bound for an arranged marriage she wanted no part of.... When Tav gets to Cormyr, she has a time. 👀 She might not be as experienced as Shadowheart, but she's certainly picked up a thing or ten in the near decade she was there.

If Tav has a "close friend" from her past in Cormyr that she references fondly every once in a while, whew...Shadowheart can't help but imagine who might have had her Tav wrapped around their finger.

Now, IF Shadowheart were to ever meet this friend, say she made it to the cottage for some ungodly reason:

Shart would obviously try to play it cool (She's too proud to admit she's jealous outright). Instead, she's draping herself across Tav, sitting on her lap, stealing kisses. She's generally very kind hearted now, but idk I can see her reverting back to her old ways for a bit. She’s definitely making some of those famous biting comments.

Tav tries to defuse it and keep her even keeled but sometimes it's so hard bc Shadowheart is pettyyyyy 😭💀

Tav: So, why don't we swap stories? Do you remember-

Shart: Yes, Tav, do you remember the night we bathed in the pools outside the House of the Moon and you spread my-

Tav: -Anyway, have you met Buttons?!

(I will try my best on the one shot but I have so many WIP's at the moment so maybe we can work it in elsewhere?)

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Three

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You).

Word Count: 3700 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

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A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content.)

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A/N: Sorry for the wait, my lovelies. I was paralysed by the responsibility. Lol. <3

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Chapter Three - Allies

Finally, a bowl of stew is placed in your hands. The log in front of the fire is less than comfortable, but you don’t focus on it, there’s warmth, there’s murmurs of light conversation and there’s food. You take out the spoon and begin drinking straight from the bowl, drops leaking from the corners of your mouth as you gulp. There’s a muffled sound threatening to pull you away from the experience, but you choose to ignore it until the stew is gone. Removing the rim of the bowl from your lips, you catch your breath and find Gale beaming at you from the left corner of your eye. “Well, I haven’t received many compliments for my cooking over the years, but you two might have just made up for that.” He chuckles before returning to his own bowl. You look to your right to find Karlach wiping her mouth with her arm and holding an empty bowl with the other. You can’t help but laugh a little when you realise how synchronised you must have been.

Upon hearing your laughter, she looks at you, smiles and taps her, now satisfied, stomach. “Gods, finally, a hot meal! Why don’t you cook like this every night, Gale?”

“Living off of scavenged scraps is rarely bountiful, so I, for one, shall be savouring every drop.” Shadowheart chimed in, delicately sipping from her spoon. She is interrupted by Lae’zel loudly tearing some bread next to her, once halved, she looks at the beast she has conquered, proudly, before offering one half to Wyll. Shadowheart rolls her eyes and attempts to enjoy her meal again.

Adjacent to Gale, Astarion sits, leaning back, enjoying a cup of wine, swirling it in his hand. He seems… Bored. There is no bowl in his lap. He must have finished it before you saw him, you tell yourself… but there is no empty bowl to be found. You observe him, curiously. If things are as difficult as the others say, surely he’d be just as desperate to have his own portion. The others barely seem to notice or care. Odd. He feels your eyes on him, then catches them with his own. You resist the urge to look away. He adjusts and smiles in his typical, cocky way before raising the cup and greeting you with a graceful nod. You nod back, withholding a smile.

“So, Tav, would you care to tell us a little more about yourself?” Wyll asks between slurps of stew. You are stunned for a moment. How does one go about answering such a question?

“There’s not much to tell. I’d only bore you.” You say firmly, almost as a warning to prevent any further questions. Astarion raises an eyebrow and smirks at your answer. Shit. He’s going to pry.

“Oh, don’t leave us in suspense, darling. Go on, we’re all dying to know.” He’s trying to sound sarcastic, but you can tell he’s genuinely intrigued by you. He sips his wine, all the while staring directly into your golden eyes.

“If you’re looking for stories of glory or valour, I have none. I’m no adventurer. I’m not like any of you.” You find comfort in telling the truth, maybe this will be enough.

“Really?” He drags out the word, taking the time to inspect you, searching for more.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t think of myself as the adventuring type either, before all this. I’m not sure if any of us did.” Gale interjects, attempting to offer some empathy in the midst of Astarion’s grilling. You essentially scoff at his words, you’ve seen them in battle, how they fit right in, the idea that this wasn’t their first choice of career is almost laughable.

“Hm, I’m sure…” You pause, debating on whether or not to be honest about your abilities. Annoyingly, the conclusion seems to be that here, honesty is essential to your survival. They need to know that if you found yourself in the middle of a fight, you would be dead in seconds. “Look… I’ve… I’ve never touched a weapon, nor have I ever even tried to channel the weave, for that matter.” There is silence…

“Chk… We should have killed her when we had the chance, she’ll only slow us down. Useless k’chakhi.” Fury. That’s all you feel as you and Lae’zel glare at each other. You try to push down your anger enough to get words out.

“What the fuck did you just call me?!” You begin to stand to assert whatever dominance you can over her and beat the clear imbalance in both of your skills. For a moment, you swear you can hear Astarion quietly giggling in anticipation.

“Woah! Now, now, there’s no need for that. Let’s all calm down and think about this for a second.” Wyll saves the day by bringing both of your emotions down, a boil to a simmer.

“Tav… You really mean to say that you’ve… Never been in a fight?” Karlach asks. You sigh, shrug and sit back down. You’ve felt and witnessed immense pain, suffering and recently even inflicted some yourself. But a fight? A fair fight?

“No.” There is more silence… It lasts for some time…

“Can you cook?” Gale breaks the tension, gesturing to his, now empty, bowl. You raise an eyebrow in his direction, unsure of where he’s going with this. You nod, slowly. “Clean?” You nod again. “Mend things? Clothes and such?” You nod. “Well then. It seems to me like we have our very own campsitter.” A campsitter… It’s certainly less glamorous than what they’ll be doing every day… but it’s safe. And that’s all you want, you don’t care how. You push a smile onto your face and nod a final time, looking around expectantly at the other faces around you, who mostly seem to agree with Gale’s assessment. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Empty bowls are stacked and one by one, your companions excuse themselves and make their way to their tents for the night. Tents… Shit, you don’t have a tent. “Shit, I don’t have a tent…” You exclaim to yourself. Suddenly, you become aware of the night air that grips the large areas of exposed skin displayed by your pelt dress. It’s cold. You find Gale who seems to be in the middle of stretching and getting ready for bed. “Do you have any spare fabric around here? I need to make myself a tent for the night.”

Gale sucks air between his teeth. “Regrettably, no, we tend to travel light. We weren’t really prepared for a last minute addition to the group…” You sigh and run your hand through your long, dark hair as you think, his voice breaks your thought. “I suppose, just for tonight, you could share with one of us?” Your eyes widen and suddenly, your feelings of safety dissipate.

You had briefly considered your living situation before agreeing to stay with these people, but, somehow, the prospect of willingly being unconscious in their presence hadn’t crossed your mind until now. It sparks a swirl of anxiety in your chest. “Oh… I… I don’t think I’m okay with that.”

“Of course. Perfectly understandable.” Gale nods affirmatively before taking his chin between his fingers, thinking. You look around and begin to turn away. “Wait here a moment.” He ducks into his tent, you hear the rustling and rattling of various knick-knacks and trinkets. He emerges and presents you with a robe and a blanket. “Here we are. Consider these as a gift and an apology for our poor hospitality.” His unexpected kindness throws you off for a moment, causing you to stumble over your words. You were fully prepared to leave and solve your problem alone by roughing it by the fire.

“Oh- I- th-thank you…” You hold your arms out and he places them in your hands.

“I just hope that these and the fire are enough for tonight. Tomorrow, we will find you more adequate lodgings, I assure you.” Before turning away, he looks directly into your eyes with a tender expression. You match him, or at least attempt to, feelings of tenderness haven't always translated themselves accurately on your face. But that doesn’t stop you from making the effort.

It’s quiet for the first time since you arrived here, and for the first time in a long while, you are alone. You walk towards the campfire, surrounded by closed tents. A distant owl hooting softly, crickets chirping peacefully, the wind singing sweetly. You close your eyes and breathe the cool air, absorbing the tranquillity. You take the robe and walk past the outskirts of camp. A lake waits for you, not too far away, but far enough to remove your pelts without the fear of prying eyes.

And so you begin, laying the robe on a nearby rock, your, now free, hands graze over the thick fur that covers you. It’s barely held together as it is, so you feel no regret when tearing each pelt away from your body. As it turns out, goblins don’t make skilled tailors. You lay them in a neat pile as you reveal more and more of your skin to the cold air, the ends of your hair tickling the small of your back. You trace your fingers over your plump surfaces, searching for undiscovered cuts and bruises. You bend, rounded flesh folding like silk beneath you as you inspect your legs. Every now and then, your finger dips as it reaches the wavy, plum coloured marks that adorn your body. Taking note of the new additions to your injuries list, you check your undergarments for any holes that need mending. Somehow, they seem to be in relatively good shape, although every part of you and your clothing is in desperate need of cleansing. You look out to the lake, longingly, but decide not to risk it. It must be freezing, and who knows what’s in there.

Another time, perhaps…

Reaching for the robe, you take in it’s appearance for the first time. It’s a beautiful viridian green, the hem embellished with gold coloured thread. The outside is like velvet to the touch, the inside is textured and warm, you can’t wait to feel it shielding your body. You carefully pull it on and secure it around your waist. There’s no restriction or tightness, just comfort, clinging to your curves. It’s more modest than before which is nice, however, although you found the previous garment distasteful, you begin to miss the sight of your own skin, so you allow the neckline to fall a little further down and ensure the skirt’s slit can be traced all the way up to your right hip. For an item of clothing that wasn’t made for you, it fits remarkably well and the way you’ve chosen to wear it flatters your shape wonderfully. As you tie the final knot around your waist, you feel something. You feel eyes.

“Well, what do we have here?” A familiar voice is heard, coming from behind you. You don’t need to look to know who it is. You scoff as you finish up and turn to him. Astarion is resting on a tree by his shoulder, very obviously scanning your new look with his intense gaze.

“Great, you’re a pervert too?” You rest one hand on your hip and angrily wait for his explanation.

“You think so little of me, darling, I’m hurt!” He feigns being wounded. A smile threatens to creep onto your face at his performance. He’s funny. But no, you pull it back almost immediately. “I swear, I just got here, I didn’t see a thing.” He crosses his heart with one hand and an earnest grin. He takes a few steps closer, you step back, wanting to maintain some distance. “Come on, let me see.” He makes a gesture, urging you to twirl and show off. You can’t help but laugh.

“Seriously?” You raise an eyebrow and lean back, further into your hip.

“Oh come now, can’t I appreciate a beautiful thing when I see it?” He looks you up and down, even more obviously this time. You scoff once again but stop before you say anything else, instead you choose to grin, take some of your skirt in one hand and twirl, ending with a grand, performative bow.

“Happy?”

“Mmm, I must say, it looks much better on you than Gale.” You laugh loudly for a moment. His grin falters to a warm smile for a split second.

“So, are you going to explain why I found you staring at me in the middle of nowhere now?” He stops smiling completely and looks to the floor, like he’s searching for something. 

“Hmm…” He finds your eyes again. “We all have our little secrets, don’t we, darling?” You sigh disappointedly.

“Well, that’s just annoying.”

“Isn’t it?” He steps closer again, this time, you stay put. “Goodnight, Tav.” He turns away and walks further into the forest.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” He halts and turns his head just enough for you to see his smile before disappearing completely into the trees.

You gather your things and make your way back to the dimming fire. You add fuel and breathe life back into it. You look around, each tent occupied, but Astarion’s. The temptation to snoop is very much there, but surely he’d know. You aren’t exactly the stealthy type. The warmth embraces you as you huddle under your new blanket. Eyes close.

You dream in fragments, but instead of pictures, they’re feelings. Fractured pieces of happiness, comfort, hope. And then… There’s the rest… __________________________________________

That familiar feeling of waking up, wanting more. The smell of burnt wood fills your nose, light burns your eyes, you adjust, back cracking, neck aching.

Gods, I hope they find something better for me to sleep on today.

Everyone is still asleep, Astarion’s tent now sealed.

What was he doing last night?

You rub your eyes and get up. There’s no better time to get started on breakfast. You head to the makeshift food station to assess the situation. It could be worse, there’s eggs, milk and some greens. Seven mouths to feed is a bit daunting, you’ve only cooked for 2 people at most. Although over the years, you developed a bit of a talent for it, it’s still certainly nerve wracking. You beat the eggs with the milk, chop the greens, stoke the fire and fry omelette after omelette until the main plate is stacked high. Your ingredients have been stretched as far as they can go and remarkably, it looks like you’ll be able to feed everyone. Slowly, companions begin to emerge from their tents, following the delicious smell of breakfast.

You stand, washing the utensils and dishes you used, hair tied up with stragglers escaping and Gale’s apron tied firmly around your waist. “Gods, what is that smell?!” Karlach’s voice sounds surprisingly nearby, she’s panting. Did… Did she run? You quickly turn your body to meet her. “Oh! Er- Breakfast?”

“Oh fuck yes! Ooo if I could, I’d squeeze you so hard right now!” You giggle, happy to see her so excited and happy to have missed out on the excruciating hugs that she no doubt gives. You hand her a plate with a fresh omelette on top. “Aw, thanks Tav!” She takes it away and shows it off to the rest of the group who begin to form a line. One by one you hand them a plate, each showing gratitude in response. Well, aside from Lae’zel who says nothing. Oh, and Astarion who… Didn’t even join the line. He sits by the fire with the rest, empty handed.

Does he just… not eat?

You fix him and yourself a plate and bring it over. “Here.” You hold it in front of him so he can smell it. He looks at it, then you.

“Thank you darling, but I’m not hungry.” He begins to push it away.

“You didn’t eat last night either, you must be starving. Come on, I promise my cooking isn’t terrible.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that, my dear, but as I said, I’m not hungry.” You look around to see the others’ reaction, they are mostly trying to ignore the conversation, but occasionally you get some glances. They’re hard to read.

“Are you sure?” You ask, vexed. He nods. “Alright… Suit yourself. Does anyone want seconds?” Immediately several hands shoot up, you chuckle and take it away, cutting it up into even slices to hand out.

Finally, you sit with them to enjoy your share. You slip the apron off and set it to one side. Knife and fork in hand, you begin eating, once you look up, you notice that Gale, who is sat next to you, is stealing glances at you in his robe. “What’s the matter? Did I get something on it?” You start searching the fabric for possible stains.

“No, no. It looks great-er-good-fine. Yes, fine.” His stuttered response makes you smile, he’s blushing. You continue eating, every now and then, checking to see if his cheeks are still bright red, they consistently are. The others occasionally check you out too, though less frequently and a lot more casually. Even Lae’zel seems somewhat interested in your new outfit. Astarion, however, is more focused on Gale, watching him intensely out of the corner of his eye. “So, er… You wanted some camp supplies, is there anything else we can get for you?” Gale asks, avoiding looking at you.

“Hmm… Yes actually, maybe a change of clothes?”

“Done.” He smiles.

“I was wondering, the nearby lake, is it safe? To bathe in, I mean.”

Gale clears his throat at the thought of you bathing before speaking. “Y-yes. We made sure of that, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, good.” His eyes are wide, still avoiding looking at you. You chuckle to yourself at his reaction. You spot Astarion, no longer is Gale in the corner of his eye, he is now in full, direct view. It’s difficult to read his expression.

You finish up and take everyone’s plates back to the station. Everyone gets ready for their day, slipping on armour and equipping weapons. Karlach in particular looks rather dashing in her armour. The heroic look suits her and you aren’t the only one who seems to notice. Shadowheart watches her adjust the equipment from afar. You smile as you watch the silent, one-sided interaction between the two. Shadowheart notices you and looks away, sheepishly. You turn away to give her some privacy and continue washing the dishes. Karlach yells a goodbye in your direction, you turn and wave a wet hand in the air as you watch the odd gathering of companions leave the camp.

You spend the rest of the day cleaning and preparing ingredients for the evening meal. At about midday, Wyll arrives, alone. “Hey, Tav- Woah… The camp looks great… And is that dinner being prepared already? I think you might be the best addition to our group yet!” He laughs, appreciating your work.

You shrug, nonchalantly. “Just doing my bit. Why are you back so early?”

“Oh, yes, well, usually someone comes back to drop off heavy loads of things we find along the way, and today I pulled the short straw.” He smiles, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, by the way, we stopped off at the grove. It turns out the tieflings are just about finished preparing to leave. They want to come to our camp tonight to celebrate.”

“They’re leaving? But didn’t you just secure the grove?”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t their home to begin with, they were just looking for a safe passage to leave.”

“I see.” The memory of the few tieflings that stood up to Minthara and her army cross your mind. You admire them and their courage, then you feel a pang of guilt, for you were the one who put them in danger. Then you realise that if you saw them, they saw you…

On the wrong side…

“Anyway, here’s today’s load, would you mind sorting through it? I think the things you requested are in here too.” He drops a large, heavy backpack at your feet.

“Of course, I’ll see you later.” He smiles and bows elegantly, you giggle and curtsy back (not so elegantly) before he leaves.

You go through the contents of the backpack finding various potions, magical items and armour pieces. You pull out a large fabric, dark green with flecks of gold, very similar colours to the robe you’re wearing. As you stretch it out you see a large splodge of blood, you grimace and roll it back up, you don’t want to know how it got there. You add it to the laundry basket. Lastly, you take out a burnt orange shirt, a brown corset and a pair of dark brown leather pants. You take the corset and hold it close.

Finally! Some support!

As comfortable as it can be wearing nothing on your chest, it can really make your back ache. This should definitely help. Thank the gods that there are other women in this party who would know to look for these things.

You organise and pack away the items, then begin doing laundry in the lake. A shadow of the blood stain is still on the fabric but it will have to do. You hang it all up to dry and gather more materials to set up your very own tent. Now, to pick a spot… It seems that the only option that’s big and safe enough is between Karlach and Astarion’s tents. You begin to place the materials down and plan it out, exactly how you want it.

Propping up sticks and hammering them into the ground, laying down the pelts from earlier to act as a rug, hanging little, handmade decorations at the entrance and finally, once dry, draping the fabric over it all and securing it. It looks cosy enough, you sit inside for a moment, enjoying your new shelter when you hear commotion in the distance. You hear a few voices that you recognise, and many you don’t. It seems the party has begun.

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Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[smt4flynn]

"i love you" but you scream, and no one hears

Warning: NONCON/DUBCON, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, GASLIGHTING, R18/Explicit. MINORS DNI. Ascended Astarion is the focus of the target here! DEAD DOVE, DON'T EAT.

Note: If you find the above topics uncomfortable, please consider turning away from this ('-')b This was a request! If you ever wanna request me, you can send me an ask on tumblr or just @ me on twitter. It may take me years to do it though!

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It takes you a painfully long time to wake up. The world around you is dark and hazy, worsened when you realise your arms are stuck for some strange reason. You can’t really move them, your body shifting about and realising your legs seem to be stuck too. Everything around you is heady, too much, your tongue like iron in your mouth and you have to focus particularly on it to keep it from rolling out and drooling all over. Your mind is racing everywhere yet your thoughts are sluggish and painstakingly slow.

What is the last thing you remember...?

You remember defeating the Nether Brain, before your feet come to a stark realisation that the floor is tipping sideways and you are plummeting fast. Gale panic screams out a feather fall to keep the crash into the water from murdering your lot, and then you are all violently flailing to the shore. You aren’t a great swimmer and neither is Shadowheart, given her deathly fear of the water, but the onslaught of potentially dying gets the two of you to flail to safety.

Karlach’s scream pierces through your memory – and you recall, well, how Wyll convinces her to escape into Avernus with him, and the two of them are just gone, leaving your life as quickly as they joined it. Astarion stands aside you, staring up at the sky, and for a moment your heart clenches. You look over to Shadowheart and see her being guided along by an equally soaked and greatly amused Jaheira, while Minsc screams something incomprehensible behind her.

Baldur’s Gate is ruined. But still it stands. Even though Wyll and Karlach are gone, having to leave in a sudden emergency, with Lae’zel oscillating between righteous anger at Orpheus having to sacrifice himself or leading the charge against Vlaakith herself, it is Gale who suggests you celebrate. Elfsong still stands, he notes, something tired curling at the corner of his eyes, and Astarion surprisingly agrees.

Perhaps you should have been more scared. He let go of you so quickly.

A door in the distance opens. It creaks slowly, causing your heavy, cotton-filled head to slowly lift to where you think the noise is coming from. It shuts almost inaudibly, though the gentle taps of shoes do not escape your ears. The bed dips slightly from the added weight and a hand cups your cheek so gently it sends knots curling in your stomach and spiders digging into your meat. You can’t even move away, not fast enough, as another hand grabs your wrist and squeezes it hard.

Your arms are stuck. Your arms are stuck together. He tugs you and you feel it scrape against the roughness of rope; sturdy and thick, painfully tight when you move too much, and a familiar little giggle hits your pointed ears.

“To think,” says the devil, tongue curled around the apex of his finely-carved fangs, “to think you would just... expect me to let you go.” his words hover near you, away from you. You are floating somewhere you know nothing about. You can’t move your legs, stuck apart – your mouth moves and all you do is dribble spit and gurgle. Your throat feels so tight and clogged. He hushes you, the little monster who watches you, who watches you reject Bhaal with distant eyes which grow sharp when you deny him.

The hand on your face is still so gentle. It retreats only to bring a handkerchief to wipe your spittle away. Your body is so utterly heavy and your throat is only slowly, slowly, getting everything together. The bed evens out only for it to dip again, even further, when golden-embroidered vampire wraps something around you, forcing it open and yet keeping you mute. Your body is completely at his mercy; his hands cup your cheeks again and he presses his plush, gentle lips to the corner of yours. His fangs scrape against you, almost playful. You can’t even try to shake him off.

“It hurt me.” he says lowly. “To think you only helped me because your little urges took over – but you were still in there, deep down, weren’t you?” he runs his fingers through your hair; you remember he tells you how much he loves it, feeling the strands, twirling them around his index. Pressing kisses to a lock of hair he holds before kissing you. “I never judged you, dearest,” and you know he is right. Even at your worst, he loved you. He takes your hands in his, kisses your fingers, “then you left me behind. Oh, did the rejection of Bhaal embolden you so? I saw in your eyes how much it hurt you to leave me behind, so why don’t I fix your little blunder?”

You try to thrash. The ropes are too well-done; he must have learned, intimately, from when he has to tie you up in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Even if they aren’t, even if they are sloppy, whatever he slips you has you as heavy as lead. You wish you can see him, you are glad you can’t. His hands finally move away from your face to instead trace down your sides – to feel your curves, the way your muscles tense as you try, even a little, to writhe away. Lips press against your neck – to the scarred bites, standing stark and pretty against all your other torture reminders (and the two of you bonded over it, over your tortures, over your hurts), and his teeth tease the healed wound. He can just as easily open those holes up again and drink you up.

This time, you know, if he drains you, that it will not be a revivify scroll that he uses to bring you back to him.

A kiss presses against it – chaste, like it is a treasure to be savoured. You want to scream. Your tongue presses against the fabric he uses to quiet you and you gag. Astarion hushes you. His lips against your skin is so soft, as soft as you remember it to be. His nails are claws as long as a tiefling’s, a byproduct of his ascension. You wear easy-fabric; a dress with no sleeves that makes it to your knees, with a skirt that flares out and makes you feel so pretty.

Now, as he peels the dress up to have access to your legs, to squeeze at your thighs and coo over the cute panties you wore today, you wish you decided against celebrations. “This would have been easier if you didn’t guilt yourself over what you can’t change.” Astarion says, his voice almost... pitying. “You know I love you, so, so terribly, that I would have loved you, adored you; you gave me a gift. I wish I could make you see that.”

You wish you can respond.

“These tadpoles being gone are such a nuisance, I almost miss the little bugger.” his voice is so soft. You don’t know who he is. “I would have flooded you with the sincerity of my love, but even when it was in your head, you rejected all of us when you learned how to control it. How could I make you understand that I love you?” his fingers are on your inner thighs, so close to your crotch.

An index slips between your clothed vulva and he lets out a disappointed sigh at the dryness he feels. “But you were so desperate to try to distance yourself from your Bhaal-influenced decisions, that you didn’t realise you were running away from us.” and even if you want to scream at him, shame does sting you.

You did reject him. But you don’t think it calls for him drugging you for doing something like that. His thumb presses against where your clit is hidden away, rubbing slow circles around it like he used to whenever he initiated touch; he loves, loved, worshipping you, feeling you lose yourself beneath him. Touching him isn’t something he normally wants, but you? Touching you? Feeling you? He loves it. Your body remembers it so well – he loves teasing you, making you lose yourself. For all of your experience in violence, and pain, and agony, and hurt, and hurt, pleasure for the sake of pleasure, not derived from severe instilled sadism, is still so new to you.

A muffled whimper slips from you, eyes wide behind the blindfold, and Astarion coos encouragingly at you. His thumb rubs against your clit, pressing down on it, and you shudder then try to jolt your hips away. You are so groggy – he slips down even further, hand moving aside to try and give his head better space when he presses his mouth against your vaginal lips. He wets the fabric of your panties when he begins dragging his tongue in, pressing in, before his mouth moves up to where your clit – swollen and hard – presses against your wet panties.

You writhe, try to kick your bound legs, your arms tugging painfully against your ropes. You wish – you wish, you wish almost deliriously you just killed Isobel that day, just so that Astarion doesn’t know how to tie you up so well, to keep you pinned down. Let me know when you need to be tied up again, he says lowly, fear hidden behind practised seduction. His fingers hook into the band of your panties, dragging them slowly down to expose your wet vulva – swollen and engorged with arousal, dripping pre all over, and you thrash about as much as you can.

A hand wraps around your throat – it moves too fast for you to even realise it. His fingers barely have to apply pressure before you feel like your neck is about to cave in. His nails scrape against you, scratching against the vampire bites, lining up with where your veins are, thumb stroking across your hidden artery. His grip tightens, only a little, and it feels like your muscle are about to give away, like he is about to crush your throat like a shot glass.

“I’ve been very patient with you, darling,” and still his voice is so deceptively sweet, when did he learn to speak like this? You remember him, Astarion, so nervous still, unable to hide his spite, his bitterness, beneath all of his practised flattery. The intense mockery, the humming promise of violence. This Astarion, who has your life in his deceptively gentle grip, speaks to you with the fluttering sweetness of a lover returned, “but I will not tolerate anymore impertinence from you. I was not going to turn you tonight, but if you do not calm down, I may have to consider it just to get you to stop.”

He squeezes harder and you gurgle behind the gag. Your body trembles as you force yourself to not struggle. He kisses the corner of your lips, as gentle as the first time, pressing another to your chin, and as his fingers peel slowly from your throat you almost sob from relief. He lets you sink into the bed, the bed that you do not realise how plush and comfortable it is, as if trying to drag you in. Comforts surround you, his kisses on you so chaste and loving, even as his claws scrape against your hips, dragging thin lines down your thighs.

Whip marks cover you, faded reminders from your Bhaalist past. You are not what made you. Astarion is what you made him.

“Good little Bhaal-babe,” he coos out at you. You try not to flinch away at his words. Shuffling fabrics greet your ears, before hands grab at your legs to spread them open. You feel so bared open beneath him, your folds still engorged, taken up by the little seductive timbre of his voice; even the display of his power has your body almost instinctively reacting with heat. You’ve been trained for too long to just forget – Astarion loved it. He loved that pain and pleasure are one and the same for you, that you are so desperate to submit to something greater than yourself, that you let him do whatever he wants to you.

Now, you regret having him train you. You love him. You loved him. You love and loved him and will love him for as long as you are alive.

“Oh, your cunt’s so wet,” he coos, and he spreads your folds open for him to show off your desperately wet hole, your body still responding to him, reacting so viscerally, even when tears are pricking behind your blindfold and wetting the fabric, “I know you still wanted me, I don’t even know why I doubted it.” and you aren’t allowed to even parse that statement before you hear him spit on your vulva, his saliva dragging down your hole in a pointed mark of humiliation, and you shake with the indignation of it all.

His thumb presses against your hole, slipping his saliva inside of you, and you hate how your hips jump toward him, how you drip even more openly for him. “So cute.” he hisses through his teeth. He holds you open after, just to watch your hole flutter. This is not the man who loved you. He drags you closer to him, cock head pressing against your unprepared hole, and your muscles grow extremely tense to not thrash away -

Even when the two of you bed regularly, he needs to stretch you open, spending an almost embarrassing amount of time trying to ready him up for you. Here, however, he simply presses against you, laughs at whatever expression you seem to make, and then slams into you without much preamble. You scream, or try to – your voice sounds distant, foreign, even to you, muffled and pathetic. He stretches you wide open, did something inside of you tear? No – no, you are too used to him, even if it hurts that he just slams inside of you.

“Remember this.” he hisses out. “Remember how this feels, remember how I feel!” his grip on you is unrelenting, slamming into you, forcing your tired body to accept him. Your hole stretches, your body wildly writhing, but he doesn’t punish you for trying so desperately to kick him away. He seems to relish in it, given the way he moans from your panic, from your writhing. One hand grabs your thigh harshly, fingers pressing down hard enough to form bruises, and the other -

His thumb rubs circles around your clit – tears sting the corner of your eyes. Your hole flutters, tightening up, and to your horror you’re actually getting close; and it is when he finally unties the gag, briefly stopping his touch on your clit, to give you an actual kiss, full of love and sweetness, that you cum around him. You moan pathetically, mouth feeling painfully dry, and still Astarion keeps his kiss with you.

You don’t even realise when he finally groans and fills you up. Shame and horror have finally made themselves at home in your head.

“I love you.” he whispers. You scream, but nothing really comes out – your throat is dry, clinging to itself like sandpaper. He hushes you, once more. “I love you.” he says. “I love you, dearest, and even if you don’t love me – I’ll make you remember how it felt.”

And you scream again.

But nothing comes out.

[crow-winged-wolf]

Self-Same Trial

So I'm gonna go out on a limb and finally post my first story on here, please be kind. it's fluffy, has a few innuendos, but nothing mature. Not yet anyway lol. If this turns out well, I might post the spicier stuff. I once promised to write a little something about Astarion seeing himself at the Self-Same Trial. And here it is.

Anyway, pairing is Astarion and F!RangerTav (Serra)

The four walked into the room slowly, looking around at every corner as if it was about to leap out and tackle them. Shadowheart was at the front of the pack, gaze locked on to a statue of Shar holding a basin. She approached confidently, grabbing the dagger on the edge of the bowl and slicing her palm without a second thought. Serra winced once more, not truly used to seeing someone happily open their palm 3 times for various challenges, but there really wasn't any fighting involved, so she guessed a weapon hand weakening wound shouldn't be too much of a bother. Shadowheart looked like she was listening to something, nodding and taking a sharp breath.

“So, this one is called the Self-Same Trial.” Shadowheart announced, turning to them.

“What does that mean?” Serra asked as they continued to the next room, pivoting on her heel mid stride to walk backwards.

“I’m not sure.” Shadowheart shrugged. “I don't know what the trials are, just what the statue holding the basin said. Vanquish your old life to receive my wisdom.”

“Maybe we can ask that rather well armed group up there.” Astarion interjected, pointing up at the raised platform above them. Serra turned around to look up at four figures sneering down at them.

Astarion recognized three of the figures. There was the small blonde Wood Elf Ranger at the front with a crackling bow clutched in her hand who was clearly Serra. The hulking red Barbarian Tiefling to her left with an eternally burning sword was Karlach, and the Half-Elf Cleric to the right with a glowing mace and black, tightly bound hair was Shadowheart. That only left the fourth person, the male High Elf of the group with a pale complexion, silver hair, and daggers clenched in both hands. He was boasting a cocksure smirk that made Astarion want to Misty Step up there and wipe it off his face before he could move, but he held back to watch the girls reactions.

“They look exactly like us!” Serra marveled.

“Oh, I get it, you have to fight only yourself!” Shadowheart called out as the group up top opened fire on them, the Serra clone and the white haired High Elf drawing on their bows while the Karlach and Shadowheart clones went for the steps to get closer.

He exchanged a look with Serra before pulling his hood out from the collar of his armor and over his head, fading into the shadows without another word. “Astar- crap.” She hissed, barely twisting out of the way of yet another arrow from her own clone. “Get down here and do that!” She snarled, drawing her own arrows back and sending them through the clones shoulder.

“Well, hello darling.” He purred as he dropped the invisibility right behind the Elf. “Care to dance?”

The clone turned and regarded him silently, putting the bow away and slowly drawing his daggers again as the two began cautiously circling each other.

“What, nothing to say?” He tutted in disappointment. “I was hoping this would be more than just physical.”

He had to admit, the clone was rather handsome. The drow armor that Serra insisted on dying red and black really made his crimson eyes practically glow against his pallid skin. And it was fitted just the right way to cut a very alluring figure. He had to remember later to look into getting more corset style clothes, those looked especially good on him.

The clone lunged forwards blade first, the sharp edge skating past Astarion's side as he twisted out of the way, parrying the second blade that came down for his chest. It still managed to bite into his arm with a glancing blow, making him hiss in pain, then retaliate with a strike at the clones exposed back. He landed both daggers into its shoulders, knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground face first.

Below them, Serra had managed to entangle and drag her clone down to her, a resound snap coming from the mirror images arm when she landed on her side hard. Karlach had all but slashed her clone to pieces, and Shadowheart was exchanging blows with her own, both succeeding at missing the other with firebolts.

As Serra dispatched her clone, she looked up at the raised platform, slightly worried. The girls were almost finished with their fights, and Astarion was usually one of the fastest in a fight, ending one or two enemies before she could fire off a single arrow. Him still being missing was unusual. She headed for the stairs to go up and check on him.

Meanwhile, Astarion was looking down at his prone dance partner, his eyes drifting down along his back and stopping at his backside. Astarion quirked an eyebrow at the clone, twisting to look down past his own shoulder, then back at the clone. “Hm, not everyday you get to see your own-”

“Astarion? Are you okay?” Serra called, peering over the floor as she came up to eye level with it. The silver haired Elf waved her off, and heard the rustle of the arrows in her quiver.

“Okay.” She climbed the rest of the way up, sitting down on the raised floor to watch Karlach and Shadowheart finish their fights.

“I’m fine, pet!” He snapped before she could nock her arrow, the rustling stopping. He glanced at her, the tip of her bow disappearing from view as she watched him cautiously.

“Pity,” He sighed as he knelt down and brought his blade to the heavily injured clones neck, cradling his chin in his palm firmly but delicately. “I was just enjoying gazing upon this gorgeous face.” Serra glanced over, watching the reverence with which Astarion regarded the clone. He had a knee in his back to keep him down, his expression saddened by the thought of losing his first chance in a long time at seeing his own face. Her eyes brightened as she thought of something, tucking the idea away for later.

He dispatched the clone quickly and cleanly, wiping the blades on the clones back before standing up and looking around. Karlach and Shadowheart climbed the stairs to join them, Serra picking herself up and stooping over the Astarion clones body to pick something up.

“Where is the orb?” Karlach asked, looking around. Serra came up between them, placing the softly glowing purple orb in Shadowheart’s hands.

“Astarion’s clone had it. Anyone hurt?” She looked around, each of them checking themselves over.

“Just a scrape, darling, nothing to worry about.”

“Excellent, let’s go.” She nodded, leading them back out of the room.

“So, they looked exactly like us?” Astarion asked. The girls nodded. “Well, I don't know about you, but my clone certainly was a handsome devil, wasn't he?” He smiled brightly, Serra cracking a distracted smirk.

That night at camp, when everyone went to sleep, Serra snuck off to Gale’s tent with a request, careful not to let Astarion see her. He was sweet, if not somewhat territorial at times, and she saw his expression when she spoke to Gale. She held a finger to her lips as she approached, Gale smiling at her in confusion. He glanced at Astarion’s tent where she was usually headed, then back at her. “Serra, what brings you to my tent tonight?”

“I want to learn a party trick, do you mind teaching me?”

“Well sure, why not.” He shrugged. “Which one?”

It took her three nights practicing with Gale in secret before she was confident in her ability to cast this very specific spell. Multiple times, Gale asked why this one, but she always dodged the question with a well placed inquiry of her own.

In the morning of the fourth day, Serra looked exhausted, but proud as she came up to Astarion and pulled him aside. “I want to show you something.”

“Does it include a secluded corner of this shrine?” He asked, smirking at the slight blush that tinged her tired face.

“Only if you want.” She retorted, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. “Give me a moment, retuto sui!” She waved her hand in front of her face, slowly opening her now crimson red eyes, smiling then wincing as she bit her lip. “Fangth. Fangth are new.” She lisped, giggling in a more masculine voice that didn't belong to her.

Astarion stood rooted to the spot as she changed her appearance to mirror his all the way down to his height, breaking from his stupor when she bit herself. He placed two fingers under her chin, pushing her face up so he could look at it better. “When did you learn this?”

“The patht couple nighths.”

“You can’t possibly have gotten every feature correct, darling. My nose isn’t that big.” He chuckled, turning her head side to side slowly.

“I can get better. I jutht need practiss.” She frowned as she bit her tongue this time in her struggle to stop lisping.

“How far does this illusion go?” Astarion glanced down at her flat chest then back up to her face.

“How far do you want it to go, darling?” She mimicked him playfully, albeit clumsily, rather enjoying the feel of his voice as it reverberated in her throat and upper chest deliciously.

He cupped her face between his palms, running his thumb across the cheekbone that he was slowly coming to understand was his, and smiling impishly. “This could be a new way of exploring myself.” He cooed.

“Careful, sweetheart, that almost sounded like an offer.” She winked at him, unable to hold back her giggles at her imitation. She didn’t have his laugh perfected, so it sounded more like Astarion giggling like a giddy schoolgirl. “Hey, wait a minute.” She said as she managed to reign in her laughter, taking a step back. “I've alwayth wanted to do this!” She reached up, carding her fingers into the soft silver curls on her head and ruffling them before pulling them forward. “Man, your hair’s long!” She laughed. She tried to push it back in place, failing miserably as the locks fell across her eyes again in a feathery light mess that didn't seem to bother her as much as it did him. Astarion reached up and fixed her hair for her, tutting her and slapping her hands away as she tried to help.

“What made you think of learning this spell?” Astarion asked. Serra smiled sweetly, wrapping her hands around his wrists and placing them at her cheeks again. 

“I thaw- SAW how you were looking at your clone in the self-same trial. When you said it was a pity to lose that handsome face, I remembered Gale talking about a spell that lets you mirror someone's appearance. I thought I might like to try to give you the chance to have a look at your face up close instead of in the middle of a fight.”

“And what a marvelous face it is.” He said, Serra beaming.

“I don’t smile like that! You’re too giddy to be wearing my face!” He flicked her nose, Serra laughing again.

“Oh, this is why you came to me for those midnight lessons!” Gale said loudly, laughing. Serra shot him a withering look, Astarion somewhat bemused she was sneaking around just to learn to clone his face.

“Thanks, Gale.” She growled, Gale looking at her in surprise.

“Oh! I thought…” He looked at Astarion, then back at Serra.

“Well, I’m definitely not your crafty student!” The silver haired Elf motioned to himself with a flourish, Serra crossing her arms over her chest, momentarily distracted by the firm pecs that greeted her forearms.

“Ah, you certainly mastered this spell, you had me fooled!” Gale announced, the expression on his face a clear indication he was about to launch into a long diatribe about how the weave worked or something like that. Serra was about to cut him off when Astarion interrupted him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, but isn’t your little roast looking a tad dark?” He pointed to the fire where a roast was suspended over it on a spit. Gale looked, suddenly bolting for the food while muttering about the fire being too big. “There, now it’s just us again, darling.” Astarion smirked mischievously, taking a step closer to Serra. “Enjoying what that feels like?” He plucked at her sleeve, Serra looking away in embarrassment as she dropped her arms to her sides.

“I think I’m gonna change back.” She muttered, Astarion stopping her as she raised her hand by tracing her jaw and chin with gentle fingertips.

“Let me enjoy this just a bit longer, pet. I do rather enjoy finally being able to gaze upon my own face.”

[unreadpoppy]

Death and Resurrection (part 1)

Minthara x Galatea

Read on AO3

A/N: So this is going to be two short fics, about Galatea and Minthara reacting to the other's death and revivification.

Galatea wasn’t one to cry easily. In fact, during their whole journey so far, Minthara had not seen the tiefling shed a single tear out of sadness. 

Today’s events changed that. 

In combat, Minthara could handle herself. Her strength and battle strategy, alongside her healing powers made it quite difficult for enemies to down her. But this time, she was being bested. 

Her enemies were proving too strong for her. She could see the rest of her companions also struggling - everyone had been cornered by enemies, making it near impossible for one of them to come help her without taking a serious hit first. 

But Minthara Baenre would not go down without a fight. As if imbued by a god-like strength, the drow delivered hit after hit, killing three out of her four attackers. But just as she was close to ending the last one, he got the best of her. 

It happened quick - the enemy shoved Minthara away, and entangled her with a spell. As she tried to squirm away, she could only watch as her enemy marched closer, kicking her sword away from her hand, and raising his own above his head. 

“Straj.” Minthara cursed as the steel pierced her chest and the world went dark, hoping that the damned skeleton would soon bring her back. 

.

Galatea had not seen where Minthara, Karlach or Shadowheart had been during the battle. It was only after all their enemies had been dealt with that she found the others.

“Where is Minthara?” She asked the other two, who just shook their head. The place was badly lit, and too many bodies scattered the ground. The three looked at each other as they began to scavange around for their drow companion. With both Scratch and Shovel having been killed and sent back to camp during the battle, the task was even harder. 

Galatea worried. She kept thinking ‘Minthara is strong, she is probably hiding somewhere to regain her health. She is fine’ to try and ease her mind, but she still worried. Even if her lover was marvelous in combat, she was not immortal. 

Could Minthara have been downed? Or worse - 

‘No’ She thought, the moment that the idea of Minthara’s death crossed her mind. ‘Don’t think that.’ 

After a good ten minutes, she heard Karlach scream “Come! I found her and it’s not good.” 

Galatea ran faster than she ever did to where the other tiefling was kneeling, Shadowheart following close. There were vines wrapped around the drow’s body and her body was badly bruised. Nearby, a sword was coated in Minthara’s blood - a sword Karlach had quickly hidden so as to not panic Gal even further. 

“No, no, no, no, no” The sorcerer said, as she and Karlach broke the vines. She held Minthara’s face, wiping away some blood. “Please, wake up.” She begged, but as the seconds passed, the realization began to dawn on her. 

Minthara was dead. 

Now, a companion dying was not something new to Galatea. Astarion had died various times in their journey, and he was still kicking. 

However, this time, it felt different. It was as if all rational thought evaporated from Galatea’s head as she held Minthara close and cried. She cried as she had never before, as if part of her soul had been ripped from her body. 

And because of that overwhelming storm of emotions she was feeling, she had even forgotten that before the battle, Galatea told Shadowheart to prepare Revivify. 

The cleric looked to Karlach, speaking with her via the tadpole. ‘If you make her release Minthara, I can bring her back.’ 

She nodded and held Galatea’s bicep, trying to pry her away from the drow. “Hey, soldier, hey, look at me.” She said softly. “We’re going to bring her back, but you need to give her some space first.” 

The sorcerer looked between her companions before gently releasing Minthara, and holding onto Karlach’s bicep. She held her breath as Shadowheart began praying, a warm glow emanating from her hands. She touched Minthara and they all waited to see if she would wake up. 

.

The first thing Minthara felt as she came to was that there was something dripping on her, which was strange, since there was no water nearby. 

Opening her eyes, she quickly saw what it was: Galatea was hunched over her, crying with her eyes closed. 

That was the first time that Minthara had seen the tiefling crying. She reached out a hand, and placed it on her cheek. Before she could say anything, Galatea gasped and threw herself on her, hugging Minthara close. Karlach and Shadowheart, though glad that their companion was back, decided to give the two some privacy, and walked away for a bit, looting the corpses around them. 

The drow awkwardly moved the two to sit, so that she could better look at the tiefling, who continued crying. The sight made her feel strange: she was not used to Galatea crying, and hated seeing it, but it gave her a weird comfort to know it was because of how much she loved Minthara that had caused it. She didn’t remember anyone ever being this upset at the possibility of her death. 

Shaking her head, Minthara held Galatea’s biceps and then tucked a stray hair behind her ear and wiped her tears. “Enough of this, I’m here now.” She said softly. 

“You scared me.” Galatea sniffed. “For a moment, I thought I lost you.” 

Minthara smirked. “I wouldn't dare.” 

 “You better” She put a hand on Minthara’s cheek. “Because if you do this again, I’ll drag your soul back from the Fugue Plane myself.” 

The drow raised an eyebrow. “I did not expect you to go that far.” 

“For you? Always.” Galatea leaned forwards and rested her forehead on Minthara’s. 

[beepersteeper]

Bedside Manner -- Astarion x Tav Fluff

Tav yells out for healing from way out of reach. She's been cornered by the enemies with only her sword and wits to keep her alive, and both were wearing very thin. She takes one more blow to her lower stomach and the edges of her vision start to fade to a deep red. She falls, dead weight onto the ground. Unable to keep any part of her crumpled body up.

“Get up!" Shadowheart screams, becoming surrounded  by the enemies that just took Tav down. “Someone get her up!"

“Dont you die on me damn you!" Astarion shouts disengaging from his fight and bolting to Tav's side. He saw her breathing shallow labored breaths holding pressure on a gaping wound on her stomach with her hands, now covered in thick blood, almost black with how deep the red is. “Let's not waste anymore blood, hm?" He tries in vain to comfort her with a joke while he opens the largest health potion he has and putting it to her lips. She grabs it and chugs the whole thing. He pushes her hand off the wound and adds a shirt from his pack to the wound applying better pressure than she was. “You need to get out of here. Now." He states without giving her an option to reject. He slaps a scroll of misty step into her hand “NOW!" he shouts.

She does and sets herself well outside of combat, watching her friends finish the fight.  Shadowheart and Karlach disappear,  Astarion misty steps himself to Tav, ignoring any possible loot there may have been. 

Tav tries to lift the makeshift bandage and before she can Astarion forces his hand onto it. “Leave it!" He scolds “you don't take off the bandage until it stops bleeding or we can get that greater restoration scroll. Just keep pressure."

He looks at his hands with her blood slipping between his hands. Where there would usually be hunger in his eyes, desperation and fear sat. No funny quips or sideways comments slip from his tongue. He gives her another bottle for her to drink and adds another shirt to the wound watching it quickly turn crimson. “Fuck” he curses under his breath “where the fuck is that cleric!"

“Must be pretty bad if you're worried about a little blood." She laughs weakly

“A little blood my arse. Have you seen yourself? Besides I thought I was the only one who is supposed to make you bloodless, hm?” He relaxes a bit, feeling better that she's alert, and joking. But mostly that he is sitting with her. Knowing that she's okay right now. "where in the nine hells is Shadowheart!?”

"Give her time,” Tav says, closing her eyes for more than a moment, " she'll get here.”

"Aht aht.” He says tapping her cheek with his hand to open her eyes. "you're going to open those pretty little eyes right now. You gotta stay with me. “ He urges. Shadowheart reappears and uses the scroll and sits back on her heels. And waits for the magic to take effect.

The magic was enough to save Tav from immediate peril but the wound still needs  stitched up, still bleeding but so much less. “The closest town is a two days walk, in peak shape. She'll bleed out by then” Shadowheart says, staring at the ground, trying not to consider Tav dying. 

"Just get me back and I'll do it myself. I've stitched bigger wounds on fellow soldiers, doing it myself can't be that much harder." She winces as Astarion changes his pressure on her stomach. 

“Rubbish." Astarion mutters “I've seen your attempt and mending clothes, you will not massacre your skin any more than it already is.” He slightly lifts the edge of her bandage to peak at the wound, still bleeding but slowed down enough to put on another rag. He tosses the soiled cloth to the side, replacing it with a clean one. "Just get us back. I'll get that closed. I've closed up my siblings' wounds before.”

With a flourish Shadowheart transports the party back to camp and Astarion carries her like the most fragile package to his tent, demanding that she lay down and  keep pressure. 

“Just… stay there. I'll be back.” He holds up his hands making the stop motion. He leaves the tent, hollering to the other party members for the things he needs “get me a bottle of something to knock her ass out without putting her to sleep. This is going to hurt, but I need her to be alert." coming back soon after with a bottle of whisky and a glass. He fills the glass and puts a length of fishing line and a needle and hands her the bottle.  “You're going to want to get real greedy with that. This isn't going to be pleasant. And I'm going to need to get you out of that” he points at her upper body. He holds her body weight as he delicately unties her broken armor and peels the soaked shirt off her frame. 

As she laid half dressed she listened, taking a large mouthful, feeling it burn down her throat. “If you wanted me out of my clothes this is a terrible time to ask" she chokes at the burn in her throat. And take another.

“Darling, I've gotten you out of your clothes several times already, this has nothing to do with that." He chuckles, letting himself breathe a little more freely calming his own nerves to steady his hans as he threads the fishing line through a thick needle. She nods at him signaling that she's ready.

He pours clean water into her wound to flush out any debris from and starts stitching her flesh. 

“fucksake" Tav winces but stays still clutching at the cloth below her. Trying to take her mind off the throbbing pain she asks “where'd you learn to do this?"

“it's a sappy story" he says “I think I can remember my mother fixing holes in the knees of my pants. When I was turned I vowed to keep some part of her alive." He shrugged “I can't even remember her face anymore, but when I sew something, or someone I suppose in this case, I feel like I almost can remember her. That and the scent of roses." He shrugs and shakes his head, continuing to focus on his patient. 

She takes another greedy mouthful, a trail of hot tears cut through the dirt and blood  on her face from the hot pain permeating from her stomach. 

“I know it's quite a sad story but I'm shocked it's brought you to tears.“ He pokes fun, still diligently tending to her open wound.

“You're stabbing me, repeatedly, asshole." She reminds "but I appreciate you sharing that with me.”

"Stabbing you” he chuckles to himself “You’ll to be fine.” He scoffs "Honestly you're the first person I've ever told, count yourself lucky.”

She tries to smile but a sharp pain rips through her mind "AHH” she hisses loudly rocketing her head back trying to keep center still, and drinks again, several throatfulls. Her mind starts to fall into a drunken haze, lessening the pain in her flesh.

“About halfway there darling." astarion whispers, not pulling his eyes from his work. “Your doing great." 

“Thanks for doing this." She says relaxing more into the whisky's embrace. “And thanks for getting me out of there. You really put your own neck on the line for me.”

“You're worth more to me alive than dead Tav." He says with a slight smile creeping at the corners of his mouth “who else would I hang out with on respite days?”

"you'd find someone to deal with you.” she laughs.

“perhaps, but they're not you.” He says trying to joke but unable to hide his sincerity. “I've grown quite fond of you, you know."

“Come off it." Tav says in disbelief “I'm not dying, you don't have to try to make me feel better like this."

“I mean it." He says tying a knot in a stitch “this" gestures to her stomach before continuing his work “just gave me the push to tell you. I forgot that you mortals are so very fragile." He stops for a moment letting his gaze meet hers. “I would be remiss if I had to watch you die and not tell you what you mean to me.”

A bashful smile becomes her lips "I'm not dying anytime soon. You're gonna have to tell me all this again when I'm not getting more drunk by the minute." She takes another drink and trails off into thought “you said I had pretty eyes." She chuckles and winces as he returns to the final stitches.

“I did.” He admits shaking his head and smiling “we’re just about done here. But you're not getting up and moving around to rip these stitches for a while. So think about what you need."

“Something to eat." She sighs “I'm starving."

“It's good that you have an appetite." He says “anything else?" He ties off the last few knots making sure it's secure. 

She lays quietly, trying to think through the waves of her intoxication. “Would it be too forward to ask for a kiss?”

"I don't think so.” He smiles, returning his needle to his sewing kit. He leaned over her and placed a quick and tender kiss on her lips tasting hints of whisky on her breath "Even better than I thought it would be” He coos. "Now just stay here, relax. I'll be right back.”

He returns with a bowl of stew in one hand, his chalice of blood in the other, a canteen around his body and  a roll of bandages in the crook of his elbow. "You think you can sit?” He asks, setting down all of the goods he's brought with him. After helping her sit he wraps the cloth around her waist several times tying it off with a knot over the wound to add pressure. He sits on a stool crossing his legs next to Tav drinking from his chalice slowly. Urging her to drink some water and eat something “Darling, you've drunk near this entire bottle” he reaches for the whisky bottle and sloshes the remaining quarter of the liquid “and you need to eat something before you pass out."

She obliges, taking small spoonfuls of her supper. “Thanks, Astarion, for everything today.” 

“Don't mention it." He waves his hand waving the notion of thanks away “you would have done the same. And who knows with the rate this group is going you very well might have to.” He laughs uncrossing his legs leaning his elbows on his knees with his hands dangling into the space between the two of them. He extends one of his hands for her to take.

She is hesitant at first but places her hand delicately in his. He puts his other hand on hers rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. 

“I'm going to be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing." He laughs

"Maybe it's okay, not to know.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“What? Are we just supposed to go about our days as if nothing has changed?”

"what's changed?” She asked with a smirk "were just a couple of friends that hold hands now. Nothings wrong with that." 

"that…  sounds good to me.“ He smiles “now you need to go lay down and get some rest. You've gotta start healing, it'll be a couple of days till you're really back on your feet." He stands up helping her to her feet. "Let's get you back to your tent.”

She wobbles on her bloodless and drunken legs And falls into him. Astarion catches her and helps her back onto the bedroll below them.

"Looks like you're not going anywhere darling. Just stay here, I'll just sleep outside tonight.”

“Nonsense. I'll just get back to my tent, you're not sleeping outside." Tav argues propping herself up on her elbows and falling back down wincing from pain. Trying in vain to be the strong leader everyone is used to seeing. “Okay, maybe you're right." 

“what do you suggest then?” He asks, crossing his arms, unimpressed by her arguing,  concerned for her pain.

“Why won't you just stay?" She says plainly, nothing lacing her meaning “besides…” she trails off, worry painting her face "what if I rip my stitches or start getting worse.” She covers her face with her hands 

"What's actually wrong?" He asks kneeling down placing his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her skin trying to comfort her. 

"I'm scared okay?” She hisses through her tears, speaking frantically. "I've never been hurt this bad. I'm always the one who comes out unscathed. I don't get hurt. And then the one time I am hurt I'm on death's door. I'm scared of when it ultimately hurts more later because I know it will hurt more than it does now, than it did earlier. What if I started bleeding again and couldn't stop it. And no one knew. And I would just…” she starts to weep

Astarion shushes her while sitting next to her leaning on her his footlocker for support and rubs comforting circles on her shoulder “I'm not going to let that happen." He whispers. “I'm not going anywhere. Now get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up.” He grabs his cup and finishes the red liquid in it. “I promise.”

Tav falls asleep pretty quickly, with her hand holding onto the edge of his shirt for comfort, knowing that he's right there. 

Astarion reaches into his footlocker and grabs a book to read while he stands vigilant making sure Tav stays well through the night.