#eat your fill. Up next is more karlach

[goobobbers]

my angel baby satyr 🐏🤍

[frantic-fiction]

Hey you.

Pic: Cuddlelion on steam

Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Young Arabella comes to stay at the camp during the trip through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Her curious questions affect Astarion more than it should.

Based on this post by the-phantom-otaku

Thank you to my lovely friend Ayselluna for requesting this fic sorry it took me so long. Hopefully you like it.

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

The camp is as lively as it always is. Gale is working away on the group's supper, Wyll giving him unwarranted pointers. Karlach is trying to sneak spoonfuls of the unfinished stew only to have her hand slapped away dramatically with a spoon. Shadowheart is in her evening prayer, and Haslin sits beside her in contemplation. Scratch and the owlbear cub are playfully wrestling in a mud puddle. The grinding sound of Lae'zel sharpening her sword echoes through the camp.

Astarion clenches his jaw, hands tightening against the leather binding of the book Tav had gifted him last week. He hated this time of evening the most when it was too late to keep moving on their journey but too late to hide away in his tent. Not that it would have stopped him before, but things have changed. Or maybe he had changed because he was waiting for them instead of tucking himself away.

Tav.

Because they should have been back by now, Tav had said they would only say hello to the skeleton. Something about 'Not wanting him to feel lonely.' It's a thing only Tav would think about because who cares about a reanimated skeleton besides Tav? But that was almost thirty minutes ago, and these woods left a sickly feeling lingering in the air. Astarion was familiar with darkness, but these shadowlands were filled with malice and evil, still not fully comprehended.

Astarion should find them. Ensure they're not trying to bring home an orphaned squirrel, stray cat, or whatever Tav seems to get up to when he's not watching. Make sure they're safe so he can quell the fire of anxiety that's eating away at him.

But as Astarion is tossing his book down to leave, Tav emerges from the red foliage. Their face is stretched into a soft, beaming smile, and the moon's glow cascades down in dim rays. Gods, they're always so breathtakingly beautiful that he doesn't think he'll ever get enough.

Tav shakes their head and speaks down. That's when Astarion notices the small tiefling child holding their hand. He recognizes her from the grove, Arabella. He smirked when he remembered her attempted robbery of that artifact from those testy druids. Then the images of her parents lying stiff in those dirty cots press forward into his mind, and he has to look away.

Now that he knows Tav is safe, he tries to focus back on the book. It wasn't anything special, just a romance novel about a dashing pirate and a blushing maiden. But Tav had gone out of their way to keep his collection filled with new material so he would not complain about the lackluster writing.

Astarion was halfway through the chapter by the time someone had approached. By smell, he knew it wasn't Tav, so he ignored them and hoped they would take the message and move along.

They didn't because soon there was a tug at his sleeve and a small clearing of one's throat.

"Hey, you!"

Astarion lowered the book and looked down to find Arabella looking expectantly up at him.

"Yes, hello," Astarion says cordially before pressing his face back into the book.

If he was being honest, children unnerved him. After being entombed for that long, painful year trying to save that young boy, he did everything in his power to steer clear of them. Astarion's hoping if he ignores the young girl long enough, she'll get bored and move on to bother the next party member.

However, the little tiefling wouldn't be swayed so easily.

"You look sick."

Astarion freezes and stares unblinkingly at the girl. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're pale, sickly pale. You have dark circles under your eyes, and even your cheeks look kinda hollow. Are you okay?"

Now Astarion is thoroughly offended. Scoffing, he crosses his arms and sticks his nose in the air.

"I'm a vampire. I can't get sick." However, Astarion betrays his confidence by bringing one hand up to his face to prod at the skin under his eye.

"Really?" Arabella says in surprise, causing Astarion to snap his gaze down to the child. "Aren't vampires supposed to look young?"

Now fuming and outright pissed, Astarion sees the ghost of a smirk on the tiefling's face.

"Listen here, you little sh–"

"Astarion!" Tav interrupts, walking up behind and touching the girl's shoulder warmly.

"What? The little shit started it!"

Tav gives him a pointed look that he knows means he needs to calm down, or he will be in the dog house tonight.

"I didn't mean to upset him, ma'am," Arabella says, all sickly sweet, playing into your caring side. "I was just curious. I've never met a vampire before."

"No, the little devil-"

"Astarion," Tav warns, forcing him to bite his tongue. "Don't mind him, Arabella. Let's get you something to eat. Gale made a beef stew tonight."

Tav offers the young girl her hand, and as the two walk away, Arabella sends a smirk over her shoulder and sticks out her tongue, taunting him. Astarions hand twitches towards his dagger, wanting to teach the twerp a lesson, but he takes a deep breath and turns on his heel, storming into the tent.

By the time Tav retires for the night, Astarion is tucked away in the corner of the tent. He's glaring daggers at the hand mirror grasped tightly in his hand, willing the glass to show his reflection. Nimble fingers are poking and prodding and pulling at the skin under his eyes and around his face, trying to pick apart any details he could not see.

A deep frown pulls at his lips and creases his brow. Astarion's shoulders are slumped, betraying how much Arabella's words have affected him. It wasn't a secret the man was vain and took pride in his appearance. To have a child pick apart his insecurities left him upset and wanting nothing more than to see his face just once more.

Astarion is pulled from his brooding thoughts when he feels two arms snake around his middle and the soft press of kisses peppered up his neck. Instinctively, he melts into Tav's touch, still astonished by the simplicity of this new relationship.

"Hey, handsome," Tav breathes into his ear, pressing one more fleeting kiss just below before pulling away to get ready for bed.

He absentmindedly greets them, still too focused on his internal conflict. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Tav strip bare and move around, tossing random bits and bobs to find their night clothes. Once they're dressed, Tav stops and stands in the middle of the tent. He can feel them staring at him as he's transfixed on the empty mirror.

"Astarion,"

"Do I look sick?" He drops the mirror and turns to face Tav. "Do I look hollow and pale…old?" His voice trails off at the end, and he's unsure if he wants to know the answer, but it's eating away at him.

Tav's eyes soften. "Was that what Arabella said to you?"

Pity. He could see it in Tav's eyes, and he recoiled, disgust curdling in his gut.

Astarion scoffs." Please, Tav, I don't need your pity."

Tav grabs his hand and pulls him close. "There is no pity. Understanding yes. But not pity."

"It's all the same." Astarion looks down.

"No, but that's beside the point. Arabella is a child Star. They will say the most insulting things without realizing it or just because they know it will hurt. Do you want to know what I see?"

Astarion nods softly, holding onto the hem of Tav's shirt. He knows he's being foolish, but Astarion wants the reassurance that Tav is happy to give.

Tav cups his cheek, forcing him to meet their eyes. "Your face might look hollow to Arabella, but I see your high cheekbones and sharp jawline," Tav emphasizes their point by trailing a thumb against his jaw and pulling Astarion into a fleeting kiss. "Not to mention everything those lips and tongue have done to me."

Astarion smirked and chased after Tav's lips, pouting when he was denied.

Tav's hands trail down his chest and slip under his shirt, splaying against his cold skin. Astarion lets out a shaky breath. "Yes, you are pale, perhaps at times sickly. But I love it because after you've finished feeding, I see that beautiful flush covering your body."

"Maybe you have laugh lines and forehead creases that a little girl would consider old. But if you ask me? Astarion, when I see you smile and laugh, gods, it's the sexiest thing in the world. Because it shows me that you're happy and safe and here with me."

Tav has now thrown their arms over Astarion's shoulders and has pulled their body flush against his. Astarion is at a loss for words, especially when Tav looks at him with such love. Tav kisses him softly, and he tightens his hold, wanting nothing more than to meld into their body.

"So, who cares what a child thinks? You are beautiful, and between the two of us. I'm going to be the one worrying about wrinkles, not you, mister immortal vampire."

"Thank you, my love," Astarion whispered against Tav's lips, smiling into another sweet kiss.

"Let's lay down. I think it's time to cuddle, don't you think?"

Astarion's insecurities fade for the night because how can the darkness stand a chance when he has Tav as his guiding light?

Just something short and sweet while I'm in the middle of moving. Sorry if anyone felt ooc. Let me know what you guys thought of it.

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[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

For All Eternity

So much for the planned fic...anyways here you all go, some angst with fluff and comfort at the end!

Summary: Astarion gets badly injured and you nurse him back to health.

The fight started like any other fight usually did, with you doing all you could to avoid one until there was no other option, and then Karlach would happily charge in, swinging her mighty axe to cut the enemies down. Astarion would hide in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to put a bolt through flesh and you would incinerate whoever was left standing from afar while Shadowheart supported everyone from the backline.

Unfortunately, today’s fight turned out differently. A deurgar had spotted Astarion and went straight for the vampire, bringing its greatsword down to cleave through undead flesh. A cry slipped from Astarion’s lips, alerting you and your companions to what had just happened. Karlach immediately went to work clearing a path to him for you, hacking and slashing at any duergar who came close whilst you ran, faster than you’ve ever run before with the Weave crackling at your fingertips, ready to be unleashed.

Astarion barely manages to roll out of the way of the next blow, hissing when his injured shoulder makes contact with the hard ground and staggers to his feet. He can feel the blood flowing down, seeping through his fingers as he tries to staunch the bleeding to no avail. He messily dodges the next attack but the third connects once more, this time tearing open his thigh. He collapses against the stone wall behind him, painting it red with his blood and he wonders if it’s possible for a vampire to die of blood loss. He’s definitely never heard of one going out in such a way. The thought that he might be the first one to do so brings a sardonic smile to his face, at least he’d go out in a special way.

The duergar snarls in victory and swings again, ready to end the fight when a fireball flies out of nowhere, incinerating it before its blade can land.

“Astarion!” He vaguely hears you call. His vision is getting blurry, he can barely see the charred corpse of the duergar in front of him and he starts to get a little worried. Was he going to die right in front of you? That would be a terrible way to go. You’d cry until you had no more tears left to give, that pretty face of yours all scrunched up and tear-stained. He didn’t like that thought, he’d want you to not be around when he died, he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the hurt he’d caused you by dying.

“Astarion!” Your voice is louder now. You must be close, maybe right in front of him but he can barely see, with black spots eating up more and more of his vision.

“Astarion, look at me! Don’t die on me!” He wonders how shit he looks right now, with his own blood all over him. His armour must be painted in his own crimson liquid, a sorry sight to be certain. For a moment, he wishes you weren’t here to see him in such a state but then the fresh scent of your blood floods his nostrils and all he can think about is how hungry he is.

Instinctively, he opens his mouth and lets the blood in, swallowing every drop that comes his way. He hears you let out a sigh of relief and you swim into view as his body heals itself back up with the aid of your blood that is now coursing through his veins.

“Y/N,” he says tiredly, sending you a grin even as his body struggles to keep upright.

“You scared me,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m a vampire spawn, I’m supposed to scare you.” Even when exhausted, the snark never stops.

“Not you though.” You whisper into his ear, burying your face into his hair. “I’m so relieved I got to you in time.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, feeling his eyelids close. Your embrace feels nice as always, warm, soothing, filled with so much love and care that he starts to slip into unconsciousness, spurred on by his body’s demands to rest and recover.

“Astarion?” He hears the slight panic in your voice. He wills his mouth to open, to reassure you with his honeyed words that everything is alright and he’s just going to take a nap but his mouth refuses to cooperate. His body feels heavy, keeping anything open takes everything he has and he’s losing this fight.

“Astarion please, stay awake, stay with me!” He can hear you beg, beg for him to open his eyes, to look at you, to say something. He does, he really wants to do all those things but his damn body won’t cooperate, and suddenly, he’s seized by this fear that he may never see you again, never feel your touch again, never hear your laugh again.

No. No. He will not let that happen. He can’t lose you, he hasn’t taken his revenge on Cazador yet, he hasn’t told you that he loves you yet, he can’t just roll over and die. Still, his body shuts down and he feel his consciousness slipping away. Fear grips his heart as he struggles against the exhaustion but in the end, he loses.

“Astarion!”

When he next opens his eyes, new scents flood his nose. He can smell medicine, residual blood and…

Something brushes against his arm, causing him to turn his attention to whatever it was at his side. A messy mop of hair obscures the figure’s face but he knows its you, how could he not? All those nights spent running his fingers through that mop of hair, sweat and saliva exchanged, he knew you inside and out, just like how you knew him to the same degree.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. His throat refuses to produce the sound, demanding instead for sustenance, for blood.

“Astarion, you’re awake.”

He never gets tired of the way his name rolls off your lips. He could listen to it all day but you’d probably get bored of doing that for a whole day so he settles for simply listening to your voice all day instead.

You slice open your wrist, pressing the wound to his lips and he drinks from it thirstily, swallowing huge gulps at a time. The liquid washes down his throat, wetting it and sends new waves of energy surging through his body, breathing life back into it.

It's at this point he usually stops drinking, ensuring you didn’t die from blood loss but you don’t pull away, neither do you show any sign of wanting him to stop. He stops anyways, not wanting to be the cause of your death and looks at you quizzically when you press the still bleeding wound to his lips once more.

“Drink,” is all you say, in a firm tone that leaves no room for discussion. He obliges, still worried about your health but then Shadowheart comes in with a tray of healing potions and you take a swig from one of them.

You really were going to keep yourself topped up by chugging healing potions.

Normally, Astarion would warn you against doing so but his body desperately wants blood, and you were willing to provide so he continues drinking, taking short breaks in between to ensure you didn’t suddenly collapse or anything. He didn’t want to face the wrath of the party members outside should he be the cause of your death, not that he wanted you to die from him drinking your blood in the first place.

At last, his hunger is satiated and he licks the wound, signalling that he has no more need of your blood for the time being. You withdraw your arm, finishing off the bottle of healing potion to allow the wound to close and turn back to face him, checking him over.

“I’m quite alright, darling. No need to fret.”

“Just checking.”

“Thank you for your concern, love, really, but would you be so kind as to not look at me as if I were on death’s door?”

“You were just moments ago!”

“If I recall correctly, being undead means I’m already dead. Therefore —”

“You had me worried sick! I thought you were going to die!” Tears prick the corners of your eyes. Astarion swallows whatever he was going to say, his mind racing through all the possible ways of consoling you.

“I…I…” The words lodge themselves in your throat, your saliva thick with tears as you struggle to put your jumbled thoughts into words.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you sob. “Back then, when I saw the duergar about to swing his sword down, all I could think about was that I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want you to leave me, I wanted you by my side, I wanted you with me.”

He holds you close, feeling your tears stain his clothes but he doesn’t care. He lets you cry, releasing all your pent up frustrations in one go and simply hugs you tightly.

“I’m…sorry, for worrying you,” he murmurs, the apology meant only for your ears. You bury your face deeper into his shoulder in response, fingers gripping tightly onto his shirt. He breathes in your raw scent, unearthed by your lack of a bath and whispers how much he loves you in all the ways he knows how without using the word ‘love’.

“Promise me, that you won’t pull such a stunt again?” You plead, looking into his ruby red eyes with your tear-stained ones.

“I promise, love. You will have me for all eternity.”

“And I promise too, that you will have me for all eternity.”

[mind-player]

Little Escape

Basically, Tav getting addicted to organizing loot as a means of a short little escape from the horrors they've seen. Astarion thought that it would be fine, however, if it didn't get to the point where they started to neglect their own needs.

He decides that perhaps a break is in order.

Words: 957

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Astarion kept stealing annoyed glances above his book at you from where he stood in front of his tent. Everyone gathered around Gale with bowls and bread, all banter and grateful sounds for long-awaited food. 

Conversely, you kept fussing around with the loot everyone snatched from earlier that day. You were sorting through it with piles of books, letters, potions, and poisons surrounding your little area. Your tongue stuck out in concentration as you created a new pile of unenchanted armor and useless trinkets that could be sold to the next trader they came across on another adventure. 

"Tav! Come and get your food!" Karlach thankfully called, probably pitying how you were usually always the last soul to eat (only thanks to Astarion cutting in and saving you a bowl) because you'd never even noticed the smell of food in the air. 

Suppose loot wasn't occupying your mind. In that case, it was filling canteens and waterskins, sharpening and polishing everyone's weapons, doing laundry, brewing potions, or burying your nose in a text you found that day- anything that made you forget everything around you. 

Astarion honestly wondered if you even had a stomach sometimes. Or a need for sleep. 

You blinked and glanced up from your fort of loot, shaking your head, and Astarion almost rolled his eyes to the back of his skull. 

"I've gotta get through this first."

"They're doing it yet again. I wonder if it's just my cooking," Gale sadly pondered aloud as he poured a bowl for you anyway. 

"It's not that; Tav just gets lost in things sometimes," Shadowheart told him, not really as a reassurance, but more just as a matter of fact. 

"I will say that they keep a very organized camp because of it," Lae'zel stated, grabbing your bowl and walking over to place it next to you. 

You mumbled a quick thanks as you organized the books neatly into a chest, moving on to put some helpful scrolls into a pouch, potions the same. And, of course, as Astarion predicted, you ignored it for about ten minutes before he decided that you might like a lukewarm meal over a cold one that night. 

Astarion closed his book and made his way over, leaning against an enormous chest. You didn't even notice his presence or stare, you busy bee. 

"Would you like some help?" he offered, which was rare. 

At first, he thought you didn't hear him, as you were too lost in picking through some enchanted jewelry. But you eventually glanced up at him, tilting your head a little at the vision of him. 

"No, thank you." 

Then Astarion's eyebrow twitched as Wyll called over his shoulder, "I've tried that one before!"

The vampire ignored him and tried once again because, of course, he was just as stubborn as you were, dammit. 

"Are you sure, Tav? This is a pretty infrequent opportunity to finally put me to work around here. Would you like to eat? Bathe? Rest? You know, basic things that everyone needs but you somehow neglect?" 

You blinked and grabbed a circlet, raising it to inspect, unanswering. Were you really ignoring Astarion now? 

Astarion huffed and muttered under his breath, "Fine. Enjoy your frigid stew. That is if you even eat it."

"Wait," you called, standing from your spot and swaying a little. 

Astarion glared at you, but his expression slowly slipped away the closer you came toward him. Your eyes finally focused as you fixed the golden circlet atop his head. Your fingers brushed some of his white curls to the side as you took in his entire face. 

His cursed undead heart would've been beating out of his chest at the sudden sight of you and your eyes on him, only him. It was like your attention was always there, with the corners of your lips rising into an appreciative smile. 

"Beautiful," you told him, completely engrossing his attention in you once again. The dark circles under your eyes, the dirt and blood spatter on your skin, and your frazzled hair from a hard day fought. Every part is endearing, especially compared to how much you did for everyone else and maybe for yourself despite your fatigue. 

This adventure only offered some bouts of control, but most days, it just didn't. If there was something to make you forget those chaotic moments, painful moments, in getting lost in these things, then Astarion reasoned it wasn't so bad- if even for a moment.

But he'll be damned if he was going to let you deprive yourself of your needs. 

"You're quite sly, you know that?" Astarion asked, grinning back. 

"Why, I have no clue what you're talking about," you replied with that cheeky smile that Astarion secretly adored. You gestured to the enchantments and said, "You can help me put these somewhere for everyone to look through tomorrow." 

"And what exactly do I get in return?" he asked. "Aside from these cherished adornments."

You weren't surprised by those words. Astarion was sure you already knew he wasn't going to give. 

"I'm not quite sure. What would you like then?" 

You wanted to hear him say it, and he would have indulged you if it meant you finally understood how important it is to take care of yourself.

"There's many things I'd like. For starters, you could finally eat that sorry bowl of stew. Otherwise, the entire camp has to suffer Gale's river of tears." 

"I heard that!" the wizard crankily hollered all the way over from his tent. You glanced over at the table and noticed everyone had finished eating by then and returned to their bedrolls. 

"That was the point!" Astarion announced before turning to you. "Think you can manage that, darling?" 

[petit-etoile]

Enemies to Lovers scenario with Astarion; The two are close enough to be friends, Tav accidentally calls him starlight, you decide how Astarion reacts to their little slip up.

ours are  untidy souls

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount:  1,126 content warnings:  no fighting but the aftermath,  minor mentions of injuries but no-indepth descriptions other tags:canon compliant, canon-typical violence, introspection, character study, hurt/comfort, whump, pre-relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

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

summary:

‘It is bitter,’ he says. ‘It will heal,’ you tell him. ‘It might hold a grudge,’ he says. ‘It will survive,’ you insist.

The Grymforge Guardian falls with little regard to its creator. Steam billows from the cool metal, and the Forge has broken pieces off of it that may never be repaired. You sag against the lever for but a moment to catch your breath. You wait for the ground to cool and the red-hot metal to return to a more natural color before tentatively touching your the toe of your boot to it. You decide it's cooled enough.

You race over to the second lever. Shadowheart is quick to make it to the center to check on Karlach who is lying next to the Guardian in a bundled heap, but you race to Astarion’s side and kneel next to him on the smoking platform. He’s resting against the other lever, head forward, and everywhere you touch is bruised and sweaty. You push his curls back from his forehead and cup his jaw so that he’s forced to look at you, and although the flickering of his eyelashes makes your stomach ache, he’s breathing and that’s good enough for you for now.

You push your hand against his shoulder and feel the heat leave his body to meld into yours. Astarion’s lungs fill with air in relief, and when he opens his eyes, he meets your gaze unevenly.

‘Don’t rush, starlight,’ you say cautiously. ‘Take it easy until Shadowheart can come to you.’

Astarion’s eyes soften and he closes them quickly to hide the betrayal. All around him lay the bodies of the imps he fought. Honestly, the team you put together handled it pretty well with little to no practice, navigating as one despite the  strange levers and a gargantuan thing swinging at them. You thank the gods for giving you Karlach, because the thought of you potentially having to go head to head with the Guardian by yourself almost makes you wish the worm would finish eating your memories.

You take in all of Astarion’s wounds. Little bites and nail scratches, a bruise on his cheekbone, but mostly, the heat has made him malleable and exhausted in your hands. You take it upon yourself to heal some of the more minor injuries he has. He doesn’t seem to breathe as you pour a drop of your potion into a bite on his shoulder or a nasty burn on his thigh, but he does stop you before you can take a better look at his cheek.

‘I’m fine,’ he says shortly.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to tend to this?’ you ask.

You do touch his bruise then, and Astarion hisses at you like a wild beast. Before, you might have flinched away from his scary display but after these last few weeks, you know better. He’s scared of your kindness. He doesn’t know what to expect even though your hand is delicate. You press your thumb against a tender purple knot, and you can tell that it takes all of Astarion’s willpower to not snap at you.

‘Maybe I will let Shadowheart take care of this one,’ you say nervously. ‘It seems tender.’

Astarion’s jaw clenches. He thinks.

‘No,’ he says with finality. ‘I think  —  I think I would prefer it if you did it.’ 

You watch the pretty curve of his neck bobble when he swallows. He turns his chin towards you and refuses to look at you. He’s being brave. He’s being willing. Slowly, you touch the bruise again with shaking fingers.

In a move that reminds you all too much of Scratch and the Owlbear, Astarion leans his head into your touch. You’re captivated by the tremble in his eyelashes, the slope of his eyebrows as he fights a scowl, and the sad way he frowns. You feel his cheek for any sign of the unordinary, but there’s nothing but a bruise.

‘I don’t think a potion will help with this one, unfortunately,’ you whisper. ‘There’s nothing  —  There’s nothing wrong with it.’

‘It is bitter,’ he says.

‘It will heal,’ you tell him.

‘It might hold a grudge,’ he says.

‘It will survive,’ you insist.

Astarion says nothing. If the bruise is hurting him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. All he does is rest in your hands as if lifting his head on his own is too much effort. You allow him this touch. It’s the first time he’s allowed you to initiate anything even remotely affectionate. It makes your eyes water a little to think about it. You decide to say nothing lest it embarrasses him. You cherish this moment and slowly, you ease him into your arms more so that he’s leaning against your upper body, his ear at your heart.

Quietly, Astarion says, ‘Say it again.’

At first, you aren’t sure what it is that he wants. You want to tell him that he will heal, that he will survive, that he may not forgive or forget, but that he will overcome. Instead, you pet his hair as carefully as you can to avoid jostling him and press a tentative kiss to the top of his head. He burrows deeper into your arms and sighs like a weight has been lifted off his chest. In some ways, you think it has. You hold him as gently as you can.

‘You’re going to be fine, starlight,’ you say  —  and you’re partially shocked at how easily it rolls off the tip of your tongue. You’re almost certain that Astarion huffs at it, but he isn’t upset. No, it’s something entirely else.

You’re holding something delicate in your hands. Astarion would not be like this with anyone else but you. He trusts you, and honestly, the thought terrifies you. It’s not that you have to be careful. It’s not that you have to be cognizant. It’s that there is something so genuine about the bond he is offering you on his own terms. He is choosing to be vulnerable with you. It makes your throat close up.

You would cry if you weren’t so worried about everyone. Astarion eventually pulls away from the safety of your arms and appraises you himself. He smudges smoky residue away from underneath one of your eyes and takes a look at a nasty cut you received to your scalp, but all it takes is a little drop of the potion shared between you to get it to where it doesn’t need stitches. You two sit facing one another, your hands meekly in your lap, Astarion sagging forward as though his only desire is to find a bed. Eventually, he looks up at you and with faint exhaustion clouding the openness of his features, and chews on his bottom lip.

‘You can say it again,’ he says.

You smile for the first time in hours. ‘Alright, starlight.’

[deny-the-issue]

Love Thy Nature

Summary: Set in the "Baldur's Gate 3" epic tale, you struggle with ongoing body image issues while pining after Halsin, hoping to earn a special place in his heart.

Thank you so much to my lovely beta readers @juniper-sunny and @sirenofzaun <3

AO3 link

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Thank you everyone for the overwhelming amount of interest in this fic! I hope you all enjoy <3

[MDNI] [Halsin x fat!Reader] [no mention of gender pronouns] [reader has vulva/breasts] [body image issues] [whatever height you are, Halsin is taller] [whatever weight you are, Halsin can lift you] [smut] [fluff] [angst] [happy ending] [oral sex] [vaginal sex] [teasing] [5580 words]

Chaos. Those first few hours were absolute chaos. In Baldur’s Gate shopping for vegetables one moment, infested with a slimy tadpole the next. At least you aren’t alone. 

Even if they intimidate you. 

You all have a common goal, and you wear this safety like a blanket. With companions like these, maybe you’ll have a chance to live. If you don’t get caught in between Shadowheart and Lae’zel, that is. 

Stomach rumbling, feet aching, thighs raw, the nights end with you silently crying yourself to sleep. You are distinctly unsuited for this life. The others say nothing, but you feel like you’re letting them down when you lag behind them during the day’s journey. You simply cannot keep up with Karlach and Lae’zel’s pace, and with the dismal amount of food for dinner, you’re starving. 

You’re not the only hungry one, but you are the only one that eats away from the fire, in solitude. Even in the city you preferred to eat alone. Judging eyes haunt your every bite, but you know the shame comes from within. You know you have no right to complain about being hungry when you have the most weight to lose.  

So you suffer in silence. 

Your armor consists of ill-fitting cloth and leather which you have to repair frequently. The cloth is thin and your thighs can rub it away to nothing within a single, travel-heavy day. The others have found armor that suits them quite well, and you’re happy for them. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t envious of the ease at which they can find things that fit. 

It’s hard not to dwell on your size. How it would be easier to find armor if you were skinnier. How much easier it would be to keep up. How much more confident you would be. 

You see your travel companions flirt and cast lewd looks at each other. It lightens the heart to see, yet stirs a deep yearning within that has been your constant bane over the years. To love is something you have known many times, but to be loved is another story entirely. Truly loved for everything you are, inside and out. It seems impossible to behold when you cannot fathom loving yourself in that way. 

Maybe one of them would have given you a chance, if only you had the confidence to try. 

As the days go on, you learn more about each other, some willingly and others forced. Just when you think no one else is hiding something, another secret arises. Every single one of them has enough problems without the threat of becoming illithid, and you start to see the people underneath the mask of intimidation you assigned to them. 

Despite your best efforts to keep your distance, they start to grow on you. Their troubles become yours, and a warm feeling of belonging takes root in your chest. 

The grove is a delightful little community. Their harmony with nature is beautiful, your curious eyes take in every part and crevice. 

Maybe too curious, since you had a near scrape with the guards due to the little shit, Mol. She’s too smart for her own good–trouble will surely follow her wherever she goes.

Just as it does you.

Just as it does him, too, apparently. Breaking a bear out of a dungeon is a first for you, but watching that bear transform into the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen becomes a keystone memory. 

Already you are filled with conflicted feelings, more thankful everyday this horrible thing happened to you because it brought you to them. All of them brilliant, all of them flawed, and all incredibly beautiful. 

You cling to the hope of his companionship as you prepare to protect the grove. Halsin’s knowledge instills fear in your bones, more defined than it was before. Now you have an idea of what you’re up against, and it’s all much bigger than you can fathom. Getting to know him personally casts away the worrisome thoughts; his words a honey-sweet distraction to the storm clouds gathering overhead. 

You leave his company with a smile straining your face, but it doesn’t take long for the bite of loneliness to nip at your heels. Halsin’s answer about lovers echoes through your mind, a deep spiral into well-trodden waters. 

“Right now? I bed down alone, I’m afraid. Perhaps once I talk less of curses and parasites, my fortunes will improve.”

How foolish of you to think he might warm to you. You’re sure his fortunes will improve, only with someone else. Someone more deserving of him. 

These depressing thoughts do not stop you from befriending him. Quite the opposite, in fact. By casting aside your hopes for romantic love, you feel as though you can finally start to be yourself in camp.

And you’re surprised to find they like you. Your spirit and sense of humor return to you in troves–making some poor sod kneel for Lae’zel has everyone laughing at camp that night.

Yet you still make off alone with your bowl of stew when dinner is served, until a large obstacle blocks your path. 

“I do not pretend to know why you dine alone, but you are most welcome to join us.” Halsin smiles kindly.

“I know, it’s ok. Thank you, though,” you try to dismiss him, but he doubles down. 

“Do you not find our company agreeable?”

“No! I mean, yes? You’re lovely–you’re all lovely,”you stammer, heat rising to your face. 

“Good, then you’ll have no problem joining us,” Halsin’s eyes sparkle with amusement, no doubt from watching your mind implode. 

The prospect shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is, yet you cannot help but feel extremely uncomfortable. 

You beat down the slight panic and return Halsin’s smile, unwilling to argue your case further. What would you even say? Laying your insecurities bare to a man you just met is not on your agenda for the night. 

His large hand touches your shoulder as he makes his way to the fire, confident you’ll join him. So warm and rough with callouses–the contact lasted but a moment but you can feel it still, like an invisible badge of affection. 

“Come on, Soldier, grab a stump! I already picked the slugs off for you.” Karlach laughs at your grimace. 

“Thanks,” you walk over to the offered seat. “I’ve had enough slimy things for a lifetime.”

A chorus of agreement and various stages of grief crosses the face of each companion as you join them around the fire, a part of the pack for once. As much as you begrudge Halsin for pulling you out of your comfort zone, you never spend another night eating alone, and your heart is all the fuller for it. 

The battle for the grove was hard won, and the celebration that followed was a well-needed respite for everyone. Surrounded by friends, plenty of food, and drink, you felt more alive than you had since it all began. Whatever shame you were harboring faded away with the alcohol settling into your rosy cheeks, and you sought out the man you’ve been pining for. 

Weeks of hard living have left you as lightweight as Halsin claims to be, but the confidence to mingle in his company is a welcome boon. Oh, to see him tipsy–better still if you are the first person he sees. Is he handsy in his affections, or reserved, you wonder? 

But what does he mean by calling you resourceful? 

You’ll have to ponder its meaning after some sobering sleep. Nothing could sway your mood tonight. He may have turned you down, but he was surely flirting with you. Even with the short time you’ve known him, you know he is not the kind to lead anyone on. 

Enjoyable. A night with you would be enjoyable; the thought has you grinning for the rest of the celebration, and biting your lip later, when you’re alone in your tent with roaming, lusty hands.

You’re able to find suitable food, but with life’s ever-increasing hardships, it continues to take a toll on your body. Hiking is not as hard as it once was, though, and you are thankful for it. With a body such as yours, it would take a considerable amount of time before you’d be deemed ‘thin’, but the loss of weight is undeniable. 

Your clothes are loose, for one, and the little armor you have shifts uncomfortably, always needing adjusting. The others have started noticing as well. 

Karlach gave you a, “Lookin’ good, soldier!” the other night and you never wished to cast an invisibility spell so much as in that moment.

This slightly-slimmer body should make you happy, but the success is tainted in your mind. It’s not as if you chose to lose weight, to starve, to walk endlessly every damned day. What happens when– if-- you can live a normal life after this? The same mistakes will surely be made as before, and you’ll go right back to the size you so hate. No lesson has been learned here, not in regards to food. 

Even if you do somehow lose all this weight, you still will not be pleased with yourself. Stretch marks and loose skin, you could never look the way you want to. 

The frustration grinds your spirit down, but no one notices. Hells, you hardly notice. The Shadowlands dampen the mood of everyone, infecting the camp even without touching it. 

Fighting has never been easy for you, and you’ve managed to hold your ground so far. But every person’s luck runs out sometime, you suppose. One awkward move and you get a knife in your side. The armor should have protected you–would have–if only it fit you better. 

Halsin gathers you in his arms, carrying you despite your weight. A mad rush back to the Last Light inn saves your life. As you’re placed in a healing sleep, you hear echoes of Halsin’s soothing voice. You can never make out the words, but they calm your turbulent mind, keeping the nightmares at bay. 

When you wake, you are mostly healed. The skin is healed, though a scar remains, and the pain is manageable while lying still in bed. Halsin greets you with warmth and a small amount of haste.

It seems, while you slept, Halsin talked to both a tailor and a leather-worker on your behalf. What is more surprising is the light scolding you receive.

“You should have spoken up, we cannot afford such a loss in these dire times.”

“And we can afford this?” You doubt, knowing how much new, custom armor costs. 

One stern look from Halsin, and you concede.

Everyone pooled their gold together to buy you fitted clothing and armor, a gesture that means the world to you. What have you done to deserve such kind friends? Just as you took on their troubles, they’re taking on yours without a second thought. 

There is one part of their gesture that gives you pause. They need your measurements, and you need to stand for it. With abdomen muscles still healing, you require Halsin’s help to get out of bed, leaning heavily against him. 

So close to him, you breathe in his scent, take in his warmth, and relish the contact. It’s almost enough to distract you from the embarrassment of having a stranger shimmy a measuring tape around your body. You hide your discomfort as best you can, but Halsin notices.

He always does. 

He must have read it as pain, because he hastens the person along so you can lay down and rest again. Another unsaid deed that shows his care for you, soothing the stinging humiliation. 

“Let me call the healers over, I am sorry for disturbing your rest.”

You grab his hand, stilling his movements. “Wait, please.”

“What troubles you, friend?”

You shake your head. “Thank you. For carrying me back and for the clothing. Words cannot describe how grateful I am.” 

Halsin takes your hand in his gently, “This fight would not be the same without you by my side.”

You blink away a rogue tear as Halsin brings forth a healer, and drift into a deep, healing sleep with a smile on your face. 

When you wake, you’re fully restored, and your new armor and clothes are atop the bedside table. The sight should fill you with excitement, but all you feel is dread.

What if they don’t fit you? What if they’re too small?

Retreating to a corner with a privacy curtain, you hesitantly try them on, thankful that your party isn’t here. To your surprise and great relief, they all fit–as they say–like a glove. The leather armor comes with a learning curve with all the straps and strings, but after a few mistakes, you figure it out.

It’s genius, really. With overlapping leather and lacing on the side, up the arms, and down your legs, its size is fully adjustable. Up to a point, of course, but extremely useful for the days to come. You’ll probably lose more weight as the journey is far from over, and now you have armor that can account for size changes in either direction!

You choke back tears of happiness, never once having known the feel of well-fitting clothes until now. Everything has been uncomfortable in some way or another, always with minor inconveniences, and never once did they look good. 

In these clothes, it doesn’t matter how you look. You feel good in them, and for once in your life, that is all that matters. A burden has been lifted from your shoulders whose weight you never noticed before now. 

Could you truly be comfortable within this body of yours?

Later, when they all come back to the inn after adventuring, the party makes you spin for them so they can get a good look at your new attire, and although shy, your smile is brighter than it has ever been. 

Saving Thaniel is no easy task, and you probably have a few more gray hairs after that battle. With Halsin’s life at stake if you fail, you fight tooth and nail to protect the portal. 

Even though it is not enough to lift the curse, Halsin’s eyes soften whenever he looks upon you, and that is all the reward you need. 

Your love does not end with Halsin; each party member has wormed their way into your heart. So when Shadowheart embarks on her quest with you at her side, you trust her to make the right choice. 

Dame Aylin is truly something to behold. The daughter of a goddess, and a god in her own right. To be reunited with her love after so many years is a love story of the ages. You’re lucky to bear witness to it, although it tugs at the heartstrings. 

The longing for a love such as theirs does not linger on your mind, not with the battle for Moonrise Towers looming overhead. 

Is this the end? Will you be free to live your life once more? The end does not feel as near as you are led to believe. Not all of the pieces fit together yet, and the unknown scares you. 

As you suspected, Ketheric Thorm was just one head of the hydra. There is much more to be done, and the journey ahead weighs heavily on your shoulders. You try to focus on your triumphs; the Shadowcurse is lifted, the land can begin to heal, and Halsin promises to remain by your side. 

A heart full of joy can only do so much when you’re running on fumes, requiring a warm bed and a few days rest. Your friends help distract you from the wear and tear of the past few weeks, always bickering about this or that. Usually you stay out of it, but Halsin has other plans on the journey to Wyrm’s Crossing, it seems.

Freeing Thaniel, and moreso, the land, has earned you a special place by Halsin’s side. You did not expect that place to come with an honorary nickname. 

Two simple words. It, at first, fills you with a sense of kinship, but soon begins to wear on your mind. As much as you love the affection it implies, one of those words hasn’t pertained to you for a long time. 

You find him that night at camp, voice hesitant. “Halsin, can I ask you something?”

“What is it, little duck?” He greets you with a pleased smile. 

“Well, that’s what I need to talk about. Little duck.”

“Does it not please you?”

“No–it’s not that. It’s just,” you pause, crossing your arms as you take a deep, calming breath. “I’m not little.”

“Are you not?” he inquires with a hint of mirth. 

Confused eyes lift to find his hand hovering above your head, a silent judgment of your height. 

Your stoic facade breaks with a smile, then with laughter, and you nudge him with your shoulder playfully. 

“You got me there,” you surrender, grinning ear to ear. 

Halsin laughs with you, but retains a more serious composure. “As much as that pleases me, should I call you by another name?”

“Please don’t,” you answer swiftly, needing no arduous thought to decide. 

From then on, anytime he says those two words, it fills you with warmth. 

Reuniting with the refugees saved from the Shadowlands brings you joy, but not as much as a real bed and a roof over your head does. 

Freshly washed and bathed, you almost forgot what it’s like to be clean. The quest to save the city is as grave as ever, yet all you needed was some self care to feel ready to take on the Elder Brain. 

The nights in Elfsong Tavern are anything but quiet, and you feel Halsin’s attention grow with each night, like he’s working up to something.

Maybe it’s just hopeful thinking, but you feel the chemistry between the two of you. Laughter and conversation is always easy with him, and he’s been touching you more. 

Nothing serious; grazing your arm, wiping a smudge of dirt off your face, his hand lingering on your shoulder. The contact, although small, brightens your mood, and you begin to yearn for it every time he’s near, even if you still think romance is out of the question. 

It’s almost comedic, how wrong you are. 

Not a week passes before Halsin confesses his feelings for you; how he yearns to feel your skin against his in a romantic night under the stars. You barely hear his next words over your heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

His heart stirs for you, just as yours does for him. He seems so vulnerable, just now. Nervous, just as you would be in his shoes. You feel as though you are seeing a piece of him rarely shown, or perhaps you did not wish to see past the brawn. Your souls are of the same gentle nature, and just a rest away from uniting in bliss.

Fidgeting in your sheets, you try to calm your turbulent mind, but it is hopeless. Each shift calls attention to the throbbing in between your thighs, their thickness both a blessing and a curse. But your mind is still eager to race into dark territory. The night of your dreams is accompanied by your mountain of insecurities. 

You’ve been intimate with others before, but that was of a low time where you hid parts of yourself to please others. 

There will be no more of that. He will know you. All of you. Even if it means he does not want you after. 

With mind set, you find him in the clearing by the lake, his large hand upon the rough bark of a tree in silent communion. When turns to greet you, the relief and excitement in his eyes brightens the world around you both, and instills you with courage. 

All thoughts of revealing your most authentic self blow away with the breeze when Halsin relieves himself of his clothes. Standing proudly naked before you, he sweeps you up in his arms, his kiss as passionate and devouring as he promised, with roaming hands settling on your plump rear.

All of your insecurities come back to nag you all at once, and you break away from the kiss. “Wait, please.”

“What is it, my love?”

Crossing your arms, you begin to pace. The movement helps focus your thoughts, and you take a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m fat,” you begin with the simplest statement of your imagined deficiencies. “For most of my life now I’ve been various sizes of fat, and I’m probably always going to be fat. I don’t want to be. I didn’t choose it. I have stretch marks, flabby arms, back fat.”  

Your voice begins to shake as tears well in your eyes. “Yes, I’ve shrunk a bit these past few weeks, but it’s not enough! Not nearly enough. Because even if I do lose all this weight,” you pause, feeling the pressure build within–a truth so long known but never said aloud, ready to burst out of your chest whether you will it or not.

“I will still hate myself!” The first sob rips from your throat as the emotional dam is broken, shaking your entire being.

Halsin rushes to you, enveloping you in his embrace, cradling your head to his chest. 

“Beauty is not about size, little duck. Variety provides necessary balance in nature, and there is no shame in taking joy from its fruits. Your inner peace is what truly matters.”

Only now it occurs to you that he has also been judged for his size. Maybe not all negative, but that is not to say it did not have an ill-effect on his self-esteem and outward personality. 

After you stop shaking, he coaxes you to meet his gaze. Eyes red and puffy, you do as he wishes, taking in every beautiful detail of his face before settling on his eyes, as serene as the lake before you. 

“I love you as you are, stretch marks and all.” He strokes your face gently and then takes your hands in his. “Let me show you.”

Halsin guides you to the lake’s edge, and positions himself behind you, leaning both your bodies forward. The view is exquisite, but you know it is not what holds his attention. Cautious eyes follow the ripples of the water, slowly casting down until you see your reflection. 

Halsin smiles when you meet his mirrored gaze, wrapping his arms around your waist. The angle is unflattering, to say the least, but you are willing to try this for him. The heat off his bare skin is a comfort, but also a reminder that your clothes are what separates your skin from his. 

“If you are comfortable, I’d like you to undress. To look upon yourself as you do, and be comforted in my desire.”

Comfortable is not something that would describe you in this moment, but you feel ready to reveal yourself to him. Closing your eyes, you still your mind to the symphony of the world around you; crickets singing, a light breeze coming off the lake, and Halsin’s steady breathing as he nuzzles his nose into your hair. Heart fluttering in your chest, you take your shirt off with nervous hands. 

After helping you discard the fabric, he is instantly upon you, trailing kisses down the side of your face until he’s sucking at your neck. You melt into him, tilting your head to reveal more skin for him to worship with his soft lips. 

Rough fingers tickle at your waist with feather-light grazes, you giggle at the feeling and place your hands over his. Lacing your fingers in between his, you move with him as he explores your waist. 

Heat rushes to your core as you feel his cock twitch against your back. You grow impatient, moving his hands to hold your breasts. He moans into your neck, pulling you against him while gently squeezing. 

“More, please. I need to see all of you,” he pleads breathlessly in your ear, thumbs pulling down the hem of your bra. 

You pull away for only a second, the ambient temperature feels so cool compared to your combined heat. Gooseflesh prickles at your arms, and as you discard your bra, you can’t help but admire your form in the water below. Nipples hard from the cold air soon find shelter in Halsin’s large hands, and his heat blankets you in a blissful stupor once again. 

Lust pools in your mind, overpowering any insecurities still swirling within. Only thoughts of him remain, and you need no further instruction to take the next step. Your panties cling to your pants as you pull them down. Halsin provides an arm for you to balance while slipping them off, and you come face to face when you toss the unwanted clothing further onto land. 

You’d pounce on him, but he quickly turns you around to face the lake again with a playful chuckle.

“Almost, my love. Look how extraordinarily beautiful you are, just as nature intended.” 

There you are, indeed. There’s your belly that you’ve loathed, the fat thighs that have been your bane, your double chin that distracts you from your beautiful face. Yet, with him at your back, your perspective begins to change, and you can see this body as yourself instead of some ugly, fat thing.

Halsin trails one hand down your stomach, over your stretch marks, and cups the plush overhang, squishing slightly as he smooths his palm back up your body, feeling the entirety of your curves.

All of your fears dissipate with the irrevocable proof of his attraction digging into your back, and you turn to face him. This time, he allows you, his hands grabbing your ass greedily. You run your hands up his body, relishing the feel of his coarse hair covering his chest and stomach. He moans softly at your touch, but something else starts to happen. 

His eyes begin to glow as he backs away from you in haste. The transformation is something you have seen many times, but never did you see the emotion behind it.

There is nothing as flattering as a partner losing themselves so utterly in a shared moment. Changing back just as fast, he flashes you a sheepish grin. 

Halsin starts to speak, but your patience is at its limit, and you run up to him, pulling him down for a kiss before he can utter a single word. 

Having regained his confidence through your kiss, he leads you back to the tree he was initially at, kneeling at its base. He leads you down to him, laying you down on the softest grass you’ve ever felt. There is a fleeting taste of his passion-full lips as he kisses his way down to your breasts, taking his time to kiss each one before descending further. 

Halsin’s lips against your stomach tickle in a touch-starved way, adding coal to the fire raging inside your core. He slips his arms underneath your knees, bending and spreading your legs. Supporting himself on his elbows, he reaches around, parting your lips by pulling your flesh toward your belly button. 

The first soft kiss upon your exposed clit has you gasping for air, hands grabbing fistfuls of grass at your side. It was only the calm before the storm; a single taste of honey is not nearly enough to satiate the beast between your thighs, and he shows you no mercy. 

Tongue lapping at your cunt from entrance to throbbing bud, Halsin has you squirming under his touch. Just as you think his pleasure is at its peak, he suckles your clit.

Toe curling, back arching, you scream his name as you reach carnal heights you never thought possible.

You whine when he stops, but when you see his swollen cock twitching between his legs, you know exactly what he needs. He lets you push him back onto the grass, helping you straddle him with a steadying hand. Cock nestled perfectly between your folds, you nuzzle his nose with yours before he pulls you into a passionate kiss. The taste of you is intoxicating as you drink in his moans, slide your hips against him, obscenely slick.

Ever hungry for more, you explore his body with your mouth, hips never ceasing their slow but steady rock. Thick, muscled neck, tender for kissing. Pronounced pecks perfect for light, teasing bites. Sensitive nipples ripe for sucking. Veiny arms that your lips could kiss for days. The faded but still visible stretch marks around his shoulders that now hold a special place within your heart, and you kiss each one of them.

You worship him, mind and body just as he does with his burly hands ever present on your lust-driven body. His touch now bruising, he tries to push into you with each thrust, soft moans turning into desperate grunts.

He catches at your entrance, but you tilt your hips so he passes over your clit once again. You shiver at the feeling, and cannot help the laugh that accompanies the bliss.

Teasing Halsin is just so fucking hot.

With an animalistic growl, he rolls you onto your back, having had enough of your shenanigans. Your sounds of glee quickly turn lewd as his cock finally finds purchase, stretching you delightfully with his mighty girth. 

Even with a mind lost to passion, he takes your comfort into account, pushing in slowly to let you adjust. His hungry mouth kisses your face, your lips, your jaw, your neck, until your canting, impatient hips break the last thread of his self control.

Burying his nose in your hair, one hand holding your breast, hips pumping, he makes love to you under the stars. You wrap your arms around him, holding onto his back to keep from being pushed away from the force of his hips. Your voices are a sweet, rhythmic chorus to nature as you feel a fluttering grow in your core. Halsin relinquishes his grip on your breast, hooking his hand underneath one of your knees to spread you further.

He reaches new heights within you, and you feel his cock harden more than you thought possible, readying to fill you with the nature’s bounty you’ve been craving. Your hands slip down to his ass, needing all of him inside you.

Your wants ever his desire, he buries his cock inside you and ruts, massaging the bundle of nerves deep within. Your fingers cling to him, leaving red lines down back unintentionally as the chord within finally snaps. Walls fluttering around him before clenching down, the waves of pleasure overtake you both, and he is a helpless passenger in its wake. He says your name like a prayer as his hips stutter in their rhythm. 

Cradling him close as you feel his cock pulse, you whisper in his ear, “I love you, Halsin.”

That mystical night under the stars with Halsin was legendary. Its memory, as well as the man himself, helps you through the rest of your quest, picking you up when you are down. All you need to do is close your eyes, and you’re right back in that clearing by the lake with him beside you.

You do not know if you would have gotten through it all without him. By the time you defeat the Netherbrain, you are the thinnest you’ve been since childhood, and also the most sickly. Stronger muscles and better food is not enough in the face of true exhaustion, and it shows in your gaunt face. 

The celebration with Halsin that night is sweet and gentle, containing all the relief of a battle hard won. You cannot help the tears that fall from your eyes as you reach your climaxes together.

It all feels like a dream. How could you have made it through all that alive and relatively well? With him at your side? A man as loving as he is large, he still does not impose anything on you. Talking as if there could be a chance you wouldn’t be going with him to resettle Moonrise Towers. 

You depart in the morning with nine wagons full of kids of various ages, all without families or homes, and your bear at your side. 

The savior of Baldur’s Gate is a bit rich for your liking, but it does give you a certain air of respect when you have to give them time-outs.

Halsin calls them all his ducklings, and it is so very fitting with how they follow him around from dawn till dusk. 

When you receive a letter with shaky lettering inviting you to the place where it all began, you’re more than happy to reunite with everyone. The time without doom hanging over your heads has certainly made you both plump and happy. You still struggle with body image issues, but you feel comfortable in your skin more often than not. A battle that is waning in your favor, with once barren fields blooming with slow acceptance.

Your appetite for life has always been large. Giant partner, a heap of kids to call your own, and enough tall tales to last them well into adulthood; you want for nothing in the years to come. 

With Halsin you build a loving home–an ending you never thought you deserved. 

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist from this ask meme: [ 🛁 ] - running them a bath, Shadowzel.

-----

“She is in pain,” Lae’zel says, pacing back and forth before the bar on the Elfsong’s bottom floor. The ale Karlach purchased for her sits undrunk on the wood bartop; she seems to have forgotten its existence. “And it is a pain I do not know how to soothe,” she growls. “It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Karlach says, watching Lae’zel’s quick, restless movements with an air of sympathy. “Fucking sucks, when someone you care about is hurting. And this kind of hurt… whoof.” She breathes out, rattling her lips heavily. “I lost my parents, back before the Hells, but at least they went… normally, y’know? Bad fever, overturned cart. Things like that happen to people. This, what she had to do… that’s a whole different ball game…”

“This is not helping,” Lae’zel says curtly.

“I’m commiserating,” Karlach says with a slight shrug. “I don’t really have an answer for you. ‘s not the sort of thing you fix.”

Lae’zel comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face Karlach directly. “There must be something,” she says. “I--” She breaks off abruptly and scowls down at the battered slats of the floor. “You know of these things,” she mutters. “I do not. I must have your help.”

“These things?” Karlach cocks her head slowly to one side.

A pause. Lae’zel flushes, her jaw working with frustration at the struggle to articulate her own feelings. “Romance,” she finally says carefully. Another pause, then suddenly rapid, “No. Not romance. Something more. The gentleness that comes with it. I feel the need for it, but do not know…” She falters, her ears flushing a deep olive. “I do not know what to do.”

“Oh.” Karlach would be tempted to smile, were it not for the fact that Lae’zel looks so terribly agitated. “Well, I’ll let you in on the first secret I know,” she says, “which is that we’re all making this the fuck up as we go along. I certainly am.” She nudges the barstool next to her with her boot toe. “C'mon, sit down."

Lae'zel sits abruptly, a soldier obeying orders. Karlach studies her for a moment thoughtfully. "Y'know," she says slowly after a little while, "sometimes when my engine's real bad, Hec'll just... do things for me. Just so I don't have to. Get my dinner served up, or clean out my armor, that sort of thing. And it helps." She rubs at her jaw. "I think, with this sort of shit... it's not about fixing. Not really. It's about... just being there, and holding some of the weight. Helping her keep living, while she sorts it all out."

Lae'zel considers this with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says slowly.

Karlach's teeth flash in a cautious grin. "We've got a proper bathroom in our rooms upstairs now. You could draw her a bath, bring her dinner after... give her a night not having to think about anything."

Lae'zel nods. "Yes," she repeats. Her whole body is stock-still except for her fingertips which fidget almost imperceptibly against the floral-carved edge of the bar. 

Karlach's smile softens. "The way Hec tells it - it'll make you feel better too," she says gently. "Maybe feel a little less like your head's eating itself alive." She claps Lae'zel on the shoulder. "Look. We're gonna make this happen," she says. "And I'll help. She likes night orchids, right? I'm gonna go right now over to Bonecloaks and shake that woman down for every blossom she's got, and then Jaheira and me'll take the boys off on an adventure for a while. Leave the rooms upstairs all yours till, say, ten o'clock?"

She doesn't expect thanks - the whole crew, by now, is well aware that Lae'zel doesn't tend to say it out loud. What she does get, though, is a sudden tight grip on her forearm from the gith's long-fingered hand; a gesture of camaraderie - or perhaps the clinging of a drowning woman to a driftwood life raft. "That is... generous," Lae'zel mutters.

"Just doing my part to make love bloom," Karlach says airily.

Lae’zel flinches, her color deepening again. “We have not spoken of love,” she says stiffly.

Karlach lifts her eyebrows innocently. “Oh, are we not saying that part out loud yet?” she asks.

“Kainyank…” Lae’zel grumbles, rolling her eyes - but Karlach notices she doesn’t argue the point.

-----

Shadowheart sits on the bed, leaning against the window, her knees drawn to her chest. She’s dimly aware that the others haven’t come back from dinner yet, but it’s hard to muster the energy to care. Ever since the House of Grief, she’s felt drained, empty, surrounded by the shattered pieces of a world she doesn’t know how to reconstruct yet. She feels broken.

There’s the soft sound of a footstep up the stairs. Rustling movement in the center of the shared floor of their lodgings. The sound of running water from the magical taps in the bathroom. Shadowheart ignores it all, focusing her eyes on the progress of a fly climbing up the outside of the window glass. 

Then-- “Shadowheart?”

Something in her heart loosens just a little, hearing Lae’zel’s voice. It’s astonishing, given how they began, the way that Lae’zel has come to mean protection, and understanding, and calm. Lae’zel is safety in a way that none of the others are, because Lae’zel too has had her life taken apart, and the two of them have built a new one out of the ashes. “Yes,” she says softly, forcing herself to stir and lift her head. “I’m here.”

To her surprise, she finds that Lae’zel is standing watching her with a bundle of deep blue flowers in one hand. The gith shifts awkwardly and then sets the plants down on the nearby table. “I--” she says haltingly. A pause, and then she presses on doggedly as if expecting a burst of laughter from some corner at any moment. “All day you have sat here alone. I have drawn you a bath. Will you come?”

“A bath?” Shadowheart tips her head, mildly bemused.

“Yes.” Lae’zel shifts her weight slowly from one foot to the other. Then she adds, almost sheepishly, “Karlach said it would help.” A pause, then so low Shadowheart almost can’t hear it, “Let me help. Please.”

A sudden tight lump settles in Shadowheart’s throat, making it hard to speak. “Lae’zel--”

“I said I would protect you,” Lae’zel mutters. “But there is no enemy to strike. There is only this. These small things. It is not much, but…” 

“No.” Shadowheart slowly uncurls herself from the tight ball in which she has spent the last few hours. The barest hint of a smile pulls at her lips for the first time in days. It’s not about the bath, not really - she didn’t need or even really want one. It’s the reminder that there is more around her than the impenetrable shadow Shar has draped over her world. That Lae’zel is driving it back with both fists, even when she doesn’t think she knows how.

“No,” she repeats softly. “That sounds perfect.”

[avocado-writing]

little mage - part 2

notes: this ended up so long. but yall wanted to be patient for porn so here we are lol. sequel to this

words: 5.4k

rating: E

pairing: astarion x reader (no pronouns used, reader has a vulva)

The camp in Wyrm’s Crossing is alive with joy. 

Orin the Red has been killed, the party is one Netherstone closer to getting the tadpoles out of their heads, and everyone’s using it as an excuse for a booze-up. The campfire is roasting a pork loin for the main course and you’ve all gathered around it to enjoy each other’s company before dinner. Tav has their lute out and is playing a raunchy song, much to the group’s delight, and their clear voice fills the night with music and laughter.

Across the crackling embers, they catch your eye and give you a wink. You find yourself grinning. You can see why Gale is so totally smitten with them, their upbeat attitude is magnetic. No wonder they became the impromptu leader of this little group, you could quite easily see yourself following them into battle too.

As Karlach drunkenly sweeps the bard up into her arms with a whoop, you let yourself look around the campsite. Lae’zel and Shadowheart are bickering about something inane, but not with the ferocity they once did - it seems more like banter now than anything. Well, as close to banter as a githyanki can get. Halsin and Jaheira are reminiscing about the ‘old days’, and, next to the High Harper, Minsc is loudly telling a tale of his wild past to Wyll who looks equal parts interested and bewildered.

It is lovely to be part of this little family. You’ve never felt more like you belonged somewhere, amidst this group of colourful oddballs.

And finally your eyes settle on the furthest member of the group.

Astarion rarely lets himself be caught up in the middle of things. He sits at the edge of the circle, quietly swirling a glass of wine which you know he doesn’t really want to be drinking, but does so in order to look like he’s busy. He watches the rest of you laugh and joke and be merry in a way which he can’t quite bring himself to be. 

You wish you could get him to smile. He looks lighter when he does. 

A few days have passed since the… incident in the alleyway, and it’s been enough for the heat to die down both in camp and between your legs. You can look at him without throbbing, now. The two of you haven’t really spoken much outside of quiet morning pleasantries when grabbing a coffee, and those interactions are always around the others. You’ve felt the heat of his eyes bore into you though, and desperately tried to keep yourself from meeting his gaze.

To be honest, you’re glad that you’ve been so busy recently, and that business is keeping you away from Astarion. There simply hasn’t been time to explore things further with him, and you’re not sure you want to.

Well, no. That’s a lie. You do want to, desperately, but you’re worried. Astarion strikes you as being like belladonna: beautiful, but deadly if you let yourself touch.

He is, after all, a two-hundred year old vampire, with all of the baggage that comes with it. And you’re just a little mage.

“Well, seems like someone’s a million miles a–”

You shriek and drop the chicken leg you’re holding to the camp floor. Gale holds up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“My apologies. It was far from my intention to surprise you, especially at the cost of your first course.”

You sigh and grab the chicken, using a quick Prestidigitation to clear off the dirt as Gale takes a seat next to you.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry. My mind was elsewhere, which it shouldn’t have been. I know how important it is for a wizard to keep their wits about them.”

He smiles at that. He always does when you remember one of his lessons. He nods to the chicken bone you’re stripping the meat from.

“You’re getting better at that.”

“Eating floor food?”

“Well, that too perhaps, but I was referring to your grasp on magic. It’s much improved since our last lesson.” He looks a little downcast for a moment. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been focussing as much on your studies as I’d have liked - but, well, I’m sure you can understand that I’ve been somewhat waylaid due to an unwelcome guest.”

“Gale!” you say, faux-shocked, “That’s a horrible way to refer to Tav!”

He looks appalled, then realises you’re joking and grins in relief. You give him a friendly elbow.

“I understand. You didn’t ask for any of this, and we can only take each day as it comes. If anything is a reason to put teaching on a back burner, it’s the threat of being turned into an illithid.” There’s a pause. “And Tav is good for you, you know. You smile more now.”

You see his ears go a bit red, even in the low light of the fire.

“Thank you. I’m inclined to agree. They’re so thoroughly… good,” he decides, reduced to wordlessness in his ardour. He turns to you, and his posture shifts a little. Oh no. He is going to try and be Serious.

“And you know, it isn’t wrong to want to find companionship. If there was someone who you…”

Nope, no. You have to stop this. You can’t talk about your love life (or lack thereof) with Gale, it would be like having The Talk with your big brother. The idea makes you panicked and nauseous.

“Besides, Gale,” you say, quickly, interrupting him and steering the conversation back to magic, “what I just cast was a cantrip, I’ve been able to do those since I could tie my shoes.”

Gale seems relieved that you’re on more solid ground, crossing his arms over his chest with a smile.

“Is that so? Well, please, show me something spellbinding. As it were.”

He sits back and waits for you to show off. You run through your prepared spells in your head and settle on one which feels right: carefully, making sure that nobody will get hurt, you reach out and cast a careful Pyrotechnics on the campfire.

Fireworks shoot into the air, exploding into the night sky with colourful whizzes and bangs. The party all looks up and gasps in surprise and delight at the impromptu little display. You carefully shape the spell so as to keep it vertical, change the colours with a wiggle of your fingers, pulling invisible strings of weave until you feel it naturally come to an end. There’s a beat of silence before the campfire erupts in a cheer, Gale grinning proudly next to you.

“Look at you!” he says, slapping you on the back in triumph, “I’m certain that we’ll have an archwizard on our hands in no time.”

You know he’s exaggerating, but your tutor’s praise does make you beam anyway. In between compliments and Minsc’s pleading for a repeat performance, your eyes drift to the outside of the circle.

To Astarion.

And he’s watching. Of course he is. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something which makes you feel hot under the collar.

Oh, gods. This is a mistake.

You’re suddenly aware of how much the centre of attention you are. Everyone’s eyes are on you, boring into you, watching for the next thing you’ll do. 

Astarion’s eyes are on you.

No. You don’t like it. The limelight takes to Tav, not you. You’re a bloody apprentice wizard, not a fabulous bard. The heat rises until it’s eclipsing your face and gods you need to get out of here, now, choking out some half-baked excuse and getting to your feet. 

“Are you–?” begins Gale, but you wave him off and quickly scamper away, heart beating in your throat.

Unseen, Astarion slips after you.

The longer you walk, the quicker you go, the more you calm down. Soon you can feel your panic get under control; yet questions swirl around your mind. What were you thinking, doing something so public? You berate yourself for your childishness only to know the answer is there in plain sight.

You wanted Astarion to look at you. To notice you. Oh gods, you are such a little fool. He’d never be properly impressed with you, ever, and to get wound up about it is–

“Well, someone made quite a scene back there.”

You jump. His voice is like an ice cube being run down your spine, chilling and exciting you all at once. In the forest clearing you’ve found yourself in, you turn to face the pale elf, watching as he leans up against a tree, jealous at how easy he can be in this situation.

“I hope you aren’t too put off by the fact that I followed you as you scurried off… though, judging by the way you were looking at me over the campfire, I don’t think you mind the company.”

Then it occurs to you, oh gods, you’re alone with him again, aren’t you? Far from the camp, just the two of you, and with nobody to watch he can do whatever he wants, you can do whatever you want, and…

“You’re overthinking.”

His words cut like a knife through the thick air between you, and then he’s closing the gap, getting close enough to feel your shaky breaths on his skin, red eyes gleaming. His white shirt seems to be particularly unlaced today, revealing broad plains of perfect alabaster. 

You want to touch him. You can’t move under his gaze.

“I am,” you manage to confess, voice barely more than a whisper. Astarion chuckles, and you want to hear that sound over and over and over again.

His fingers brush your arm and you gasp. His vulpine smile grows wider, looking at you from under hooded eyes.

“Would you like me to help you stop thinking?”

You nod all too eagerly, and he loves it.

His mouth is just as wonderful on yours as you remember. He tastes nice, too, of vanilla this time - you wonder if he sweetens his breath before he seeks you out. You let him lead the kiss. He has far more experience with this, after all, and it shows: the way your tongues entwine makes you moan in anticipation, the soft clack of his teeth on yours a melody unto itself. When he begins to walk you backwards you immediately follow. It’s a waltz, of a kind, something intimate and sensual, and you reel with ecstasy when you feel your back hit the rough bark of a tree.

Yes. Yes, anything. Anything that he wants to do with you, you’ll offer it all up. You’re drunk on him already, head swimming, only after more Astarion, and then you feel his hand press up against your stomach and start to gently sneak in under your waistband, and he is so so close to touching where you need him most, and –

With far more self-control than you ever realised you had, your hands reach out and grab his forearm in a vice-grip.

“No, no. Astarion. Stop.”

He does, immediately, backing away so that he can scan your face. Your chest may be heaving and body thrumming with desire but you’re not so lost in the thrill of it that you can’t see he’s genuinely concerned. His eyes are wide, searching, trying to work out what he’s done wrong. It’s the first time you’ve seen him be unsure of himself - at least in front of you.

“Did I… do you not want…?”

“No, I do. I do, but… gods, look…” this is so embarrassing but you need to say it or it will be buried forever, and any real chance of connection will be lost, “... if this is just sex for you then I don’t want it, Astarion.”

He looks absolutely bowled over by that. His eyes flit across your face as he attempts to read you; he must think you’re trying to trick him. How far that is from the truth.

You carry on. 

“I know… I know you think it might be something you have to do to win me over, or to make me like you. But it isn’t, because I already do like you! I really like you, Astarion. And while, gods know, I want you to take me here on this forest floor, I don’t want this to be some little fling. I want to go out to bookshops with you, and drink coffee, and judge people as they walk by us.” Despite everything he gives a flicker of a smile at that. “I want to hold your hand while we walk places. I want to sit in the park and look at clouds with you. I want to go to sleep next to you, gods damn it, every night if you’ll let me. I want to be there if you need someone on your side. I want… I want all of you, every messy, wild piece of it. So if this is just something physical? I can’t. It would break my heart.”

Astarion lets that little confession settle. He looks utterly gobsmacked, no matter how well he tries to make it seem otherwise. You can tell he’s thinking. That his mind is going a mile a minute trying to work out if you’re being serious, and second-guessing himself when he comes to the conclusion that you are.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

The moment hangs in the air, pregnant with possibility, and eventually he reaches in to kiss you. But it is not all tongues and teeth and hunger this time. It’s sweet. Affectionate. And you love it even more than the ones that came before it.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, little mage?” he asks, voice as light as a feather, caressing like velvet. Another kiss before he pulls back, returning to his typical bravado, sighing as if this is all so much, but with a sincere smile on his face which he can’t quite seem to wipe, “Alright, tomorrow, then. We’ll go out for tea. I know a little place I think you’ll like - chamomile is your favourite, isn’t it?”

Your eyes go wide as you nod. It is. And he just knew that.

“It’s a date,” he grins, and your heart skips a beat.

He’s as good as his word. 

The next day you head to a little café in one of the quieter areas of the lower city, one with quaint outside tables under large gingham parasols, and the two of you sharing a pot of tea while people-watching. He grins at every bitchy comment you make about someone’s dress sense, and when your feet brush up playfully together underneath the table your heart jumps as if you’re a schoolchild again. 

When you finish your cups he indulges you as you go shopping, linking his little finger in yours and letting you pull him along as you go through your new favourite bookstore. He complains but you can tell he doesn’t mean it, not really. He carries your things for you while you let your hands run over the spines of newly-printed tomes, occasionally picking one out and adding it to the pile in his arms. When you’re done, you take the long way back to camp, just to be alone together for a little while longer. 

That night you sit with him by the campfire as you eat, lost in quiet conversation, and you absolutely ignore the way that Gale is grinning and trying to catch your eye because oh gods it’s embarrassing when he’s smug - and then, at night, he retires to your tent with you. You thrill as he wraps you in his arms, burying his face in the nape of your neck and drifting off to sleep. 

A few days go by and you suggest that, whilst you know Tav has let him feed from them for ease, you’d happily volunteer to take the position. He grins, and whispers something filthy which makes your face hot, and you start waking with a pleasant pain over your jugular from the next morning on. 

A few more days on from that, the two of you start kissing in front of the rest of the party. This earns a “yeah, baby!” from Karlach and a good-natured ribbing from the others. You’re insightful enough to know that he likes to show you off a bit, not out of any self-satisfied reason - or at least, not entirely - but because he is genuinely pleased to have you as his paramour. Sitting in his lap at dinner, holding his hand as you stroll through the city, these things become as easy as breathing. Every part of you sings for Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. 

One night, he confides his fear about sexual intimacy for you. You’re so glad you didn’t give into him those times before, and tell him you’re happy to wait as long as he needs. There is no rush for you. It breaks your heart how relieved he looks. 

Were this your regular day-to-day life, a romance would have blossomed slowly. But it is not your regular life. There is no chance to feel emotions other than intensely on the road you tread, to throw yourselves into one another and be known completely. 

When Cazador Szarr dies, you are there. You told Tav you were coming, despite everyone pleading you to stay behind - there was no way you would let Astarion face him without you, and you can tell that he’s secretly relieved to have you there. You sling spells from the back line and pick off his master’s minions, one eye on the vampire lord and the other on your partner. And when the fight is over, and he is offered the possibility of ascension - he looks to you straight away. 

A little shake of your head is all that’s needed to dissuade him from the idea entirely. 

That night he cries and you hold him, so so tightly. So tightly in fact that you’re scared you’re going to hurt him. But he says nothing, he just presses his face into the place where your shoulder meets your neck and weeps, long and loud and raw and intimate. You stroke his hair and wait until he’s exhausted, then lay him down to sleep wrapped in your arms. 

He looks like the weight of the world has been lifted from him the next morning. 

When he takes you to his gravestone the two of you sit, hand-in-hand, understanding how much you have come to mean to each other. It is a sweet and intense love you have fostered, so far from the vampire who would have taken you in that alleyway on the way back from Sorcerous Sundries. 

Well, maybe not that far, because as you leave the cemetery he sweeps you up in a burning kiss, all tongues and teeth and fire. 

Oh. Tonight, then. You can do tonight. 

As you head back to the Elfsong, you get him to pause by the front desk, and he watches as you dish out the coin with shaking fingers to rent a suite for the night. You have no intention of going back to the party’s shared floor. When he realises what this means, Astarion is half elated and half trepidatious as the two of you ascend the stairs to your private room. 

“My sweet,” he says, eyes blazing salaciously but sincere in his words of comfort, “you know that we don’t have to…”

“I know. But I want to,” you tell him, utterly sure, “but only if you want to, as well. I know how you feel about… all this. If there’s even a single doubt in your mind, then—”

He kisses you so fiercely that the breath is stolen from your lungs. You don’t even realise he’s taken the keys from your hands until the door swings open and the two of you tumble back into the room, into bed. 

His mouth is hot and delicious, kissing every inch of your skin he can find. Little nips of fangs only serve to excite you. He is thorough in his exploration; lavishing attention only onto what is exposed, and it leaves you a mewling mess beneath him. 

“Astarion… please,” you beg. His eyes are heavy-lidded as he looks up at you from your chest, your sternum aching pleasantly from his ministrations. 

“Please what, little mage?”

Oh, he knows how it excites you when he calls you that. Without even thinking, your hips rut up into his. He smiles in hunger and delight. 

“Use your words, my love.”

“I need you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

This seems to satisfy him, and he tugs at your shirt until it becomes untucked from your waistband, slowly lifting it until you take it off properly. Chest bared to him for the first time with the promise of lovemaking, he slowly reaches to take a nipple in his mouth and sucks. You moan and cant beneath his body, letting his teeth graze your areola, allowing his fangs tease the soft skin he finds. When his hand reaches up to touch your lips you let them fall open easily, letting him fuck your tongue with his fingers. 

“Good… you’re so pliant, aren’t you? Naughty little thing. Desperate for me.”

This talk is driving you wild. It will kill you, you’re sure of it. You throb, actually throb, and moan as he reaches for your trousers. It’s an easy shucking and oh gods he’s taken your underwear too and then you’re lying there, bare beneath his gaze. 

He looks you up and down. Your chest heaves. 

“Like what you see?” you want it to be playful, but instead it’s full of nerves. You really, really hope he does. If your body is anything less than desirable to him you’ll be shattered. 

He senses the worry in your words and, rather than continue his work on your chest, reaches over to kiss you, slow and sweet. It’s a kiss you know well, one you’ve given him a dozen times over: a kiss of reassurance. 

“You’re divine,” he whispers. A thrill runs up you. This man - this man, who could have been carved out of marble by the gods themselves - thinks you’re divine. A surge of courage runs through you and you sweep him in for another kiss, taking his hand in yours and guiding it down your body. 

When he first touches between your legs you think you might explode. His long, dexterous fingers slowly spread you open, running along the soft seam of your cunt. You find yourself reduced to jelly, a quivering mess as he explores you for the first time. His touch is gentle, reverent, careful; his fingers find your sweetest spot and rub there for a moment until you see stars light up behind your eyes.

It’s good. So good. When he presses those fingers inside you gasp a little but he is attentive to what he does. There is no urgency as he slips in one, then two, slowly pumping you as you hope he plans to with his cock later. Your legs spread and he settles between them better, lavishing your skin with kisses and your ego with praise. 

“So lovely… so wet. I’m going to make this good for you. I’m going to empty your head of every piece of magic you know, you gorgeous thing, and replace it only with the feeling of this.”

At that he crooks his fingers upwards and you squeak as he hits a spot that sends electricity along every nerve in your body. 

“Astarion—!”

“Yes, that’s it.” He drops a kiss to your shoulder and continues his work, fucking you with his fingers. He slips in a third when he feels you’re ready enough, and when his thumb presses into your clit you know you’re hurtling towards the first orgasm someone else has ever given you. 

It’s magnificent. It’s syrupy and sweet and shocking, crashing over your body like a wild tide and dragging you out to sea with it. You come all over his hand and ride it out, pressing your cunt down into his palm and rutting up against it like a dog in heat. Astarion smiles, and though it’s lustful and heavy-lidded you can see the genuine affection for you there too, a true happiness that you’d give yourself to him like this. 

When the feeling has passed he kisses you before slowly removing his fingers and pressing them into his mouth. Your eyes go wide. 

“Astarion!” you squeak. He gives a blasé shrug. 

“I wanted to taste you. Can you really blame me? You look delicious.”

Face hot again you do the only thing you can think of: thump him playfully with one of the decorative cushions on the bed. He looks actually shocked at that before he bursts into genuine joyful laughter, and you do too - and it’s good. It’s so, so good. You’re in bed with the man you love and laughing because it’s silly and you feel safe and adored. And it occurs to you: yes, you do love him. You want to keep him happy and safe and in your arms for as long as he’ll let you, which is hopefully forever. 

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” you point out. He looks down to where he’s still fully dressed, cock pressing achingly against the front of his trousers. 

“I suppose I am. Let’s remedy that.”

You help him remove his shirt, caressing the expanse of smooth chest he reveals, undo the laces of his bottoms and pull him free. His length stands hard and ready in front of you and it gives you a not insubstantial thrill that you’re the one who managed to do this to him. You!

You take him in your hand, carefully, and he groans. Smiling, you let your body take over - pumping him slowly and languidly, as easy a pace as he set with you. He’s a decent size and thick, something you can see fitting quite comfortably inside you. 

Emboldened, you reach forward and lick a stripe up him. Astarion arches as if he’s been electrocuted, and his hands dig into your shoulders to halt you. 

“Oh… did I do something wrong…?” you ask, but when you meet his gaze you don’t find scorn or anger. You find such unbridled, carnal desire you’re overtaken with it. 

“No. Quite the opposite. If you do that I will end up finishing in your mouth. And while it’s a lovely thought - I want this to be about you.”

You release his cock and let it bob against his stomach, moving to give him another tender kiss. 

“It’s not about me. It’s about us.”

He smiles, softly. 

“Indeed it is, my love. Indeed it is.”

He manoeuvres you, carefully, so that you’re lying back on the bed, legs spread open for him as he takes himself in his hand and rubs it against your already orgasm-drenched cunt. 

“Will it hurt?” you ask, suddenly a little scared. This is happening. It’s happening. 

But Astarion is sweet. A kiss is dropped to your shoulder, tender and reassuring.

“If it does, tell me, and I’ll stop. I swear.”

You trust him. You lie back and fan your legs open a little further, letting him press the head of his cock against your entrance and start to slide it. 

It’s an unfamiliar but welcome feeling. You’re full for the first time, in a different way to his fingers; his cock is thicker and spreads you in a far more lucious way. You gasp as he enters into you, each little thrust of his hips easing him inside deeper, and though it does sting a little the pleasure that he brings is far more easy to concentrate on. 

“Oh… oh…”  is all you can manage, and when you look up Astarion’s eyes are screwed shut in concentration, like he has to actively prevent himself from fucking you with the vigour he wants to. That’s promising. You hope the next night you spend like this will be far more wild, once you’re used to the feeling of him. 

Eventually he sinks all the way up to his base. He groans, cock throbbing inside you, totally sheathed. Together as one. His forehead presses down against yours, and he takes deep and slow inhales he doesn’t need - encouraging you to get your own breathing in sync with his, calm you down and adjust to it. 

Soon you’re used to the intrusion of him, and you nudge your hips up against his. He smiles. 

“And here I thought learning magic required patience. You seem to have none of it.”

“I’m patient when it comes to how to cast a bloody fireball, Astarion. If you don’t start moving now, I might explode.”

He chuckles again, genuine in his glee, and slowly begins to buck his hips. His cock stretches you wider, and his head grazes that sweet spot over and over. Oh, it is delicious. Your body is on fire for Astarion Ancunín and you never want to extinguish it; you want him to keep on fanning this flame forever. You will become a roaring inferno under his touch and nothing has ever seemed more appealing to you. 

“My love,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer. He peppers your neck and shoulder with kisses as he thrusts, utterly enchanted by you, fangs tracing your throat as your racing heartbeat echoes in it. 

“My love,” he replies in kind, speeding up as he can feel how soaked you’re getting. You cup his face with your hands so that you can see him properly. Oh, Astarion. Your Astarion. The moon in your sky and every star around it. 

Your cunt aches, but not from discomfort but from pleasure. You can tell you’re going to come again soon, and want it to harmonise with his own release, have the two of you crescendo together. If the way his hips are beginning to move arrythmically, erratically, you can sense he’s not far from completion either. 

“Please… inside…” you manage, and oh gods he is gone. His hips stutter as he empties himself inside of you with a little moan, flooding your cunt with hot jets of his release and toppling you over the edge with him. You sink your fingernails into his back, over his scars — those damned scars, scars he’s never going to have to be afraid of again — and cry out your pleasure.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breaths. You need it, he literally doesn’t, but feels he probably ought to take a moment anyway to let you collect your thoughts. He rolls off and lies on the bed next to you, eyes roving up and down your panting, sweat-slicked body. 

You can tell there’s a tiny hint of nervousness in him. A bite of worry that you didn’t enjoy it. To quell his mind you reach over and bring him into a slow, long, tongue-twisting kiss. He noticeably relaxes under you. 

“That was… everything,” you confess. “More of that. Please.”

He laughs. 

“Oh gods, I’ve made a monster. You’re going to be insatiable now, aren’t you?”

You playfully bite the air above his face, baring your teeth like an animal, before grimacing as your newly-abused cunt twinges. You reach between your legs and find him dripping out of you sinfully, but also that your fingers come back coated a little in red. Proof of what just happened. 

Without warning Astarion grabs your wrist and presses your bloody fingers into his mouth, sucking on them with a groan. 

“Astarion!” you shriek with a shocked giggle, reaching to grab the pillow and give him another swipe with it - but he wrestles you back into the mattress, pinning you down playfully. He kisses you again, then, and you feel the affection rolling off of him. Adoration, there’s no other word. Devoted adoration. 

“I love you, my little mage. My heart,” he confesses, in the low light of the inn’s room, face dancing in the moonlight from where the two of you didn’t bother to join the curtains. The words sound odd coming from his throat. As if he’s had no reason to say them for a long, long time. 

You’re glad you were the spark he needed. 

“I love you too.”

Whatever comes next, you’re in it together. 

Dividers by firefly-graphics!

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate@dhampling (lmk if you want to be added!) and those of you who seemed interested in the original lol: @the-littlest-bruja @ravenswritingroom @piperd06 @thedump1inhere @flustered-fawn @hopeful-n-sad

[mimsynims]

Fool For Love

part 4

~~~

part 1, part 2, part 3

~~~

Astarion x reader/Tav

Tags: (mild?) angst, pining, pining while fucking, jealousy, eventual happy ending

Summary: You thought you knew what you were doing when you let Astarion into your bed. He doesn’t have feelings for you, and vice versa. Only… now you do.

You’ve finally made a decision on how to handle it, but it turns out it might not be that easy to actually do as planned.

~~~

It’s as if all the gods have come together to conspire against you. Truly, you wonder if you accidentally angered one or several of them, because after dinner, nothing goes as planned.

First it is Shadowheart, seeking your counsel about a scroll in her possession she wants you to take a look at. Next it is Lae’zel, wanting to discuss again your findings about Orpheus and what it might mean.

You almost scream out loud when Karlach calls for you just as you are finally about to approach Astarion.

You definitely do scream, just a little, when you collide with a tipsy Gale and the collision causes red wine to splatter all over your shirt and trousers. Cursing under your breath, you see Astarion glance your way with a chuckle. As tempting as it is to stomp over and drag him into his tent just to have it over with, you decide a change of clothes first is the wisest course of action.

It’s much less conspicuous, for one — everyone would notice and wonder if you decide to talk to him now — and you need a moment to cool down.

You’re quick about it, grabbing the first clean pieces of clothing you can find — but it’s not quick enough.

When you walk out of your tent again, Astarion is nowhere to be seen. Telling yourself that it’s not strange for you to inquire about his whereabouts, you ask Halsin if he has seen him.

“I think he went to find something to eat.”

“Ah.” Dammit. ”I see.”

You stare into the dark forest surrounding the camp, wondering if it will seem odd if you go after him. Probably not, if they even notice you leave.

In the end, you decide to remain where you are, sitting down by the fire with the others. He will be back sooner or later, and until then, you can enjoy the company of your friends. Or try to, at least.

Astarion’s still not back when Gale suddenly stands and announces that it’s time to head out. Watching them all laugh and banter as they gather blankets and wine, you realise that you should do things like this more often. Take the time to just have fun. Especially now, when what you have to face next is the Shadowlands, a place that sounds more terrifying than anything else your party has encountered so far.

Not counting getting tadpoles inside your head.

It’s actually a quite nice spot Gale has found. Wide stretches of soft grass swaying in the night breeze, the surrounding tree line creating a sense of protection and serenity. If your heart wasn’t already attached to another, you think you would’ve enjoyed going here alone with Gale. Maybe.

“Where’s the food? Surely we need something to snack on too?”

“Karlach…”

Shrugging, Shadowheart held up the bottles in her hands. “Sorry, too busy grabbing the wine.”

“I’ll go,” you offer, because it would be a shame to bring the mood down with unnecessary squabbling. The fact that there’s a chance you might find a certain elf back at camp has absolutely nothing to do with it. Well, maybe a little.

“Thanks, soldier, you’re the best!”

You leave before anyone gets the idea of tagging along. If Astarion is back, you wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to finally talk with him. Even if it ruins the night for one or both of you.

When you get back, you see Withers by his tent. But no Astarion in sight.

“Where is that goddamn man?” You stomp over to his tent. “Astarion? Are you here?”

Nothing.

Muttering to yourself, you take a basket and fill it with bread, cheese, and some fruit. With how everything has gone so far tonight, you grab a bottle of what you presume is wine, because the urge to get blissfully drunk is too hard to resist.

As you trudge back to the others, you wistfully wonder where Astarion has been all night. Was he avoiding you? And if so, why?

“Tav, there you are!” Karlach shoots up from her seat on the blanket and relieves you of the basket. “Look who we found!”

And there he is.

“Astarion.”

Sitting between Halsin and Shadowheart.

“Tav,” Gale pats the spot next to him, “I saved you a seat.”

Of course he did. “Thank you, Gale.”

Even if you had it in you dismiss him, you realise quickly that there’s no other space available. So you sit down, because there’s not much else you can do.

It turns out that the bottle you snagged isn’t wine but rum, but that suits you just fine at this point. You try to listen as Gale talks to you about the constellations he points at, but your focus keeps shifting to Astarion. The way he leans closer to Shadowheart, the way he keeps touching Halsin. You are used to him being a bit of a flirt, but this feels like more. It feels like there’s actual intent behind it and not him just being his usual self.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he’s trying to make you jealous. Which is ridiculous, of course.

Unless it isn’t. You take another swig of the rum. “Ridiculous.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Astarion glances your way but quickly turns to Halsin again when he catches you watching. The bastard. Well, two can play that game. “Oh.” You inch just a little bit closer to Gale. “I was just saying to myself how ridiculously beautiful the sky is.” Smooth, Tav, smooth. You almost roll your eyes at yourself.

Gale smiles. “It is, isn’t it?”

For the next half hour, you make yourself focus on Gale, and Gale alone. He is an interesting man — when he’s not talking about Mystra. In the back of your mind, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but your drunk brain justifies it by telling yourself that Gale deserves an attentive audience. He’s the reason why you’re all here, after all.

He really is nice — too nice for someone like you. You realise that at some point while observing Gale and Karlach talk about… something. You’re not really listening anymore, once again caught up in your own hazy mind.

The bottle in your hand is almost empty — when did that happen? Oh, right. You have been taking a sip every time you hear Astarion laugh or call someone else a pet name. Stupid idea, that.

With a heavy sigh, you flop back to lie down on the blanket. Everyone’s voices turn into background noise as you stare up at the stars. Or try to, because the world is spinning, spinning, and the last thing you hear before you doze off is someone saying your name.

~~~

[jessiemeows]

Insecure

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F! Tiefling Redeemed Durge/Tav

Summary/Setting: post-Cazador and post-Ansur the dragon in Act 3, Astarion and the companions are back near the Rivington camp. Karlach accidentally hurt our poor vamp’s feelings lol.

I wrote something a while ago regarding Astarion most likely gaining weight from finally having access to blood after years of starvation so I wrote it a little short story for it!

Rating:  pg-13 lmfao, very light but mentions insecurities around weight

I wrote this while wine-drunk last night so, hopefully, there are not too many errors! 

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

Karlach exclaimed, "Come here, Fangs! I need to pinch those cheeks of yours!" while inching her fingers closer to Astarion's face. Astarion had just finished sewing up Clive, the teddy bear, who was Karlach's partner in crime. As a rogue, Astarion could easily dodge Karlach's attacks, whether it was her bear hugs or pinches, but he let the fiery tiefling have her way with him now and then.

“You are just so adorable, I can see why Eris can't resist you.” Karlach was rambling on about the vampire, smooshing his face to the point he could barely speak “Eris is such a lucky duck to have a chubby little vampire.”

Astarion's eyebrows furrowed as he glared at Karlach. "Chubby?!" he shouted, squirming out of the tiefling's grasp. His face was red and sore from Karlach's previous actions. "What do you mean by calling me chubby?!" Karlach's eyes wandered, searching for answers, giving him a dazed look. "I- Astarion," she stuttered in response.

Halsin stopped teaching the Scratch and Hoots how to roll over, and Gale, Minthara, and Shadowheart paused their conversation to look at them. Lae’zel’s usual loud sharpening sounds of her greatsword ceased, and the sudden silence was deafening. ‘Great,’ he thought to himself “now the whole camp was staring at them now.”

"I-just," Karlach stuttered, trying to choose her words carefully. "Since you and Eris have been together and you've been eating from her, you've filled out a little bit. It's not an insult! You deserve to finally be happy! That's all I meant, Astarion."

Astarion waved his hand at Karlach dismissively and stormed off to his tent, relenting on his next poorly chosen words.

------

Eris had returned from a retreat with her companions Wyll, Jaheria, and Minsc. They had been hunting for fresh game and gathering vegetables to celebrate the defeat of Ansur, the dragon, and Wyll's new title as 'The Blade of Avernus'. After the celebratory meal, they all sat by the fire. Minsc was telling one of his many stories while Jaheria kept interrupting him, saying that she remembered the story a little differently. Of course, Minsc claimed that it was how Boo, the giant miniature space hamster remembered it, so his story was the truth. 

The tiefling spent hours enjoying the company of her friends, laughing and drinking. However, she couldn't help but miss the absence of her vampire partner who had retreated to their tent for the night. This wasn't anything new for Eris, as he sometimes became moody and preferred to be left alone. In fact, it was often for the better that he did so, as he had gotten into arguments with others on more than one occasion. But it was quite unusual for him to not even come out to greet her once she returned from her travels and to say hello.

As the night was drawing to a close, she said her goodnights to her friends and made her way back to her shared tent. She may have been a little tipsy from the wine she had consumed earlier, and all she could think about was kissing her adorable, charming vampire. However, upon stumbling into the tent, she noticed the elf sitting quietly, reading and sulking about.

"Hey Astarion, is everything okay? Or are you mad at me? You seem quiet tonight," Eris asked as she began to change into her nightclothes. Astarion's gaze wandered as he took in her hourglass figure, admiring her soft curves. "I missed you at dinner," Eris added, tilting her head at him. Astarion remained silent, lowering his eyes again and pretending to read his book while avoiding eye contact with Eris.

"Astarion," Eris said again, this time staring at him with big, puppy eyes and a pout on her lips. He couldn't resist those eyes. "Hm? Oh, it's nothing," Astarion replied, trying to hide his true feelings. Eris, however, knew him too well. She finished getting dressed and crawled towards him, sliding her arms in between him and shutting his book. 

"I know you're hiding something from me, Astarion," she said while resting her head in the crook of his neck. "Come on, you can tell me. What is it?" Her warm breath left a trail of kisses down his neck to his jawline. He could smell the wine on her breath, which meant she was a bit tipsy. She always got playful when she drank. He tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“You’re gonna think I’m silly.” He trailed off before speaking again. “Do you think I've gained weight since we met?” 

A moment of silence followed, Astarion released his grip on her waist and placed her back beside him. "Wait, let me speak, my love," she pleaded. Despite her words, the vampire turned back to the book he had been reading. However, before he could start reading again, she sprawled herself on top of the book on his lap and let out a groan.

"Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, please go ahead and say what you need to," he said, clearly upset with her silence.

"Astarion, I won't lie to you. Yes, you have gained weight, but it's a healthy weight. When we first met, you were very thin. I was surprised when you were able to hold me down when you used that dagger against me." She quickly sat up, straddling him and cupping his face.

"Ugh, when are you going to let that go?" the vampire rolled his eyes at her.

"Never," the tiefling giggled quietly, "but you've gained a significant amount of healthy weight. You're so much stronger than before, and you're still absolutely beautiful to me." Eris started kissing Astarion's cheeks, then moved to his neck. Meanwhile, Astarion began tracing his fingers on a couple of scars she had on her back, slowly inching his fingertips underneath her shirt. He let out a soft moan as she nipped his neck with her own fangs. The poor thing was trying to show him a taste of his own medicine. "And I wouldn't change how you look now for the world."

Astarion's cheeks began to blush. He grabbed Eris's chin and parted her lips with his own. "I love you so much, Astarion," Eris said, breaking their kiss momentarily. "I love you too, Eris. I will always love you.  How about a little fun, hm?”. He deepened their kiss by rolling Eris over to her back, feeling her smile silently say yes.

[ghost-proofbaby]

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own.”

summary: the gang gets a dog, and aruna finds out that shadowheart is an excellent person to gossip with. just not when it's about aruna's own personal life.

wc: 5.8k+

warnings: some more leftover description of the blood-drinking ordeal, mentions of dead bodies, astarion is being avoidant again.

a/n: we've finally made it to scratch!!! and karlach!!! wahoo. also, i'm trying something new with the chapter dividers, so bear with me. <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?” 

Aruna feels as though she can’t move as she brings ginger and nervous fingers up to her neck, pressing into the wound left behind. A damaged neck, a damaged mind – she was certainly acquiring quite the seen and unseen wounds, wasn’t she? 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, slowly pulling up her knees, trying to dispel all her dizziness, “I- Gods, I don’t know.” 

One moment, she was getting lost in it all – in Astarion’s fangs inside her, in his hands holding her so closely, in the weight of his chest pressing to hers desperately and matching each of her ragged breaths – and the next, it had simply been pain. 

Were they memories? Were they wishful hopes? 

They felt so real. Each image had burned into her as though she’d already experienced them. Like she knew every inch of Astarion’s skin already, like a well-loved and memorized road map to all that she could be. As though she might have spent endless nights watching him with careful consideration as he would trance, not just under the stars but within a tent with her at his side. Even now, the ghost of how he had felt curled up against her haunts her vividly, somehow warming her despite the chill she knew he would leave behind. 

“What in the Hells was that?” he repeats himself a bit more aggressively this time, quickly lifting a hand to swipe away at her blood trailing down his throat. He leaves behind the scarlet trail of her across his lips and chin – a painful reminder of what she had just given him. 

Of what boundaries they had just crossed, only to be burned. 

“Like I said two seconds ago, I don’t know,” she snaps this time, palm still cupping where his mouth had been. The blood flow had finally slowed, clots that would turn to scabs beginning to form. 

“Was it your magic?”

“No-”

“Was this all an elaborate ploy just to get me close enough to use your magic against me? Conjure images just to-” his eyes flare with mistrust as he stands quickly. Against her better judgment, she follows, “Just to trick me?”

“It wasn’t my magic,” she grits out. She wishes it was – she wishes she didn’t believe any of those images to be real. She wishes she hadn’t just been handed over something to miss, “I don’t know what it was, but I had just as much control in it as you did.”

Dark holes in her mind, slowly growing over with all those memories. Gaps being filled, questions being only half-answered. It was as though a piece of herself had just been returned to her; as though she’s one step closer to being whole again.  Fragmented puzzle pieces that were finding their place in her psyche whether she wanted them to or not. 

He’s quiet for a few moments, still fiery with misplaced fury.  “If it wasn’t your doing, what was it?” 

Memories. Glimpses into a past, glimpses into another thread of time similar to this one, just a tad bit different. Frayed in different segments and taut where this one twists. 

She knows that’s what they were, even if her churning gut and tired mind want to deny it to all Hells. 

“I don’t know,” she lies with slumping shoulders, accepting the weight alone, “I wish I did.” 

Gods, why is it so hard to lie to him? Why is her tongue suddenly so heavy as she forces each word out? 

She could tell him what she feels is certain, ask him to indulge her in the possibility that what they just saw were real moments that had slipped from their grasp. Maybe she should ask him if he felt it too; if he felt a large, gaping hole in his chest as residual damage. She could ask him if it aches for him the way it aches for her. 

But she isn’t going to.

She lets the weight of what they saw wash over her just as suddenly as the creases in his face smooth over. He’s compartmentalizing; she’s drowning. 

They’re going to pretend it never happened. For real, this time. 

He won’t admit to being a vampire, he’ll never tell the others that he’s tasted her blood, and he won’t be entertaining any theoretical discussion of all those moments they’d just seen. 

There was too much vulnerability there to be witness to. The way that version of him had preened beneath her touch so comfortable, the way his body had melted against hers as if it had always belonged at her side. She feels like a stranger in her body as she recalls that softness that lingered between her and the man before her in those snippets that had just flashed between them. None of it existed in the here and now. She’s sure if she tried to lean her weight against him as she had in that memory (or whatever the scene had been) now, he’d scoff and toss her aside without second thoughts. 

Where the Astarion that had been shown was all molten softness, there only lay sharp edges before her. Jagged bits and serrated defenses. 

“Very well,” his mask returns in the blink of an eye. His chest puffs out again, his posture straightening and his chin lifting as he takes a few steps around her, adamantly keeping his distance, “In that case, I should retire back to my tent for the night,” she doesn’t turn to watch him, only listening to the soft crunch of his footsteps over twigs, “Before anyone notices our absences.” 

Keen. Precise. Stabbing. Not an ounce of whatever gentle notions she’d seen from the version of him who had been tugging a blanket around her to ward off the cold. No softness to spare. 

She can’t blame him. Even more haunting than the contrast of that version of him compared to this one is the difference between Aruna.

Someone kind, confident, and determined. A version of her with purpose. 

For every sharpened point he bares, she wields a blade just as dangerous in comparison to who she might have been. The version of her in those visions was something soft, something to hold, something that had only ever bared its teeth to smile. 

It doesn’t really matter that this Astarion wouldn’t wrap her in a blanket; this Aruna wouldn’t let him if he tried. 

She’s almost sure she’s been left to her smothering thoughts, mouth still agape as she takes deep breaths to stay upright, when his voice cuts through the night one final time.

“This is a gift, you know. Strange visions aside.”

One final bout of deja vu swallows them whole as she turns slowly, just in time to see the way he turns his head. He’s not fully looking at her, but the gesture lets her know he’s speaking to her and not the moon, at the very least.

“I won’t forget it.” 

It’s in his cadence, in the bit of his brow she can just barely see as it furrows. He means it, sincerely. 

The hand that was still cradling the side of her neck drops so slowly that it hasn’t returned back to her side until he’s long gone, returning to his tent just as he had said he would. 

—

In an interesting turn of events, Astarion is the one avoiding Aruna in the following days. 

Every morning, she looks to his tent. And every morning, she finds it empty. 

They don’t find another one of his meals during their adventures, thankfully. Aruna finds herself filling the empty space left behind from the absence of her shadow with Gale instead, to the point in which she doesn’t even have to ask the wizard to join her most days. He’s already ready for her, waiting as she finishes fastening her own armor and gear. No one knows outright about that night, about what Astarion is and about what Aruna gave, but Gale must have noticed something having changed. He must have sensed the gap for him to fill was there to have stepped up so easily. 

Aruna doesn’t particularly care if they find out at this point, in all fairness.

Astarion’s vampirism is the least of her worries from that night. She could wake up to him trying to take another taste of her blood, and she wouldn’t even attempt to stop him. No, her companion’s strange affliction wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she truly gave. 

It wasn’t just blood. 

She spends most of her time lost in thought as she rolls those flashes of herself and Astarion around in her mind. The tadpole connection had yet to return to them, or perhaps neither of them had really tried to mend it yet, and she’s grateful for it. She can’t decipher if her gut feeling, if her assumption that what they saw were some strange and twisted version of memories was actually correct, or if it were something else at hand.

Had it been her magic? Had it been a side effect of a vampire drinking a thinking creature’s blood? 

Maybe it was a projection of what she truly wanted deep down. A manifestation of her deepest wants and desires, entirely exposed to the two of them. 

That must be it, because the more Aruna considers it, the more she realizes she wouldn’t mind being in the situations she’d witnessed. It would be nice to lay with a lover at the end of the day and feel the way they sunk into her touch. It would be reassuring to have someone there, ready to share body heat beneath whatever sorry excuse for a blanket they could get their hands on. It would simply be nice to feel like someone was on her side, given their current situation. 

Although she could argue Gale was at her side, both metaphorically and physically. 

When she stops at the entrance to a short bridge, not far from where they’d found the boar that had disappeared after Aruna’s night with Astarion, he’s right beside her. Not right behind her as Shadowheart and Wyll were, but beside her. 

“Is that… a town?” she questions, squinting into the distance. 

Across the bridge, she could see a crumbling wall with the roofs of buildings peaking just over it. And even further, an arched entrance that had a clear view of a few of those said buildings. 

“It’s a bad idea, is what it is,” Gale murmurs, and she follows his trail of sight to see what had him consumed with hesitation – bodies.

Just between the cobblestone of the bridge and the entrance to this apparent village, several bodies lay across a blood-soaked ground. The bodies aren’t fresh by any means, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had killed those travelers wasn’t still nearby. 

Aruna’s suddenly very glad she had half the mind to be mentally present for today of all days rather than still lost in her thoughts regarding Astarion. 

“Well,” Aruna sighs, counting the bodies. Four, that she could see, “That’s not ominous at all.” 

If Astarion had been with her, he probably would have laughed. Whether it was because he genuinely found her funny or not, he still would have been entertained by her sarcastic comment. A predictable pang rings out in her chest.

Gale could try to fill that space at her side all he wanted; he still could never fit the shoes of the vampire who was probably lounging back at camp at this very moment. 

“Whatever killed them may very well still be nearby,” Wyll comments as he takes a few steps forward, peering at the scene, “Do you think it could have been the goblins that attacked the Grove?” 

“Maybe,” Aruna shrugs. 

Probably. Unlike with the boar, she doesn’t think Astarion would leave behind such a scene. Especially since she now knows. 

“Gale and I could always go ahead, try to see if the culprit is still around,” Wyll offers, turning to look at the two mages, “Shadowheart and yourself could fall back and stay hidden. If it’s a trap, at least it gives us an upperhand.”

Shadowheart huffs from behind Aruna, “If it’s a trap, then they already have us right where they want us.” 

It was moments like these where Aruna hated the burden of leadership. She didn’t want to make these choices. She squirms uncomfortably beneath the expectant stares of everyone, mind reeling as they force her hand. It was hard enough dealing with whatever her memory loss truly was, coping with the situation she’d gotten herself into with Astarion, nevermind trying to make tactical decisions like the one before her now. 

“There’s nowhere for Shadowheart and I to even hide-” she starts, before Gale cuts her off.

“There,” he points to a broken food cart not far off, not quite halfway across the bridge, “You two could always hide there.” 

Fair point. The decision, it seems, has been made for her. 

“Fine,” Aruna surrenders, a hand flying to one of her daggers as she ignores the wary stare of Shadowheart, “Fine, you two go ahead. Just… just don’t enter the village. If we want to enter the village, we do it as a group. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Wyll nods, grinning ever so slightly. 

He takes a couple of steps forward, Gale joining his side instead, but they don’t take off to fully cross the bridge. Not yet. 

They’re waiting. Waiting for Aruna’s command, her signal to go forth. 

She hates it. 

Regardless, she motions subtlety for Shadowheart to follow behind her as she quickly moves to stand behind that cart Gale had pointed out. And just as she slips past Gale, narrowly missing his shoulder, she nods at the two men to continue on. 

The cart is an excellent hiding spot. She has a clear view of the braver half of their party as they approach the bodies, and she’s certain that if anyone lays in wait on the other side of the bridge, they wouldn’t be able to spot herself and Shadowheart. 

“You know, now would be an excellent time to have a rogue with us,” Shadowheart whispers as she crouches beside Aruna.

Aruna knows exactly who the cleric is referring to. And it makes her already sour face twist up even further.

“It’s not my fault that Astarion was nowhere to be found this morning,” Aruna hushes back, careful to keep her voice low enough as to not travel with the wind. 

One of her palms is wrapped around the hilt of her dagger, almost mimicking the common position of the man they were currently discussing. 

Shadowheart hums softly, “Yes, how odd. First, it was you blatantly ignoring the pale one, and now it’s him avoiding you.” 

“I wasn’t avoiding him-”

“When our journey first began, it wasn’t even a question. Every day, Astarion was at your side. You can’t tell me that this isn’t an avoidant situation after the two of you being so attached to one another.” 

Aruna scowls as she bites her tongue. They hadn’t even been traveling together that long; all of Shadowheart’s accusations felt ridiculous. Even if she was on the nose regarding their current predicament, it’s not as though she had spent months with Astarion as her shadow. It had been a week, at most. 

But had she been that obvious with her need to keep him close? She tries to recall if she ever even asked Astarion to join her previously, or if it had simply been a known choice. Each day they would be heading out on their search, and each day, Astarion was by her side before anyone else. 

Just as Wyll and Gale approach the first body, Shadowheart speaks again, “I don’t mean to offend you or pry. It’s just… a curious observation.” 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Aruna bluntly replies, eyes locked on the two men as they investigate. 

“True,” Shadowheart moves a bit closer, trying to get a clearer view at Aruna’s side, “But our group seems to have enough brushes with danger for that point to be moot.” 

Aruna nearly rolls her eyes, finally tearing her gaze from Wyll as he crouches beside the second body to glance at Shadowheart, “We do not get into that much trouble. Besides, we’re all alive, are we not?” 

“We are. Alive enough for two members of our party to be in a lover’s quarrel, it seems.” 

Aruna’s entire body freezes, “Astarion and I are not-” 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Shadowheart fights a smile, eyes deliberately locked ahead rather than looking at Aruna, “Your questionable taste in who warms your tent is none of my business.” 

“I don’t even have a tent,” Aruna isn’t sure why she’s so hellbent on denying anything going on between herself and Astarion, but she is. Terribly so. 

Shadowheart finally looks at her, “Perhaps you should fix that, then.” 

“Of course,” Aruna says, brows creasing, “Let me just add it to my already massive to-do list,” she glances back up to the boys. So far, so good. No sign of an impending ambush, “You know, I never took you to be so keen on camp gossip.” 

“And I never took you to be so sensitive regarding our camp rogue-” Shadowheart surely has more to say, but she’s cut off when Wyll stands abruptly and looks in their direction. 

He waves, a bit too obviously for Aruna’s liking if an ambush is still a threat, and Aruna sighs as she pushes herself out of her crouch. “Stop worrying about where my fondness lies, Shadowheart. If you ever want to gossip about Lae’zel’s curiously large weapon collection, however, I’m all ears.” 

When Aruna glances to the half-elf, she’s taken back to see the slightest of smiles on her lips. The woman had been head-strong and focused their entire journey, so lost by her need to solve the issue of their uninvited visitor in their heads, Aruna had hardly gotten any friendly vibes from her. Up until now, she’d only felt like a means to an end for her. But somewhere in that not-quite-a-smile, a warmth buries deep. Kindlings of a fire that could become friendship, if provoked enough. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shadowheart hums as she stands to her full height beside Aruna. 

Aruna sort of hopes the cleric does find a new reason to join her in camp and ‘gossip’ with her. There’s much worse company to share a bottle of wine with, Aruna imagines. 

Their party reunites carefully as the two women cross the bridge to join the men. Gale is still crouched beside one of the bodies, having dug a flyer of some sort out of the pockets of the departed soul’s pockets. 

“Find anything good?” Aruna asks as she approaches, squinting, trying to decipher what was on the page that Gale held so closely to his face.  

Gale’s entire face creases as he glances up to her, “Nothing particularly invigorating, unless you consider a wild goose chase for some sort of Nightsong worthwhile.” 

Shadowheart stiffens, earning her a curious glance from Aruna. 

“Sounds interesting,” Aruna says slowly, eyes taking their time to look back to Gale, “But not very useful. Just grab any supplies left behind. I know we haven’t been ambushed yet, but I’m not overly eager to use that easy entrance to the village. We should probably find another way in.” 

Gale ends up pocketing the flyer regardless. Aruna doesn’t press it, leaning down to grab a discarded weapon instead. She’s actually glad he had kept the page – it had elicited a reaction out of Shadowheart, whatever the Nightsong might be, and that was enough to spark Aruna’s endless curiosity. 

They collect what they can from the bloody scene – a few extra packs, some even filled with food that hadn’t gone bad quite yet, and used weapons that could surely be put to use at some point – and it’s back to a despicable game of follow-the-leader. Aruna, guiding the group down a path along the side of the village, and everyone following blindly. 

If she leads them to their death, they can’t even be mad. 

Shadowheart follows a bit closer this time. Gale is forced to fall into step at Wyll’s side as the cleric claims residency over the clueless sorcerer’s side. It’s not until Wyll notices even more supplies discarded beneath a net in some of the foliage along the path that Aruna realizes why Shadowheart is sticking so closely to her side. 

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she says just as Aruna has taken to inspecting a bush to occupy herself. She was perfectly content for Gale and Wyll to be the ones to gather up the supplies they were finding – Aruna would much rather be left with her comfortably light pack for now, “Earlier. When I pointed out whatever… bond you’ve formed with Astarion.” 

Aruna pauses with a lead pinched between her fingers, keeping her breathing even as she remembers the heavy letter that takes up residency in that light pack of hers, “Hard to offend someone without memories. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong. Astarion has just proven himself… useful.” 

Useful is an understatement. They may have only been traveling together for a brief time, but he’s already saved Aruna’s ass more times than she can count. The scales are horribly unbalanced, even including the gift of her blood that she had offered. 

“You’re referring to Nettie, aren’t you?” 

Aruna finally gives up pretending to be endlessly interested in the branch of the bush as she looks up to Shadowheart, “Amongst other things, yes. I still don’t know how he got the two of us out of there.” 

If it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of memories, Aruna probably would have given that more thought. She can’t imagine what sort of scene might have been caused or left behind after it was all said and done. They’d returned to the Grove since, and no one had made a fuss, which should be a good sign. But it only makes Aruna more curious as she gives it more thought now. 

How had he got her out of there undetected? And had he hid Nettie’s body? Did the Grove even know what she had done?

“He didn’t exactly give the details,” Shadowheart looks just as curious, almost a little concerned, “It was quite an event, in all fairness. Nobody asked too many important questions about the how when he showed up with you, poisoned and covered in blood, in his arms.” 

In his arms? 

“He carried me back to camp?” Aruna chokes out, “Gods. I- I guess that makes sense, I just hadn’t considered the… logistics.” 

“He more than just carried you, Aruna. I thought I might end up the next victim of his dagger if I didn’t comply with his demands to save you.” 

Save Astarion. No matter the cost. 

“I know he’s not always the kindest but, surely, he didn’t threaten y-”

“He did,” Shadowheart interrupts, raising a brow as she crosses her arms, “It’s the only time I haven’t seen the elf be an absolute sarcastic ass. He was deathly serious. With the way he panicked, I could only assume… I thought…” Shadowheart drifts off for just a second, leaving a beat of silence that speaks volumes, “Well, you don’t necessarily react that way towards a stranger.”

“You assumed I was his lover, based solely on his reaction to my near-death?” Aruna murmurs, eyes darting towards Wyll and Gale to ensure they weren’t eavesdropping. 

“How would you react, right now, if I were to prick my finger on a poisonous bush?” 

Aruna opens her mouth, the answer seeming obvious, before she stops herself. 

How would she react? 

She’d be worried, of course. She’d try to help, without a doubt. But how far would she go with all her worry and helpfulness? Would she go as far as to carry Shadowheart all the way back to their camp? Would she threaten her fellow companions if they didn’t do something to help? 

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own,” she pauses and lets the words sink in as Aruna’s mind reels to keep up, “I would expect that behavior from Gale. Or even Wyll. But from the man who has seemed Hell-bent on maintaining an arm’s length distance from us all? The man who has pretended to be entirely unaffected by our entire situation and all the violence we’ve encountered? Truthfully, the fact that you two aren’t involved makes it all the more confusing.” 

It was odd. It was entirely peculiar, extremely out of character for the man they had all gotten to know. 

Or at least, the man that everyone else had gotten to know. 

They weren’t exchanging light-hearted jokes with Astarion. There were no late night conversations under the stars with him for them to ponder on, no glimpse beneath the mask to ruminate on. No memories of a version of him that was softer than what he offered now. They saw him to be as sharp as his daggers, his words capable of digging beneath their skin far easier than his fangs even could. 

Aruna had an unfair advantage, but so much of that had come after Astarion had been her knight in shining armor. She hadn’t given him a reason to care so deeply; even now, she hadn’t, in her honest opinion. 

“I’d do the same for any of you,” Aruna finally says, but it’s a blatant lie. Her tongue isn’t quite as heavy as she speaks false words to Shadowheart, though. The vowels didn’t stick in her throat the same way they had when she’d denied Astarion of her full truths, “And I’m sure Astarion would, too, if it came down to it. We need each other to survive. That’s all.” 

 She would do the same, to some extent. She doesn’t think she’d be pointing daggers, but she would be worried. It’s not a full lie. 

“All I heard is that we need each other to survive,” Wyll inserts himself with impeccable timing, the pack on his back now looking a bit bulkier. Aruna nearly snorts as she realizes Gale is seemingly taking the same approach as her with traveling lightly, “And I couldn’t agree more. Speaking of which…” 

Three sets of eyes land on Aruna, and this time, she ignores the discomfort bubbling up. 

They need each other to survive. This is far beyond just her and some silly mission to save Astarion now – these people, these friends, look to her for guidance. Reluctantly or not, eagerly or not, she should be mindful of the weight that carries.

She should be mindful of the trust involved. 

—

“I’m an animal-lover just as much as the next-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Gale.”

“-And I also hated the idea of leaving the poor thing behind-”

“What’s done is done.” 

“-I just think we should have considered how exactly we might be feeding this extra companion at camp! That’s all!” Gale finally finishes spitting out his argument to Aruna as they trek down a dusty road, a river rushing along their side, “We’re in no position to be collecting pets, Aruna.” 

Aruna can certainly hand it to Gale – she wasn’t thinking about these particular repercussions when she’d encountered the poor dog who’s collar-tag read Scratch when she’d offered her scent for him to follow.  But she’d made her decision, not even glancing back at her companions to include them in her choice, and there was no taking it back now. She almost wanted the dog to show up at their camp now, purely out of spite for the lecturing Gale had taken to giving her as they’d continued to follow the path. 

The path which Aruna had a sinking suspicion would not be leading to a new entrance to that village. But her gut had been tugged in this direction, something whispered for her to follow the river, and she’s done enough critical thinking for the day. The worst that could come of it is that her internal compass leads them to absolutely nothing, and they have to make the far trek back to camp entirely empty-handed. 

Or they could finally stumble into that ambush they’d all worried about at the main entrance to the village. That’s also a possibility, Aruna supposes. 

“He wouldn’t be a pet, Gale,” she grumbles, slowing her steps as she looks around. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary so far. 

“What would you call him, then?” Gale argues, fiddling with the straps of his own pack. 

How ironic it was that he had taken to complaining so ardently about the possible furry companion when he’d happily looted the corpse of the previous owner, slipping numerous envelopes into his bag to read later. He certainly hadn’t protested then, when it served some sort of odd purpose for him. 

“A…” Aruna trails off, facing Gale, back to the river. She racks her brain for a term that might justify her choice, even if only slightly, “A familiar. Yes - a familiar! You know, those trustworthy companions that those wonderful books of yours have detailed extensively? Are you truly so against me having one?” 

Gale’s eyes narrow at her, “He is not your familiar.” 

“He could be,” she chimes, standing strong in her decision, “He certainly won’t be yours with all your griping.” 

“You two are…” Wyll glances between the two of them, sighing heavily, “Something.”

“Better she bickers with Gale than Astarion,” Shadowheart pipes up, quickly looking remorseful when Aruna shoots her a look, “Sorry, just- Gale doesn’t argue just for the sake of arguing with you. He’s actually making a point.” 

Aruna opens her mouth, instinctively ready to defend Astarion despite the fact that that is exactly what he did when he’d join them in adventuring, but Gale beats her to a response, “Precisely! I only aim to ruffle the peace if it’s necessary. And a dog at camp? Well… not particularly necessary, if you ask me.” 

“The dog will keep me warm at night when I’m left defenseless without a tent,” Aruna snaps, focusing back on the wizard, “There. Is that convincing enough for you?” 

She certainly notices the chuckle that Wyll tries to cover up, and the slyest of quirks on Shadowheart’s lips. 

“I’m…” Gale is speechless. It’s a blatantly obvious way in which he can’t fill her shadow’s shoes – Astarion would have been absolutely bursting at the seams with a snarky comeback for such a childish response from her. “I apologize. As you said, the decision’s already been made. I’m… I’m sorry for refusing to consider your side of it all.” 

A nice way of saying I’m sorry I forgot you have far less than the rest of us. 

They continue to walk with the current after that in silence, leaving Aruna to her own mindless thoughts. Worries for Scratch certainly linger, but she finds herself pondering her tent situation and her Astarion situation far more. 

She really, truly needs to obtain supplies for her own tent. The weather may be gentle now, but if this situation drags out any longer (which she senses it will), she’ll need something to protect her from the chill of winter. Or even any rain, should it come to that. She could always bother one of her companions to allow her to bunk in that scenario, but she isn’t exactly eager with the idea. 

Gale would keep her up with endless chatter. Shadowheart is still just a little too guarded to offer up her space, unless Aruna is on the edge of death, of course. Aruna has no good excuse when it comes to Wyll, but she certainly would have to sleep with one eye open should she try to bunk with Lae’zel. 

There was always Astarion. If he ever decided to stop avoiding her, that is.  

Aruna nearly cackles out loud as she glances up to the sky to see a few clouds gathering. Not quite threatening of a storm, but it certainly felt like a slap on her wrist from the Universe. A quiet reminder that all her theoreticals she was pondering over were very possible options. 

“What’s that?” Shadowheart suddenly stops dead in her tracks, surprisingly, as Aruna continues to carry on, “Up there?” 

It takes her a second, but Aruna quickly spots what Shadowheart is pointing out. 

The next few events all happen too suddenly to properly react. 

 Aruna’s eyes widen at the ball of flames, huddled just across the river they had been following, a tree serving as a bridge between them and the fiery being. A terrible, nauseating deja vu disorients her nearly immediately as she begins to make out a figure at the center of those flames.  The same sharp pains that haunted every new interaction with her fellow companions, a dizziness she’d only felt with Astarion spinning her world on its axis. 

Her vision nearly goes black as that cleaved half of her soul becomes apparent, awakening at the sight. An overly eager whisper of, we’ve been here before. We know this. We know her. 

The stench of sulfur is the only thing Aruna can make out as all her other senses fall victim to the deja vu. 

As if below water, she can just barely make out Wyll: “Advocatus diaboli.” 

She knows what’s about to happen. She can hear the venom in his voice, and she knows she has to act fast. 

But Aruna’s actions are not her own. She doesn’t tell her feet to fly forward, attempting to catch up with Wyll as he barrels across the trunk-made-bridge. She doesn’t instruct her hand to shoot out, fingers narrowly missing the fabric of Wyll’s shirt and grasping at air as she gasps out, “Wyll, no!” 

And she certainly doesn’t mean to lose her footing on that trunk, soles of her boots slipping, arms flailing for balance now rather than to stop Wyll from approaching the mass of fire. 

Not even Gale and Shadowheart’s hands reaching for her biceps could save her from the rushing water waiting below.

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[paganwitchisis]

The Price of Freedom Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Revelations and Comfort

Rated E for EXPLICIT!!

Word count: 3,670

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Abuse, torture, smut, oral sex, rape, healing, beatings, dismemberment, breeding kink, act 3 spoilers, canon divergence, blood, violence, graphic depictions (It is Cazador after all)

Chapter one - here

Chapter two - here

You're on chapter three

Chapter 4 - here

AO3 link here

RATED 18 PLUS!!! This chapter has a little adult content (oral and masturbation)

As promised, the last chapter was short so here is the next chapter so soon.

But there was no way! He was dead, so creating life was surely off the table…wasn’t it? Does that mean his pregnant lover almost died? It was already bad he almost lost the most important person to him but now couple this with the fact that she may be carrying his child?

“It is definitely a Dhampir. That much is certain, but she will need to be watched closely. These pregnancies can be fatal for the mother. Often, Dhampirs feed on their mother’s blood if she doesn’t start consuming some. The fact she hasn’t had anything abnormal happen yet is a miracle in itself.”  Shadowheart muttered to Karlach as they continued to loot the gold and chest before them behind the throne.

“So, Fangs is virile, and soldier needs to drink blood? What the fu…Oh! Hey, Fangs!” Karlach finally acknowledged Astarion who stood behind them and was in a state of shock. The more he heard, the more he worried. His offspring could kill his lover? The woman he cared deeply about? Additionally, she may have to drink blood to keep up with the child?

But how did Astarion even feel about children?

In general he knew his concerns, but with Tav? Did those same concerns still apply? He has a chance at having a family. This was something Cazador had stripped him of ever having, or so he thought. This was so fast. How far along was she? Is she healthy aside from the battle wounds? When did they conceive? How long can she safely fight before she couldn’t? They still had so much to do, and the Absolute would not wait until a babe was born. There was so many questions and not enough answers.

“Astarion, take a seat.“ Shadowheart took charge as she could see his obvious turmoil crossing his mind.  Astarion listened, if for nothing else, then to get some answers.

“How far along?” Astarion asked before anything could be said.

“From what I can tell? About 10 weeks. Now keep in mind, I’m not as experienced with this sort of thing. You’re better off talking to Halsin or Jaheira, but I do know the basics on what is going on.” Shadowheart answered.

“10…10 weeks? Are you sure? That was…we…I mean we did it plenty but…that was right before I spoke to her about…” Astarion’s mind was racing. The math added up. It was the last time they had sex, the last time they were intimate before Moonrise and his confession to her about his intentions. She fell pregnant from a lie...from his game. Astarion felt like he would be sick.

“Look, you need to be strong, Fangs. She is going to need you. She doesn’t know.” Karlach cheered him on and Shadowheart continued to speak.

“The babe was conceived because you were well fed on humanoid blood. As much as I was healing Tav in the cursed lands, I can believe you got your fill from her. She was always bloodless. Especially after you two began sharing a tent. She will need to consume blood for the babe. This is only temporary. Once she gives birth, that will go away, but there is a lot of risk with this pregnancy. It is very difficult to conceive a Dhampir. I mean, the odds are astronomical. A woman who can do it is very rare. No one can know she has your child Astarion. If they did, well…I must reiterate what I said before. It is almost impossible for a living woman to have undead children and any woman who can do that is worth quite a bit to the wrong people.

Astarion kept thinking about one of those wrong people.

Cazador.   

Astarion snarled.

“She is mine! I won’t let anyone take her from me.” Astarion growled out and Karlach squealed about how cute his commitment was. Shadowheart just rolled her eyes.

Astarion knew he had a bit to consider and grabbed the water he had before and went to the other side of the room. Tav, he noted, was asleep but breathing normally. He cleaned himself up and changed out of his armor while thinking over what had happened. Did he want to be a father? This child could kill her, but the odds made it sound like the chances of having another were almost nil if they changed their minds later on. Then there was the most pressing one – Cazador. Astarion knew that Dhampirs are considered the worst among the dregs of vampire society but they had the best of both worlds. Little to no cons and yet they had vampiric abilities. They could walk in the sun without searching for a damned ring, even.

“Hey, Fangs!” Astarion was jolted from his thoughts when Karlach called out to him after he finished up. “What did he mean about the limiter? About what the vampire creep said about what the slime bucket did. You know, the fucker we’re gonna kill?”

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face at the nickname Karlach gave Cazador and grinned before answering Karlach “Aside from our… little wriggling friends, my powers are hampered by Cazador. When he sired me, he put something magical in place to limit my abilities. Starve me on top of that, and it makes sense I can’t access the abilities I am supposed to have. I know I should be able to walk on the ceiling if I wished. That was one, but as you can see, I’m just me.” Astarion answered bluntly. “He did that to all of the spawn.”

“What a prick!” Karlach exclaimed.

Astarion grabbed two more potions from his pack and his bedroll. He laid it down next to his lover and snuck in under her covers. He moved to hold her and she immediately snuggled into his arms. Astarion’s heart melted and he couldn’t help but smile to see her relax into his arms. Astarion tilted her head up and kissed her a few times to wake her up. When she was reorienting herself with the world, Astarion kept going. He kissed her nose, cheek and jaw. He kissed her neck and was extremely gentle on the wound. Tav was about to moan when Astarion swallowed it in a kiss.

“Not here, love. I need to talk to you, but once you’re healed, know that is definitely on my mind.”

Tav looked at him and was confused.

“But what you said. You said you…” Astarion kissed her hard to quite her as she began to point out what he himself had mentioned. Astarion leaned forward and whispered in Tav’s ear, tickling the sensitive tissue.

“There was a new development, my sweet, and now I can’t think of anything but having you over and over again. I….I think I am ready for this. Not now, not here. Back at the tavern.”

“If you don’t want to, or…”

“I know, my sweet. I know I can say no with you. Now, we have something rather important to discuss.”Astarion shifted to hold Tav in his arms completely and allow her to lay on his chest, an offer she took immediately. Tav wrapped her arms around his lithe waist and felt at home in his arms.

“When was your last monthly, my sweet?” Astarion asked the leading question, hoping she would get to the same conclusion sooner than it took him to realize something was off. Astarion was looking forward to her time of bleeding for obvious reasons, but yet even he missed it. Astarion chalked it up to the stress of the shadow cursed lands and battling the chosen of the dead three, but admittedly, he never thought to question even when they shared a tent why she never bled.

“I think it was around the time we were at the Creche…No…that can’t be right. I think it was before then…I was spotting during the Creche but I didn’t have my monthly then. Usually that means I was going to have it soon. I remember you were…Um…eager for when that would happen.” Tav answered honestly.

“It tastes like fine wine would soak your cunt every month, so yes. I very much would look forward to getting drunk on it. Add to that, how deliciously sweet and intoxicating you naturally taste, and, my dear, you’re lucky my head isn’t between your thighs daily.” Astarion whispered in her ear for her to hear only. Tav grunted and dropped her head onto his chest, willing the ground to swallow her whole. Shadowheart was doing her best to ignore the two while Karlach was sorting her pack not far from them.

“And I must say, dear, when you get aroused, you never fail to make me hard.” Astarion sent this sentence through the tadpole as he very gently adjusted his hips so she could feel the hardness between his legs. “Now, it has been a bit since your last cycle, hasn’t it? Why do you think that is?” This comment Astarion said out loud, but in a low whisper. He didn’t want her in denial. Not with the decisions they had to make.

“Stress?”

Astarion chuckled and shook his head. Testing a theory, he brought his hand up and squeezed her breast lightly. Tav recoiled with a yelp.

“They’re tender. This battle…”

“And couple that with your morning sickness?” Astarion was getting a little frustrated and decided to start spelling it out at this point if she was so firmly set to not believe the signs. It took a moment, but then Tav’s eyes widened and she propped herself on her elbows on his chest so she could look at him better.

“You aren’t saying….I couldn’t be. Can I? I mean, you’re…” Tav sputtered. Astarion kissed her lovingly to quell her racing thoughts. She was still badly injured and if his perception of her racing heart was any indication, she needed to calm down. Astarion wrapped his arms around her upper body and kissed her until she was nearly breathless. Astarion pulled back and rested his forehead on hers.

“You’re carrying my child, my love. You’re still pretty injured, and we can’t let you get worked up though, but I do want to talk to you about this because no one can know except our companions, potentially. No one else, if I’m going to protect you from Cazador, or any vampire, for that matter. If word got out of a mortal woman who could bear undead children…I believe Shadowheart’s words were that you would be ‘worth quite a bit to the wrong people’.  Apparently, the odds are not in our favor to have children, but if I am fed well on humanoid blood and you’re fertile in the right way… We can have children, Tav. Now, there is still a lot of unknowns, like how this will play out with the Absolute and the damn brain, but Shadowheart was clear you will need to consume blood to nourish the little one…assuming that…Well…” Astarion looked away, not able to say the words and finish the sentence, but Tav picked up on his intention right away.

“I thought you didn’t want or like kids? I mean, with how you talk about the kids who end up in our camp…”  Tav was trying to wrap her head around everything, but she sorely needed his input. How did Astarion feel about children? It was a conversation they never had because they thought he couldn’t, but now that it was an option…

Astarion kissed her forehead, now realizing how touch-starved he truly was. He couldn't stop touching her skin, kissing her and wanting to snuggle up with this woman.

“I will admit that in the beginning, I reacted…poorly. I’m sure you can understand why. If children felt comfortable around me, they were in danger, and I’ve seen Cazador do things to children as much as adults. It wasn’t that I hated them….I just didn’t want them to be another victim. Being around you and your love however,” Astarion kissed Tav briefly. “I learned otherwise. I’m sure you saw me with the urchins. Mol’s gang of kids trying their scams and sleight of hand tricks, or even the hag we had to dispatch to save the little girl from. Have I been acting like you would assume someone who has issues with kids would behave?”

“I will admit, when you insisted we deal with the hag so soon and wait on Cazador one more day, I was surprised.”

“I have my own complications, but even I knew to go after the hag and save a child, and ignore my own safety from Cazador. Who knew how long that little girl had left?” Astarion slipped his hand under Tav’s shirt and drifted his fingers up and down her spine. “But to answer your question, I don’t have an issue with kids, exactly. Did I want to be a father? At first, I would have said no, but after thinking it through…Tav, I want a family with you, and only you. I want the world to see your belly swell with my child, and although I know how dangerous that is, I want the world to know you’re off limits. That you are mine, and I am yours.”

“I am yours, though.” Tav said as she kissed his jaw.

“Don't. If you keep kissing me, I’ll make love to you here. This child was conceived through a lie, when I wasn’t even present. It won’t happen again. I’m going to keep filling you and filling you…and gods below if you get more aroused…You smell like food, and I’m starving. I will taste you with them here, so let’s settle down. You’re too injured for this, and we have an audience.” Astarion said quickly through the tadpole connection they had.

Tav smiled and replied to him about his original question.

“To answer your worry from earlier, I don’t plan to abort. I…I was forced to years before meeting you and it was a pain and baggage that I can’t compare. To know that you wanted to be a mother but instead of protecting the life, you snuffed it out. I wasn’t okay for a while after that, but to be honest, I fell pregnant not of my own consent either. Gods….this was maybe twenty years ago? It still bothers me, sometimes. I do like the idea of being a mother. Do I think I deserve it after going through the choice all those years ago? That is complicated, but I won’t make the same mistake again. For one, the circumstances are different. I’m not in an abusive situation. I wasn’t forced into it. You’re everything to me. Assuming you want me to be the mother to your child. I know there is a stigma on…”  Astarion kissed her again and shifted to the side so he was laying to the side of her. He dared not move on top or else he would lose all semblance of control.

“I don’t care about a stigma. You had an impossible choice and some may say what you did was a mercy compared to having a child in that situation. You know how much I care for you, and if you would, I’d be honored for you to be the mother to all of my children” Astarion whispered back, his hands wandering as well as his mouth. Astarion couldn’t help it. He almost lost her…lost them both today, and she was giving such a sweet and succulent scent with her arousal.

“All? How many do you plan on having, Astarion?” Tav giggled.

“Me? None, but you? You only have to say the word and I’ll fill you with one. I don’t care how big an army we make, darling, my come belongs to you. I’m all yours. Completely.” Astarion kept going back and forth between using the tadpole and whispering.  He wished for this conversation to remain private, but he could see Shadowheart’s look of disgust. Astarion began kissing her collarbone and avoided the sweet location where he would drink from her. ‘She was still healing’, he would have to remind himself. He couldn’t drink. Not yet. He was tempted to see what the difference in her blood would taste like. Gods, he had been tasting it and never knew! He had no idea to compare!

“Karlach, do you mind walking with me back to the front so I can pee? While I am at it, I can puke from these two being all over each other, when I must remind you, Astarion, she can’t have sex. She almost died. She needs rest.” Shadowheart directed the order of chastity to the vampire and looked back sweetly to the tiefling. “I don’t want to find a trap our distracted friend may have forgotten to deactivate.” Shadowheart rationalized.

Karlach just laughed and went to escort her out. They grabbed weapons and armor to leave in case of any issues should arise. Shadowheart left first. Karlach went to leave, closed the door before her, and said to Astarion; “I can give you twenty minutes, but she better stay healthy, Fangs, when we get back.” before disappearing to follow her friend. Astarion smiled and took his lovers’ lips appropriately. Without waiting, Astarion quickly undid the laces of Tav’s trousers and shoved them down with her underwear.

“We gotta be fast and quiet, darling. Just lay back and relax. Enjoy.” Astarion looked almost feral with his lust and desire. Licking his lips, Astarion dove under the blankets and Tav felt her labia part from his cool fingers. She felt his mouth and tongue work her clit at the same time as he sank two delicious fingers inside of her cleft and soon joined by a third finger. Tav had to bite the blankets to keep from crying out in pleasure. Astarion curled his fingers and went to work at a punishing pace. He sucked and licked with the flat of his tongue in alternating pressures. He knew exactly how to drive her crazy, but Astarion also wanted to give her a rapture with as little stress on the body as possible.

“That’s my good girl. Come for me. Feel good. The mother of my child deserves the fucking world.” Astarion went back down to devour her nerve cluster as if he was a man starved. Within minutes, Tav was crying out, her muscles contracting as Astarion helped her ride out her orgasm. When she was becoming overly sensitive, Astarion came back up and out from under the covers completely, licking his fingers and moaning how tasty she was. Astarion laid on his back and loosened his trousers after helping Tav get presentable. He snuck his hand under his underwear and began to jerk himself off without abandon. Astarion threw his head back and rut his hips into his hand. He was close, and he knew he was running out of time.

“T….touch me.” Astarion pleaded. “I need to come. Please, anywhere, just touch me, and not with your mouth, you minx. You’re still healing.” Tav smiled and brought her hand over. She cupped his balls and began lightly massaging them as Astarion’s hips grew more wild. He hissed in pleasure and took her hand away in time for him to spill his load inside his light blue underwear. Astarion moaned lowly, turned his head and kissed his lover as he finished emptying his seed. Astarion tied up his trousers in case they would be caught. He didn’t have time to clean himself up.

That was, until Tav pointed to her bag and he found a prestidigitation scroll inside. Thanking her with another quick kiss, Astarion used the scroll and snuggled up to Tav in time for Karlach to loudly talk on the way back, therefore announcing their presence. The door opened to Shadowheart glaring at the red woman.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, Karlach! You were warning them we were coming back! I swear, if she is sicker….”

“I would never hurt her!“ Astarion growled.

“Relax, Fangs. Everything is good. Also, Tav! Look what we found!” Karlach excitedly said and handed Tav a plain banded ring that had and insignia of a sun on it. It was black but thrummed with magic. Astarion sat up and helped his lover to do the same. She held it in her hand and kissed Astarion before sliding it on his finger.

“You know, my love, You keep treating me so well, I won’t know how to repay you.”

Tav merely kissed him before replying. “You don’t have to repay, love. I love you, Astarion Ancunin. You’re stuck with me.” Tav then chuckled to herself. “Especially with the baby. Unless you ever push us away, you have a family and you're loved.” Tav looped her arms around the vampire’s neck.

“Gods below, how the hell did I deserve you? How many times have you saved me now?”

Tav just laughed.

“Need I remind you that you kept me alive until Shadowheart could fix me? That you literally saved my life a few hours ago?

Astarion just smiled sadly as he recalled her life force squirting behind his hands. He remembered the panic and fear and kissed Tav back while Karlach found this as a romantic turn of events, and Shadowheart was already back in her bed, strangely facing away from them and now further away.   

Karlach left the two alone while Astarion looked at the ring in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”  Tav asked a very obviously worried Astarion.

“This ring. If it could help a vampire walk in the sun, you would think that after 200 years, Cazador would seek it out, and yet it is not in his grasp? It was so close to him, too…I find that hard to believe.”

Note: Chapters will be posted every weekend

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something

(ch. 5)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰

Mentions of Child Abuse | Discussion of a Past Suicide Attempt | Implied Eating Disorder

The first day of class was overcast. Astarion woke up at 5:30 am and ran through his usual morning routine: make the bed, hot shower, work out- Mondays were endurance days: planks, crunches, lunges, and a 2-mile run-, cold shower, get dressed, morning coffee- one sugar, one stevia, no cream.

The mornings were when Astarion missed Lydia the most- not necessarily the banal domestic conversation, but the commotion of her in his house. Her inscrutable taste in music and the sound of her knocking around in the kitchen filled the void of silence in a far more alive way than the soft whisper-drone of NPR. It was also harder to fall back into old habits when someone else was there watching him.

His phone buzzed as he was finishing his coffee.

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

L: Hey, probably a stupid question.

Her name was still in his phone the way she’d saved it when they first met, as ‘Lydia 🖤😈’ and Astarion thought, as he did every time she reached out for something, that he should probably change that before the wrong person saw it.

L: Is there a purple and white cabochon earring lying around your bedroom somewhere? L: The last time I can remember wearing them I ended up at yours.

Astarion picked up his phone and typed a reply.

A: I know I have one of your earrings in my car cupholder.

A: I keep meaning to get it back to you. I’ll send it along with Wyll if you’d like.

She replied a few minutes later.

L: Absolutely do not do that. L: I’ll just run by your office L: God. L: You’re going to make the kids think I’m having an affair.

 Astarion read the text and put his phone down, intending to end the conversation, but then something clicked in his mind.

A: Hey. A: You worked at a DSS to put yourself through medical school, didn’t you?

L: ooOOOoo

L: You must REALLY need something if you’re willing to admit that sports medicine is real medicine😏😏😏

A: Answer the question, Silverwarden. L: I did. L: But I was an admin not a coordinator, so my knowledge is limited L: You might be better off talking to Isobel

L: She’s very nice! I can introduce you if you’ve never met! A: I’m an English professor, I’ve met the ADA coordinator. A: I need your discretion. A: Can you tell me why a student’s mental health deferment might get rejected? L: Is this about Xenia? L: It’ll be easier to explain if you call me.

Astarion checked his watch before he clicked on her contact information to call her. The phone rang a few times before she picked up. He heard a squawking toddler and the last snatch of her previous conversation: ‘…It’s just a student thing… Alright, see you tonight. I love you.’

“Hello, Mr. Goodman! Are you going to Vemo me a dollar, or shall I?” Lydia had an unhurried lilting voice, with a touch of a southern accent that made her swallow her ‘o’s and ‘t’s.

“What?”

“It’s a- never mind!” she huffed. “Have you consumed a single piece of media produced in this century? You fucking crypt keeper.”

 “Sometimes I have to review Jenevelle’s assigned reading choices for appropriateness.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He could tell she was nodding the way she did when he missed her point. “‘And so I Anal Douche While Kesha’s ‘Praying’ Plays From My iPhone on Repeat,’ I remember. She scandalized half the football team with that one.”

“The American Football team could stand to get scandalized more,” Astarion replied. “How are your little brats doing?”

As if on cue, there was another toddler squeal in the background. “Ruby took her first steps last fall, and Clem’s learning how to crawl exceptionally early, but I suspect you don’t actually care.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response. “Why would the DSS reject Xenia’s deferment?”

“So that’s the thing: They wouldn’t. The DSS covers ADA accommodations for students with documented disabilities; a sudden injury would not be under their purview,” Lydia explained, putting on her lecture voice. “The decision to defer a student’s financial aid awards would go to the university’s finance board—I think? It may go to the board of directors.”

“That’s not what Raphael told me.” Astarion pressed his tongue against his canine until it started to sting.

“I know you're not going to like to hear this, but Raphael may genuinely not know,” and she was quite right; Astraion was going to be pissed if he found out he'd been bluffed into his current predicament. “Disability services is an incredibly complex field- both necessarily and unnecessarily so. It’s still pretty unusual for a student’s medical deferment to get rejected… Can I ask what your interest in this is?”

“I’ve found a channel to contest the decision, but I want to make sure it’s at least a somewhat viable option before I drag Xenia into more bureaucracy.”

“hmm… I knew you two would get along.” Lydia replied, quite satisfied with herself. “You have a very similar energy.”

Astarion sighed. He knew someone had referred Xenia to his sophomore survey class last semester; he'd just never figured out who. “I suppose we both have that ‘father used to beat me’ twinkle in our eyes.”

“Don’t put those words in my mouth!” Lydia exclaimed. “I meant you both have a similar…” She groped for the right words, “…surviverly quality about yourselves.”

“Will to survive?” Astarion corrected her.

“Whatever!” She snapped.

“Do you know why Xenia might have been rejected?”

“Speculatively?” Lydia asked.

“No, I’m asking you to read someone’s mind.” Astarion quipped.

“I answered your call in front of my husband for this, you know?”

Astarion sighed again. “If he’s not comfortable with you talking to your exes, he probably should not have married someone who fucked their coworker.”

“Do you want my help, or did you call me just to snipe?”

“Fine… please speculate. Why would someone’s medical deferment be rejected?”

“Well, if I had to guess… Xenia was sort of a high-profile get for the university. And given her history, I think it’s pretty safe to say that incident-” she paused as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say the next part. “-I think that incident last fall was probably a suicide attempt.”

There was a beat of grim silence. When the news came down, everyone had made that assumption, but no one was brave enough to put words to the thought.

Astarion hummed in acknowledgment. “So, you think the school rejected her medical deferment over bad publicity?”

“I think it would turn into a massive media circus if that got out, yes,” Lydia replied. “They may be trying to push her into dropping out.”

“Do you think it’s worth it to challenge?” Astarion asked.

“I don’t know,” Lydia sighed. “At the very least, it would probably be good to have as a precedent if she ends up having to sue the school… You could always just ask her what she wants to do. Poor kid might be too tired for all of this.” 

“Fair.” Astarion pondered her words for a moment.

“Can I help you with anything else?” She asked.

“That’s all for now,” Astarion replied. “…Thank you, by the way. You don’t have to stick your neck out for me anymore, you know?”

“I know,” Lydia replied. “I did this because I wanted to. You’re still my friend -despite everything, I care about you.”

She hung up. Astarion’s phone screen went black. The house was silent again.

***

Gale got stuck in horrible traffic on his first day and ended up arriving 30 minutes late for his morning office hours. He skipped past dropping his lunch off in the breakroom fridge and rushed straight to the office, absolutely mortified that he was so late for his first proper day of class. He was so frazzled he had to double back to grab his coffee from the car.

It wasn’t like there would be anyone there waiting on him- a grand total of one student who knew who he was-, but it certainly made a bad impression to show up late on the first day of class.

Astarion was both bemused and incredibly entertained as he watched Gale flit around their office like a very flustered tornado, trying to cram one hour of planning into the thirty minutes he had remaining.

“You’re going to be fine.” Astarion had assured him. “It’s syllabus week, no one’s expecting Judith Buttler.”

Gale still left for his class 10 minutes early -just in case his classroom had teleported to a different dimension since he last visited it. It hadn’t. It turned out the room was exactly where he’d left it at the end of a strange little corridor in the library, and in fact, there were already two students waiting for him.

Xenia sat near the back of the classroom, wearing the facial expression of a kitten that was being petted too hard, as a pinch-faced, red-headed young woman combed her fingers through the knots in her hair.

“I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to go out in public looking like this.” The pinch-faced woman scolded.

“It’s ha-ard to brush my hair with my non-dominant hand…” Xenia’s eyes bulged out of her head as the woman pulled her fingers through a particularly difficult knot.

“Chk. I’ll put it in a braid then, so you aren’t struggling to brush it.”  She started dividing Xenia’s dark hair into sections no more gently than she’d detangled it.

“Hello Xenia, It’s good to see you again. How are you doing?” Gale asked as he set his satchel down behind the podium.

“Oh, I’ve been worse… I’ve also been better- Lae’zel, that hurts!”  She squealed as the pinched-faced woman, Lae’zel apparently, tugged the braid tight.

“Then sit still so it will end faster.” Lae’zel scolded her. “I have younger siblings that squirm less than you, and they’re still in diapers.”

“I guess you’ll have to work on instilling more terror in my heart then,” Xenia replied. She gripped the edges of her desk with white knuckles as Lae’zel wrenched her head back.

Lae’zel hummed as if that was a legitimate suggestion. “Yes, I think we would have a much stronger working relationship if you feared me just a little more…”

Lae’zel finally let go of Xenia, who let out a breath like she’d narrowly avoided being hit by a bus as she pulled a few face-framing pieces from the clutches of her new French braid. Lae'zel turned her sights on Gale- though he desperately hoped it wasn't because she was planning on braiding his hair, too. “You must be the new English adjunct.”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Dekarios!” Gale replied. “You must be Lae’zel? The athletic director speaks very highly of you.”

“As he should.” Lae’zel nodded like he’d just given her the correct answer in an oral exam. “You should know that I designed to take this course this semester because I thought it would be taught by Dr. Ancunín rather than Dr. Shadowheart. I will be quite displeased with you if your teaching methods are as frivolous and unstructured as Shadowheart’s.”

Xenia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a silent ‘Oh’ sound as she looked back and forth between Gale and Lae’zel.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching Dr. Shadowheart teach, so I don't know how our teaching methods compare, but I will not deign to be frivolous or unstructured.” Gale laughed nervously.

“I think she is perfectly competent as a professor of literature, but she does quite poorly with the more structured elements of the genera. Dr. Ancunín does not fare much better, but he is preferable to Shadowheart.” Lae’zel explained as if Gale had genuinely asked her option. “You should know that thus far, you have not made a positive impression on me… you were quite late posting the syllabus.”

“My apologies, Lae’zel,” Gale replied, hand on heart. “I got let into my faculty account one week before the semester began.”

“Hm, yes.” Lae’zel considered his response. “This school does have abysmal technical support, so I shall let it slide this time.”

By that time, a few more students had filed in, and it was about time for class to start- or Gale was desperate not to hear any more unsolicited criticism of his colleagues. Astarion was right. The class went perfectly fine. He explained the structure of the course, and had everyone introduce themselves and state their major (he found out Xenia was there because she was a phycology major), before he explained the purpose of taking an upper level grammar and style.

“The purpose of learning advanced grammar is not to improve your everyday language… If the person you are talking to understands what you are saying, then there is nothing wrong with your grammar… Language should evolve to fit the speaker, the speaker should not evolve to fit the language… However, if you are going into a field like law or communication where you’ll be expected to use very precise language…”

It went by in a flash, and Gale could hardly remember if he got everything that he needed to into the lecture by the time class ended, but if anyone was unclear about anything, they didn’t let him know at the moment. He barely registers Xenia darting out of the room before he finishes saying, “Have a nice rest of your day.” A few people lingered to give him the heads up about things in their personal lives that might interfere with class, and one student wanted to know if he’d receive their letter of accommodation, but before long, there was a small congregation of people forming at the door waiting for Gale to leave so the next class can take over the space.

He walked back to his office with a spring in his step. He didn’t even mind that much when it started to pour rain, and he realized he had forgotten his umbrella in the car.

***

It wasn’t much dryer in the humanities building. Gale dodged around liner-less trash bins set up under bulging ceiling tiles dotting the hallway. In the break room, Karlach was holding a bookcase steady so Shadowheart could climb on top of it.

Gale paused and walked back to the breakroom to make sure he saw that right.

He did.

“Do you… need help with something?” he asked sheepishly.

“Nope, I think we’ve got it!” Karlach replied, ducking out of the way of one of Shadowheart’s heels. “Water pools in AC vents when it rains, so we have to bang on them a couple of times to make sure it doesn’t collapse.”

“O-oh?” Gale looked up and realized one of the panels of the overhead duct was swelling dangerously. “Shouldn’t we put in a work order?”

“Be my guest,” Shadowheart said. She precariously balanced on her knees, and Gale held his breath as the bookshelf wobbled underneath her. “But maintenance won’t get to it before the break room floods.”

She reached up and banged on the ductwork above her head, and the vent in the middle of the room started dribbling yellowish-brown water. Suddenly, there was a strange gurgling noise, then a thunk! as the panel popped back into proper shape.

“Great work, Jen!” Karlach whooped, holding out a hand to help Shadowheart jump down. They high-fived, and Shadowheart went about smoothing out her clothes, grumbling under her breath when she realized there was a massive run in her tights.

“This kind of thing happen often?” Gale asked.

“Only when it rains!” Karlach chirped. She checked her watch and immediately started towards the door. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got to get to my day job.” She gave Gale a friendly pat on the shoulder as she passed him. “If the vents start to flood again, it’s your and fancy pants’ turn to fix it!”

“I don’t know if that bookshelf will support either of our weights…” Gale balked.

“Not with that attitude, soldier!” Karlach called as the stairwell door swung closed behind her.

“You can poke it with a handle broom until it corrects; it just takes longer,” Shadowheart assured him. “I’ve got to go switch tights before I get to my next class. I don’t know if you’ve had the displeasure of meeting her yet, but God forbid Lae’zel catches me with a run in my pantyhose.”

“Oh, so she does talk like that to your face then?” Gale replied. “I didn’t know if I should-”

“Talks like what- never mind, don’t tell me!” Shadowheart huffed. “I swear, after everything I’ve done for that girl- I’ll talk to you later!” She turned on her heels and followed Karlach up the stairs.

Gale sighed in relief, ready to hold up in his office for a little while. He reached into the front pocket of his satchel for his keys only to find it empty. Cursing under his breath, he thumbed through the things in the main pocket, hoping he’d accidentally mixed them in with everything else- nothing. Finally, he pulled out his phone only to find a series of texts from Astarion.

A: You left your keys.

Then, a little while later.

A: I’m going to be out of office when you get back. A: Ask Mizora on the second floor for the spare key, good luck.

[emmy-dekarios-bg3]

Heart of the Weave ~ chapter 5

After about two miles, the waves of nausea begin to hit me again, but I am trying to pull through because I don’t want to feel like a burden. Oddly enough, I never usually feel like I am a burden, despite all the insanity we’ve gone through. I proceed to puke on the ground violently and unexpectedly, feeling much worse than I did before. I clench my stomach with my hands, retching and feeling miserable as hell. When will it ever end?

“Well, that’s not good. Are you okay, soldier?” Karlach asks with clear concern in her voice. I take a deep breath, realizing how starving I am after the horrid vomiting and lack of food in my system. As I bring my body up from the violent retching, I can feel shakiness throughout my nerves and bones.

“I’d be lying if I said I was doing alright. Can we camp? I want to attempt to eat.” Gale and Karlach exchange glances of extreme concern, but then look back at me. Shadowheart and Wyll begin to set up camp so everyone can rest, in hopes this will help me at least a little bit. I hope we’re closer to Baldur’s Gate than I thought, but only time will tell. I close my eyes to take some deep breaths, and all I can visualize is Orin in my face: Death. Blood. Carcass. Skulls. I will split you open and inhale your scent to cure my hunger. I will drag you down back to the Hells and feed on you until you beg to die over and over again. I jump, wondering why her image just showed up in my mind. I think trauma is visiting me again, causing my anxiety to skyrocket and it could be the reason I’ve been so violently sick.

As they set up camp, I sit down to gain the strength again to walk. I sit down by the campfire, and I begin to reminisce about Owlbear and Scratch, who are both living peacefully with our friend Halsin. I keep thinking about how much they played and how happy they were living alongside us. They were more suited to stay with a nature-loving elf who has all the time in the world rather than in a tower with us, though I do hope I get to visit them soon. Believe it or not, those two furry creatures saved my life multiple times.

Gale sits down next to me by the cozy campfire, handing me a pork roast and some potatoes to eat. The cackling of the fire relaxes me, nearly putting me to sleep where I sit. I finally feel my brain ease from tension, relaxing as I stare at the delicious food in front of me.

“Here, I hope you can eat. You need to fill up that stomach of yours,” he says. I managed to take a few bites, which ended up turning into the entire plate. After eating everything handed to me, I begin to feel like a brand new person. Maybe I just need to eat frequently. If that’s been my problem this entire time, I will lose my mind.

“That…helped. Thank you.” Gale smiles, wrapping his arm around me as I drink my water.

“Whew. I actually feel great. Thank the Gods.”

“If your only issue was that you were hungry… Well, that’s valid because it’s the same for me,” Karlach says, shrugging. “I’m not me when I’m hungry, though I’d like to say I’m not nearly as dramatic as you are when it comes to food. On that note, I’m so glad that helped you.”

I stand up, not feeling nearly as shaky-legged as I was before, and I am actually able to pay attention to the lovely scenery around us. The campfire brightens up the sky, making the area calming and aesthetically pleasing.

“I’m so glad my baby is okay. We still need to figure out what’s going on in those innards of yours though,” Gale says. Shadowheart gives him the stink eye, squirming at the word that makes her feel extreme discomfort. I can’t help but burst out laughing at her disgusted expression.

“Ew, Gale, do not say ‘innards.’ That word gives me the heebie jeebies,” she says. Of course, Karlach has to chime in with her outburst of saying “INNARDS!” Wyll and Shadowheart both roll their eyes and sigh, though Wyll is very much aware of what he signed up for.

“Well, I’m still breathing, despite everything,” I murmur, taking a deep breath as I begin to feel more myself again. “Though I’ve had some very close calls, including today.”

“Well, between the mind flayer tadpole, Astarion biting your neck, Ketheric, Orin, and Gortash, I’d say it’s a damned miracle you’re still alive. Thank the Gods, though.” Wyll has a point. I’m lucky any of us are still alive. Karlach and Gale both had extremely close calls, between her engine nearly blowing up and Gale himself blowing up from the netherese orb.

Gale and I lie down in our tent, curled up but yet comfortable. The sound of crickets chirping is somewhat comforting to listen to as I lay here attempting to sleep. They bring back some sort of nostalgia. It’s been awhile since I’ve had to camp; I’m so used to our bed at home, embraced with our thick, suede comforters with a sleek pillow underneath our heads. As I fall asleep in Gale’s arms, I feel his fingers brush my hair out of my face, relaxing me. He knows how to make me fall asleep with ease, and it’s something he does every night. When he’s anxious, I play with his hair and run my finger down his bare chest delicately.

“Sssh…” he hushes, admiring me as I begin to fall into the deepest of slumbers.

When morning arrives, we immediately get up to pack up our camp and head out. Luckily, we don’t have too much farther to go, but we are rushing through the area that was once the Shadowlands. Maybe on our way back we can admire the new structure and pay our respects to the tieflings that lost their lives trying to find refuge in Baldur’s Gate. As we are walking along the trail, a loud rustling noise is heard behind the bushes nearby. It doesn’t sound like a small animal but rather someone is in hiding, keeping tabs on us. Not the first time someone is being sent to spy on me.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, looking around us in hopes I can figure out what it was. Could it be a goblin? Maybe what’s left of the Absolute cultists? Surely not, because I remember wiping out all those predatory assholes.

“I swear, if it’s Astarion playing pranks on us, I will lose it,” Karlach chimes in. “I hope that’s what it is, at least.”

“Well, unfortunately he can’t be out in the sunlight or he’ll burn into a crisp. Silly Karlach.”

“You got me there!”

The person – erm, a half-orc – reveals themselves as we try to press forward and to our surprise, they appear to be an unfamiliar face, with nothing but a raggedy white shirt on and ‘face paint’ on their face that seems to be made of blood, resembling the mark of the Absolute. Oh Gods, here we go again.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Karlach groans, leaning her head back as the orc approaches us. I take a few steps back, trying to observe their body and face, making sure I haven’t seen them somewhere before.

“Whoa, uh, who are you?” Gale asks, positioning himself to stand in front of me. The orc’s nostrils flare as they look around the area, as if they’re trying to locate something – or someone – specific. I notice his fists clenching, causing the veins in his arms to bulge through his green flesh.

“I’m looking for…” His voice is deep and ominous, giving me the creeps immediately. He spots me and points directly at my body, giving me a grim smile and knowing damn well who I am somehow.

“Oh Hell,” I say, groaning under my breath. Karlach approaches the orc with a pent-up body posture in an attempt to intimidate the guy, but he doesn’t seem to be a bit threatened.

“Not one of you fucking clowns. We killed your ‘God’ or whatever it was, what else do you want?” She says, growling under her breath. She may be a goofball, but she can also be terrifying to get entangled with. The orc looks at Karlach, holding back laughter. There appears to be some sort of secret he’s hiding, or maybe he’s part of another cult. I study him, noticing a sort of anger hidden in his eyes, or maybe a hunger for control.

“That was just one elder brain. You think there aren’t more? You think this will ever stop? It’s far from over, you ignorant fools,” he growls, getting extremely defensive. “I ought to rip your brains out of your thin, delicious skulls and eat them for dinner tonight unless you submit to the Absolute.”

“Is this guy on something?” Wyll whispers in Karlach’s ear, but loud enough for me to hear.

“Damn, I really am more trouble than I’m worth apparently,” I say followed with an irritated sigh. This isn’t the first time I had someone demand my presence, nor is it the first time someone is trying to convince me to join their cult.

“No, don’t say that please,” Gale says. “This guy is just delusional. Clearly, there’s no more Absolute and he’s just off his rocker. Though, he does look like he’ll pound our faces in with those angry fists of his. They’re rather beefy.”

He appears to be a barbarian like Karlach, judging by his muscles, rage, and the battleaxe on his back. As his nostrils continue to flare, he looks fed up and impatient, ready to attack any second. The orc tries to charge at me, but Karlach bludgeons him in the torso with her warhammer, causing a massive indention in his stomach and knocking him several feet away from us. He lands on the ground, causing dirt to rise up in the air from the intense impact of his body. He groans loudly in pain, but continues to move regardless. Blood drips from his body as he tries to stand up from the ground. He gets back up on both feet and charges at her like nothing happened, knocking her over on her back in return. Gale then uses the Magic Missile spell, which hurts him pretty badly, and I can tell by the look on his face and body posture that he’s contemplating on giving up. The man looks much tougher than he actually is, lucky for us. He stands up once more, looking defeated but proceeds to glare at us with a disturbing look, his eyes shifting to a blood-red, hungry for blood. It’s as if he’s being controlled, and I don’t doubt it because I have seen this look before. What source is taking over his mind?

“This won’t be the last of me,” he threatens, his voice somehow deeper than before. Wyll then performs Eldritch Blast, causing him to fly back several feet; this time, he didn’t stand up. His deceased body lies there, a necrotic energy escaping every orifice.

“Oh Gods,” Shadowheart says, “now I’m afraid to see what’s going on in Baldur’s Gate now. Hopefully we won’t come across more trouble like that again.”

“As unfortunate as this sounds, it appears someone got ahold of the crown that was given to Mystra,” Wyll chimes in. This just changed everything entirely, leaving us horrified at what’s to come next. Could it be that Mystra could not handle the crown? How could a goddess, especially the Goddess of the Weave, not handle such a powerful artifact? Who would manage to take such a powerful item from such a demanding, potent deity?

[her-devils-advocate]

New beginnings

♥. Genre: Fluff

♥. pairings: The Dark Urge (Nell) x Astarion

♥. content warnings: None

♥. notes: Set after the end of the game. Spawn Astarion and my redeemed dark urge have since settled down and have now decided to announce their next step in life to their friends.

♥. Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51921196

♥. Word count: 1,563

Their companion's laughter is loud and joyful as it drifts from the dining room and into the kitchen. Nell's heart had swelled with a love she had yet to experience as they arrived one by one to share the evening with her and her lover.

It had been a year since they had destroyed the elder brain and derailed the horrid plan she had put in motion, a year of freedom. From her urges and the tadpole. 

Getting them all in one place had been easier said than done, even with the promise of a home-cooked meal and a "family" reunion, something Astarion had lightly scoffed at, earning him a gentle elbow to the ribs.

It had broken Nell’s heart to watch them all part ways, going on to make a new life for themselves, or returning to a life they had been snatched away from. But it was still a life away from the constant danger and discomfort that they had previously faced. They had said their tearful goodbyes and parted with a sending stone to remain in contact. 

Yet now they all share a table once more. Nell can hear Karlach’s loud voice telling stories of the trails both she and Wyll had faced upon returning to Avernus, excitedly acting out the more exciting parts as she does. She can hear Gale and Shadowheart gossiping amongst themselves, no doubt trying to find an alternative motive to their small reunion. They would be correct in their suspicion, but Nell takes a small amount of pride in knowing they would never guess the correct reason. 

Amidst all the chaos of chatter, she can hear Minsc’ booming laugh followed by the harsh scoff of a Githyanki. The druids are together at the end of the table, idly speaking together. If Nell strains her ears enough, she can pick up the faint murmur of Halsin casting Speak with Animals, no doubt to gossip with Scratch and the owlbear cub. She hopes the animals don’t begin to share too much information on their private life or the reason they are gathered once more.

Nell idly floats around the kitchen and now that the excitement of seeing everyone has died down, she is left full of nerves. She’s silently fretting while Astarion removes the cherry pie from the oven, smiling proudly at his work.

"For someone who won't even be eating this, I think I've done an amazing job, love." Astarion's smile manages to halt her movements, drawing her to him like a moth to a flame.

She gently places her hands on his chest, taking a moment to slowly smooth out his delicately embroidered shirt. Not that there had been any creases to begin with. Astarion catches her hands, holding them gently before giving them a small, comforting squeeze.

"It smells wonderful, thank you for doing this Astarion."

"Always, you know I would do anything for you." His words are soft as he gazes down at her, placing a small kiss on her forehead before his words take on a teasing tone. "That and I think we both remember what happened the last time I left you alone in the kitchen. Really, for someone who actually needs to eat, you can be quite a horror when it comes to cooking. And before you say anything; no, your amnesia is not an excuse anymore."

Memories of a smoke-filled house, a small oven fire and one extremely panicked and annoyed vampire fills her mind. She huffs before shooting him a playful glare.

"Well, it was a nice excuse while it lasted." She makes a point to ignore his raised eyebrow. It was a horrible experience for them both, her hardly knowing the world around her and Astarion as her reluctant translator in the early days of their forced adventure. But that was long in the past. She had since learnt her place in the world and Astarion was no longer reluctant to give her a nudge in the right direction.

Before she can get too swept up in her mind, Astarion's larger hand slowly takes one of hers and brings it up to his lips. His lips curl into a smirk as he kisses the shining jewel that sits proudly upon her ring finger. 

Nell's heart flutters at the action, nerves and excitement violently dancing within her.

He had given her many different gifts since they had become official; stolen trinkets that a merchant wouldn’t miss, dresses that he had hand-crafted for her, claiming that her old robes were getting tacky. Yet no gift could compare to the ring he had used to propose.

It was the first time he refused to use his deft fingers to his advantage, refusing anything that could make the moment less honest. 

She remembers how he gracefully dropped down onto one knee, his smile both blinding and hesitant as he showed her the ring. The glittering ruby was encased in gently engraved vines that wrapped themselves around the band of the ring. 

It was beautiful and dangerous, just like them.

"How do you think they will react?"

"Hmm, well if I know Karlach, she's probably going to squeeze you so tightly that you won't be able to breathe. So good luck with that dear, do try not to die. Lae'zel will most likely scoff, or voice displeasure for some reason or another. The rest… well, why ruin the surprise with speculation?"

Nell lets out a small giggle, the sound floating around the kitchen and settling within Astarion's heart.

"You do know that if Karlach gets me in a bear hug, she's going to do the exact same to you?"

Before he can grumble out a reply, the ruckus of the dining room interrupts any retort he has ready.

"We should probably serve dessert before it goes cold."

"And before they grow concerned that we've ditched them for more private activities?"

He laughs as his remark earns him a gentle bap with the tea towel before Nell carries out a stack of clean plates. Astarion follows her, placing the pie in the centre of the table with as much flourish as possible.

Jaheira is the first to speak up, a gentle smirk on her face. Her chat with the owlbear had been interesting for them, no doubt sharing stories of their domesticated life with the older woman. 

“Ah, so you had remembered the company awaiting you.”

“Perfection takes time, Jaheira! It’s not like the desert was going to bake itself.” Nell tries to sound stern, only for the permanent smile that has been on her face since the evening started to ruin that plan. Nell’s smile causes the older druid to smile in turn, pride flickering in her heart at how far the bard had come to now be smiling so openly. To see her no longer fearing her every move.

“You say that as if you were the one to lift a finger in the kitchen, darling. Here I am, playing personal chef while you take the credit” The dramatic sigh causes more than one eye-roll to occur around the table, much to Astarion’s displeasure. 

“A vampire cooking treats, I do believe I can say I’ve now seen it all, my friend!” 

“Yes well, I’m sure you will appreciate this pie more than you would appreciate me cooking and serving our dear ex-leader.” Astarion bares the wizard his fangs before Nell lightly drags him over to his chair beside Gale. 

“Alright, enough bickering you lot. We have a small announcement to make first, while the pie cools.” Nell doesn’t miss the way the room quietens, or the raised eyebrow Shadowheart shoots her.

“Oh my gods! You’re pregnant?” Karlach’s exclamation is loud, loud enough to spook the owlbear and cause him to run into the couple’s bedroom, earning a small whine from Scratch. “Do I get to be an auntie?”

The silence is deafening as Nell freezes. Her silver eyes are wide open in shock, mirroring the majority of the expressions on her friends' faces. All besides Astarion, who looks like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing, tears pooling in his eyes as he holds back.

“A vampire and a bhaalspawn, I didn’t even know they could procreate with one another...” Wyll’s voice trails off, going deep into thought and causing Astarion to break.

The group ignores the rapidly increasing giggles, too caught up in their speculation. “Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?”

“Hmm, I would place my bet on a girl. But she would have Astarion’s luscious locks, no offence Nell.

“Good thought Gale! I think she will also take his nose yet have her mother’s eyes. Well, the silver ones. Not her previous spooky mood-changing eyes… No offence again, Nell!”

“Uh, no offence taken…?” Nell is still frozen as she watches the chaos unfold around her, too overwhelmed to keep up with the rapid ideas being tossed around.

“You idiots, she’s not pregnant…yet,” Astarion gives the group a wink between his laughter, causing a few groans and scoffs to bounce around the room as he moves to Nell’s side, lifting up her hand and bringing attention to the ring glittering in the candlelight. A few gasps can be heard from their friends, obviously surprised at the idea of either of them actually settling down in such a way. “I believe you skipped a stage.”

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

WIP...Wednesday

I mentioned my hibernation fic the other day, so I decided to share a bit of it for WIP Wednesday. :D

He smiled as he bent to kiss her. She is perfect. She fills my heart with such joy. “I was feeling tired.”

“Again?” Her voice was tinged with worry.

Pulling up his chair next to hers, he sighed. “Yes, but I think I know what it is.” She offered an encouraging nod, and he continued. “Every so often, the bear needs to hibernate. It’s getting to be that time.” He watched as she put a slip of paper inside her book and closed it.

“How long?”

“It can range from a week to three months. It’s never the same, and I won’t know for long I’ve been hibernating until I wake.” She’s going to ask if she can come with me. Oh Annie, please…

As she serious as he had ever seen her, she asked, “Can I come with you?”

He sandwiched one of her hands in his as he shook his head. “No. It’s far too dangerous. Best to stay here and—” Please don’t fight me on this. It’s too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous.

Anais smiled sadly. “Carry on as best I can.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “I will write to your mother, Nadia, and Astarion to see if any of them would like to be with you while I’m gone. Or perhaps Gale could make the trip from Waterdeep. Or Shadowheart and her parents?” I would also suggest Wyll and Karlach, but alas, they cannot return from Avernus, and gods know where Lae’zel is.

Her other hand now rested on the top of his. “Oh no, please. I don’t want to be a bother. Besides, I’m not alone when I have Scratch, Horace, and Obie here. And there’s also everyone in town. I’ll be okay.” She reassured him with a kiss on his cheek.

Their foreheads touched as he closed his eyes. I don’t want you to feel alone. I want you to be surrounded by love and care while I hibernate. It will make my sleep much more peaceful. “Since we have coupled, we have not spent one night apart. I worry if my hibernation lasts more than a week or two you will be lonely, my heart.” And it breaks my heart to see you sad.

She wrinkled her nose and gave him a quick peck. “Oh, I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” Impossible, dearest one. “Is there anything else we need to do before you, I assume, go into a cave and sleep?”

Halsin chuckled heartily. “Yes! I’ll start scouting for one tomorrow. There is something else, Annie. I need to put on some weight.”

Anais raised an eyebrow. “How much?”

“Usually between forty to sixty pounds. Though,” he remembered a specific hibernation, soon after the Shadow Curse took hold. “There was one time I barely put on forty pounds, and it was…erm, not a pleasant experience. So please forgive me if I eat us out of house and home for the next several weeks.” Upon hearing her laugh, he shook his head. “You’re taking this remarkably well, my heart.”

She waved a dismissive hand with a grin. “To be honest, when you pass a certain point, some things are just filed under ‘strange but interesting druid things.’ This happens to be one of them.”