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tragedybunny · 4 months ago

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Fangs and Fairytales - Chapter 2

༺Summary༻

The Netherbrain has fallen and Baldur's Gate has been saved. Astarion and Serafina begin their life together in that very moment. Together they journey to find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again. There's no shortage of adversity along the path, including Serafina's own warlock patron, Queen Titania. But together they can face it all and find their own sort of happily ever after. In this chapter Serafina and Astarion have a rough start to their life together as both go through their separate struggles.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Rating༻ Mature

༺Warnings༻ Angst

༺Word Count༻ 3058

༺A/N༻ Thanks to @icybluepenguinicybluepenguin for not only being a beta but probably 50% of the reason this story exists.

Read on AO3 All chapter here on Tumblr

“Gods, it’s like being back out in the wilderness again,” Astarion groused, unceremoniously dropping the bedroll onto the stone floor. “Could they have at least tried to find a bed?”

“Astarion, half the city is still in ruins. I’m sure beds for down here will be the very next priority.” Serafina lowered her pack next to their bedroll.

It wasn’t the sleeping arrangements that bothered him, it was having to move underground into the dark. Astarion still agonized over losing the sun, the hopefulness of the first days without the tadpole twisting back around to bitterness. The Elfsong somehow survived the destruction and they had been welcome there, but with all the activity, it didn’t seem the safest place for Astarion to make sure he avoided the sun.

They’d been there, examining their options - well Astarion had been rejecting all of them with bitterness - when Aylin and Isobel had turned up. Aylin had laid out their plans and an invitation. They'd all huddled around a table in the Elfsong, the din of a crowd eager for distraction and release surrounding them.

“We will take that which was once in Shar’s foul grasp and turn it into a beacon of hope in my Mother’s holy name!”

The silence that had followed her words made clear the puzzlement of those present.

‘What my love means is that we are taking the complex beneath the House of Grief and turning it into a refugee camp. You all are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Isobel had clarified.

Only Sera, Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart remained of their companions. Halsin had already begun his mission to transport refugees to the former Reithwin village, and Jaheira and Minsc were aiding the city from Jaheira’s home where she could ostensibly keep an eye on her adopted brood. Though she had made a habit of checking on them as well, coming at night to make sure Astarion was included. Sera hadn’t failed to notice the way she sought him out, and offered him patience and consolation that he often did his best to turn away.

Adopting strays was an inescapable habit for her, even when this one was older than her.

“You really think this is a go-” Astarion began and Sera felt herself tense. He'd been slipping back into bitterness lately, understandably so. But it felt like she was trying to pull him back from a precipice, and she was so, so tired herself.

“That sounds like a splendid solution for the time being.” Gale helpfully interjected. “I'm going to stay a while longer to help out myself before heading back to Waterdeep. I'd be thrilled to join you.”

“I agree with Gale.” Sera quickly added. She wouldn't speak for Astarion but she would let her own thoughts be known.

There was a long pause before Astarion sighed. “I suppose at the very least I won't have to put up with the annoyance of unruly patrons clinging to one of the few taverns still standing.”

Reaching out, Sera took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Whatever it was that really bothered him about staying somewhere else, she would figure out later, in private, where opening up was less threatening. Sleep already called to her though, her new nocturnal normal still an adjustment in the making, and she hoped that tonight he didn’t let himself give into the pull of those dark thoughts, that he would let her be his comfort, and reassurance.

It had not gone as smooth as her hopes, Astarion insisting there was nothing bothering him except that he was certain this was going to turn into some “Moon Maiden obsessed cult.”

“Fine,” Sera had finally surrendered, sometime just before dawn. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s really wrong.”

“First I lose the sun, now you want to drag me underground, deeper into the darkness!” Astarion had exploded, fangs bared in a snarl that left her wide-eyed, shaking, and panting.

It wasn’t as though she believed that Astarion would ever actually hurt her, but something about the raw ferocity of it stoked an instinctual fear of prey faced with predator. And despite herself, she took a step back.

“Sera.” His face fell as he reached for her, only to have her flinch at his outstretched hand.

A long moment passed as they stared at one another in silence, hurts open and raw. Tears gathered in Astarion’s crimson eyes that he stubbornly refused to shed.

Finally, when her heart ached enough that she felt it would split in two, she stepped towards him, silencing the part of her that wanted to fear, and found herself in his embrace. His arms crushed her to him as they clung to one another, so much passing between them without words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what it felt like to you.” Sera was the first to speak, face buried in the soft, red fabric of his shirt.

They’d purchased it at Carm’s Garms while they’d spent a couple nights prepping to enter the city proper from Wyrm’s Crossing. It may have been the first new garment Astarion had ever picked for himself. The look of hesitant joy on Astarion’s face would stay with her, even if he tried to hide it.

That had been another rough time, Astarion putting up his walls and pushing her and the rest of their friends away with sharp words and a callous demeanor as Cazador loomed closer than ever.

They had made it through that, and they could make it through this. She just had to push on.

“It’s not your fault. I know you said we’d find a way, but it just feels like I’m drowning in darkness.”

Not willing to let go, Sera pulled him down into the bed with her, where they stayed wrapped around one another until sleep took her.

After that day, Astarion had tried his best to temper himself, to let go of that growing bitterness. Though there were days it still threatened to drag him under, and she fought to keep both their heads above water.

He did relent and agree that they should move to the House of Grief, the deal sweetened by a guarantee of a room to make their own away from the dorms which would be more communal. At least there he would be free to walk around during the day.

And here they were, spreading a bedroll out on the floor of the old armory, a proper door leading into the cave that had once been Shadowheart’s sanctuary.

“I suppose we're lucky Shadowheart was feeling generous enough to give up her special cave.” Astarion’s snark seemed mostly good natured.

Shadowheart was actually overseeing a dorm of displaced families. She'd been eager to jump right in with them, as though it could heal the scars of losing her own parents.

Sera kneeled down to straighten the bedroll.

“See, there's upsides to this already. A cave is a very appropriate lair for a vampire.” She looked down to hide a smirk, eager to enjoy the moment of levity.

Without a sound, Astarion was looming over her, arms trapping her between himself and the bedroll she’d been fixing. “So now you're an expert on vampires?” His voice was an exaggerated silken purr more like the Astarion she first met. “Tell me, what other secrets are you privy too?”

He spoke almost directly against her ear, making her shiver.

“Well, a vampire is not as dangerous a creature as one would think. Really, once you give them a little blood, they're very tame. But they require being complimented on a daily basis or they tend to sulk.”

“Tame, you say?” The purr was lost, and she could hear the smile in his words. “I'll show you tame.”

He pulled her back toward him until they were both sitting, Sera resting in his lap while he kissed her neck softly. Teeth dragged against her skin, threatening to pierce it. “I think you may have underestimated the danger of a vampire. We only play at being tame, but at any time, we could take what we want.”

Astarion’s fangs waited at her neck, seeking permission to dig into her skin and taste of her.

Sera flicked her eyes to the door, they'd shut it behind them at least. They still had to set up their space, but there was no rush, they could afford to indulge. Letting herself relax into him, until it felt as though the boundaries of their bodies gave way and they were one being, she tilted her head, exposing a swath of her pale neck to him.

There was no need for words, they'd learned to speak without them. The familiar sharp, cold pain gave way to the expected ecstasy. The first time, she'd been fascinated and afraid, trusting Astarion for some reason even though she'd barely caught him trying to take a taste of her while she slept.

That anxiety had made the whole experience more painful. The second time had been far less fraught.

They'd stumbled into a fight with some goblins over a gnome tied to a windmill; making the acquaintance of one Barcus Wroot. Astarion had a goblin arrow graze his shoulder and was fussing over it by the river bank as they set up camp.

“Are you alright, Astarion?” Sera had followed him down to the bank as he'd stomped away cursing and complaining. How did she not realize how deep she was already in with the irascible vampire.

“No,” he snapped. He'd stripped himself naked to the waist, pale skin gleaming like polished moonstone in the setting sun, and irritatedly splashed water at the wound. “The one downside to this parasite is not healing like I normally would. This bloody stings like hell and all for a gnome, of all things!”

“Maybe Shadowheart should look at it,” she’d offered gently, unsure how to handle this Astarion, angry and lashing out. Usually he was either the flirt or the macabre humored rogue. But that morning when she’d questioned him about how he became a vampire, she’d caught the first real glimpse of something dark and horrible beneath that surface, something she should probably fear. And yet here she was.

“Oh,” the anger vanished in an instant as he turned toward her. “No need to bother our secretive little cleric. It’s barely a scratch and I’m sure Gale turned his ankle or some other nonsense to keep her busy.”

With preternaturally graceful steps, he’d come up from the bank to loom over her. “You know what would help though?” His voice was all light sweetness as he smirked down at her. “A little blood to help my natural healing along.”

A blush started in her cheeks and its warmth spread through her at the memory of his body covering hers and the strange intimacy of the drinking her blood. It took entirely too long for her to respond, and his grin widened. “Right. That uh - makes sense.”

She’d turned to leave to head back to camp and he caught her arm. “No need to get so close to the others, they still don’t seem too fond of the whole vampire thing, we can do just fine right here.”

They’d settled in the grass on the river bank, as the fading orange light sparkled across the rushing waters, looking like little flames lurking beneath the surface. Sera wasn’t sure she wouldn’t embarrass herself if he told her to lay on her back again and hastily offered her wrist to him. “That should work just as well.”

For a moment his face fell, as though offended by the offer, but he accepted without complaint. “As you wish, my sweet.”

The term of endearment was new and Sera couldn’t help but giggle, it was excessive, and a reminder she shouldn’t get too soft for all those honeyed words of his. She’d seen enough of his kind growing up in the Gate, and some she trusted to the point of pain, both physical and emotional. “You don’t need to persuade me Astarion, I’m already doing it.”

“Ah - yes, well, let’s get on it with it.”

This time she was prepared, and felt herself relax after the initial bite. It was almost pleasant, hearing the rush of her own blood and the echo of her heartbeat, as Astarion suckled at her wrist and made a small noise of pleasure. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back, the setting sun was still warm on her face. This was peaceful, so little in her life had been peaceful, she could stay here forever.

“Serafina…” A voice roused her and her eyelids opened sluggishly.

Astarion held her wrist in his hands still, but the wounds from his fangs were already closing. “Look at the state of you. Let’s get you back to camp and get some food in you, before anyone accuses me of anything.”

She laughed, feeling woozy and giddy. “But this is your fault. Or should I say I met another vampire down by the river?” It was incredibly dumb and she cringed even as the words left her lips

Astarion only sighed in response and helped her to her feet, hands encircling her waist in an oddly comforting manner. “I don’t quite think they’ll believe that.” He offered her his arm as they headed back to camp and she found herself loath to let go when she was safely settled by the newly built fire.

She should have known she was already in far too deep right then.

Nestled in his arms, she let him drink as much as he wanted, assured he knew when to stop, and trusting he always would. A soft moan inadvertently escaped her and she flushed like so many of those early days.

Astarion chuckled as he withdrew his fangs. “You certainly do enjoy that,” he teased.

“The experience has grown on me since that first time.”

Astarion stiffened at her words, letting go of her waist. “We should probably finish getting settled.”

Her heart tremored in her chest; it had been one of his better moods of the last couple of weeks, and it was very quickly ebbing away. “Probably,” she relented, not knowing what to say. It felt like she’d tried everything lately, and a familiar weariness settled over her. Time, it was just going to take time.

Not letting a looming sigh escape her, she leaned over to finish settling the bedroll.

With what little they had to call their own, arranging it didn’t take long, and a short time later found them lounging near the water in Shadowheart’s once secret spot. The smell of night orchids was almost cloyingly thick as Sera tried to concentrate on the book propped in front of her as she lay on her stomach.

It was sometime after midnight but not yet near enough dawn for her to sleep if she was going to get used to living nocturnally. A yawn inadvertently slipped from her and the sound of Astarion idly trailing his fingers through the softly moving current stopped

“You can just go to bed, you know. One night hardly makes a difference.”

He’d moved from where he’d sat originally - further away from her, down by the bank. At first picking at the mushrooms and then fidgeting about in the water, his own book long abandoned. He’d sneak out to hunt, animal or opportunistic criminal, but he didn’t like staying out too long with everyone in the city still jumpy.

“If you say it every night, it will.” Stretching, she got to her feet, already moving to his side.

He scoffed at her words and looked back toward the water as she dropped down next to him.

“What is it?” Despite his prickly mood, she let her head rest on his shoulder, knowing he would rather have her close than not. Under the cloying scent of the night orchids, the familiar sickly sweet essence of the grave clung to his skin. Something different was on his mind than what had been plaguing him the last few weeks.

“Noth-”

“You’re a shit liar, Astarion.”

That got a short, sharp laugh from him. “Firsts,” he finally said, quietly.

“Firsts?” she repeated, lost.

“You mentioned the first time I drank your blood.” He finally looked up but still not at her, gazing at the ceiling of the cavern instead. “It was a disaster. You remember, you had to fight me off you.” He chuckled a bit, but there was something deeply pained in it.

“It was the first time you’d drank thinking blood. And we didn’t know it could mean something to us.”

“I ruined it, I ruined all of our firsts. Our first meeting - I held a knife to your throat, our first kiss - a lie to get you to come out into the woods with me, our first night together - part of my ‘nice, simple plan’.” While he was talking, she let her arm wrap around his waist, pulling them as close together as she could. “Sometimes I wish I could have them back, I wish I could actually remember what you looked like walking down that road toward me.”

She considered his words for a moment, struck by how it all seemed to weigh on him. “But they’re… ours. And perfect or not, they still led us here.”

“I should have counted on that irritatingly romantic response from you,” he said, without any real malice.

“It's the only response.” For a moment the weariness at everything slipped through. “We can't go back.”

Astarion hummed thoughtfully and brought his arm up to return her embrace. “Perhaps you're right, love.” Gently, he guided them both to laying back on the ground.

Sera kissed him softly, brushing her lips to his and then his cheeks and forehead. They'd get through one more night at least. “Of course I'm right, and we still have firsts. For example, this is our first night in a Shar temple without everything trying to kill us.”

Astarion laughed, real and genuine, fangs gleaming in the flickering light of their lantern. “I'll wait until sunrise to call that official.” His fingers ran gently through her hair and she shut her eyes, basking in his touch “But let's get you to bed, Sera, you look so tired, it worries me.”

Tag list: @writingmysanity @snowfolly @sunfire-ancunin @vixstarria

@just-a-refrigerator @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @tallymonster @azu21

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @spacebarbarianweird @cilil @bg3obsessedsideblog

@talented-bitch @claryvoyantfray

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 tav: Serafina #my fanfic #my writing #astarion x oc #fangs and fairytales

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 5 months ago

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 20: I Forgive You

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

You drink, drink, drink.

Deeply. Greedily. Exuberantly.

The spluttering sounds vaguely tickle your ears. They push you closer to the edge of feral hysteria, where logic and reason cease to exist, and all that’s left is an impulsive drive to kill and consume. If the prey can sputter, it has more lifeblood to give. You bite down harder. Legs thrash, thudding against the ground and echoing off the walls. Hands and fingers claw at your skin and tug at your clothes, but you are too far gone to care or register the increasingly weakening calls of your name.

You are an animal.

A creature.

A monster.

You will drink until there is not a drop left, then perhaps you will find something else to drink because you are so tired of the maddening pain of being hollow and hungry. The thirst is unquenchable and relentless. If you could get it to stop, even just for a little while, maybe you could think clearly.

There is so much relief that comes as the creamy, coppery tide spills into your stomach. The aching kinks in your muscles that made your toes curl and your fingers rheumatic unsnarl, the vicelike grip of raw hunger relinquishes its agonizing hold on your stomach, and the gauzy film that has been muddling your thoughts starts to lift.

It feels resplendent.

As the blood lights up every neural pathway in your brain, you revel in the sensation of being reunited with your long-lost life. It’s all too easy to tune out the battering against your chest, the fingernails that gouge at your skin, and the pleas that fall mute in your ears.

You want to live, and nothing fills you with vitality like the radiant syrup that’s pulsing within the veins and vessels of living creatures.

The resistance is failing now; fingers fumble at your clothes with less and less vigour. The blood that once spurted into your mouth like a fountain with every heartbeat is coming slower, only seeping like a babbling brook instead of a raging river.

It irritates you because you’re still not satisfied. Is there enough blood in the whole of the world to quell your appetite?

No.

Nothing will ever be enough.

“Stop.”

The directive slices through your body like an axe through flesh, poaching your control and handing it away without a fight. You cannot even swallow the blood in your mouth, and it drools out from between your lips and down your chin.

“Stand and back away.”

You stand as if there are strings attached to your limbs, pulling you up and forcing you to take stiff steps backward like a puppet.

“Kneel.”

This time the command is not silent but in Astarion’s voice, making your ears quiver. Your knees fold in on themselves and hit the stone hard beside the cage door. The red miasma begins to clear from your mind, and your vision pulses back into focus as your bloodlust fades. In an instant, you’re all too aware of the gore dripping from your chin and the red slickness coating your hands and forearms.

You’re dragged back into a harsh reality. Your clothes are sodden, sticky, and clinging to your body. Your arms are in shreds, full of valley-like gouges, and your mind clears enough to fully comprehend what you’ve done. Tears sting the back of your eyes like hot knives, but you do not have the authorization to shed them.

Shadowheart lies motionless on the floor, her skin ghostly, and her eyes glassy and corpse-like. Her chest jumps erratically, and her heartbeat is barely audible.

“Illyria,” Astarion says in a voice like warm honey. “Look at me.”

Your neck twists without your consent, the binds of compulsion holding fast. When your eyes fall on Astarion, he’s as close to the door as he can possibly get while restrained. In the dimness of the enclosed cell, you cannot work out which version of him you’re looking at.

“Is it you?” You ask, though it is a terribly stupid question. He will say anything to be set free.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he nods, and you feel the connection invite you once again. You yearn to allow it to open and flood you, but you refuse, afraid that this is a trick. Astarion’s mouth downturns slightly at the rejection. “If I let you go, will you be able to control yourself? Shadowheart needs help quickly.”

“No!” You shout. If you get close to her, you know you will not be able to resist the crimson that still seeps from the wounds in her neck. “No. Don’t.”

“Then I need you to let me out of here so I can help her.”

It’s a risk, but Shadowheart is fading quickly. If you let him out, and it’s the wrong him, you both die, but if you don’t let him out at all, she dies regardless. There’s only one way you can know for sure.

You reach out to the kinship, and it emanates through you like a sunbeam spreading warmth through a crystal prism, illuminating every facet of your being. You are sculpted from the same celestial clay, falling into each other with an unspoken harmony that only the two of you know.

After so long without it, the rush of the coalescence of your two beings becoming one borders on overwhelming. It takes your body and mind a moment to assimilate the new sensations, like an agitated lake that ever-so-slowly returns to its placid state.

He’s finally back.

You whisper the password to dispel the Arcane Lock, and the light blue barrier shimmers and fades.

“Get the keys for the locks and unlock my restraints,” he commands.

Your body complies, getting up stiffly, moving out into the hallway past Shadowheart's unconscious body, and into the desk where you stashed the keys. You move robotically as you unlock the cell and then the padlocks. When the silver manacles pop open, Astarion winces and rubs his wrists.

“Get out of the cell, and don’t move,” Astarion instructs.

He’s long gone, moving faster than your eyes can perceive, before you can even take the three steps it takes to vacate the cell. You stand, still as a statue, staring at the rough grey bricks that make up the walls of the kennels. Shadowheart’s increasingly slowing heartbeat and ragged breaths are barely discernible under the whir of her blood running through your veins.

“I’m so sorry. Gods. I’m so fucking sorry, Shadowheart.”

Astarion returns faster than you thought possible. He drops to his knees by Shadowheart, pulls her into his lap, and uncorks what you recognize as a Supreme Potion of Healing, pouring it into her mouth a little at a time so she can swallow.

The colour starts to return to Shadowheart’s skin slowly, and her heart beats stronger with every concurrent pulse. She coughs, sputtering wetly, and groans in Astarion’s arms. When her eyes crack open, she jerks away from him and falls limply to the floor with wide, scared eyes.

“It’s me.” Astarion holds up his hands innocently and backs away from her sharp glower. He uses his foot to nudge another Potion of Healing her way.

Shadowheart grabs it with frail fingers, trying to uncork it with her teeth, but her muscles are still too weak. She scoffs when she has to hand the bottle to Astarion to open for her.

Her whole body shakes with the shock of blood loss as she pushes herself up, using the wall at her back as a brace. “Is it him?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “If it wasn’t, we would both likely be dead already.”

Astarion looks around the kennels dismally with glances that dart in all directions, as if he thinks Cazador might saunter in at any moment. A tic works in his jaw, and his forehead puckers. You can feel the fear in him as it emanates through the bond.

“What have you done to her?” Shadowheart mumbles weakly, nodding toward you.

“I compelled her.” Astarion stares at the cage with ruby-red eyes, a monument to suffering and woe.

“Well, stop,” Shadowheart snaps in your defence.

“No. It’s okay, Shadowheart. I’ve asked him to do this.” You say, hauntingly calm. “Can you walk her home, Astarion?”

“Huh?” His eyes finally focus on you, but he looks a million miles away. “Yes, but what about you?”

He offers Shadowheart a hand. She takes it tentatively, and he pulls her to her feet and steadies her. She bats his hands away defiantly with a scowl, and he rolls his eyes at her obstinacy.

You’re covered head to toe in dried blood and can’t go walking through the city in such a state, but there is a fix for that. “Compel me to cast invisibility and return to the manor. I want to go home.”

“I—” Astarion closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Cast invisibility on yourself and go to the manor. Once you are there, tell me, and I will rescind the compulsion.”

“Astarion, wait.” He turns, and you nod toward the navy shroud. “I want to take that, but I need you to tell me to.”

Astarion glances at it and looks almost embarrassed. Your orders change without him needing to even say anything. You bend down, pick up the threadbare fabric, and start your invisible march toward home.

Astarion rescinds the compulsion over you instantly when you enter the manor. It’s dark inside, and the air harbours an unpleasant stagnancy, as if it stopped circulating the moment no one was here. You stare at your hands in horror, dried blood and skin under your fingernails.

You rush to the bedroom. Water gushes out of the tap into the basin, and you scrub your hands vigorously until they are red, bleeding, and you’re sloughing off your own skin, trying to replace her blood with your own. Your hands shake when you look at them. It’s not enough; you can still feel the warmth and slickness of her blood like a stain.

You scream in sheer loathing, a jarring, crestfallen sound that penetrates the cumbersome silence of the manor. If only you could cease existing like this stupid mirror declares with your lack of reflection.

You peel your soiled clothing off as quickly as you can, throwing it into the fireplace and incinerating the evidence of your sin, but nothing will erase what you’ve done.

If you cut yourself open and let her blood drain out of you, would you feel better then?

Climbing into the bath, you turn on the water until it’s scalding, curl up into a ball in the corner, your legs hugging tightly to your chest, and sob. The stinging of the water lapping at your maimed back hits like an avalanche and brings more tears to your eyes. You grit your teeth and focus on feeling the pain because you deserve this, don’t you?

Maybe Astarion was right when he said you deserved everything he did to you. It was you who led him down this path — you who lent him your eyes so he could carve up Cazador and usurp the Rite. The only reason you ever regretted it was because you lost him. You tell yourself that you should feel guilty over the thousands of souls you damned for love, but truthfully, they would not even cross your mind if not for the consequences.

Who were they to you?

Nobodies, and they remain faceless nobodies.

The weight of what you’ve agreed to descends on your shoulders like the burden of a planet now that your mind isn’t addled with hunger and exhaustion. How are you going to tell Astarion?

Oh, it’s nothing, my love. I just put my soul on the line, agreed to kill an archdevil, and now have control of hellfire that could kill me if I actually put it to use. But good news! If we can pull it off, you can keep your power and your sanity.

Good Gods.

The only illumination in the room when Astarion enters is the orbs of fire circling your head in the shape of soaring dragons. They swoop and arc in an ever-changing formation. Your eyes snap to him, and you send the orbs soaring back to relight the candles and fire.

Astarion looks more bone-weary than you ever remember seeing him, with dark circles under his eyes and ruddy, blistered wrists. He strips his dirty shirt off, tossing it to the floor with unusual carelessness.

“How long this time?” Astarion asks, standing near the fire with his hand braced on the wall.

“A week, give or take a day or two.”

“Gods.” Astarion rubs his bloodshot, tired eyes and glances at his wrists. “Silver is still effective, hm? Good to know, I suppose,” he muses. He points at the bath. “May I?”

You gesture toward the water flippantly, and he undresses and wades in. A quiet, awkward silence hangs over the two of you for some time.

“What happened?” He finally asks, his eyes bleeding with sorrow and shame. He smooths his wet hair back. “I mean, I know what happened, but after I lost.”

“I led you to the palace, the kennels... I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t be. You did what you had to do. That cage… I put that in there, didn’t I? I saw it when I came back, but... Why did I do it?”

“I think you can probably guess why he did that,” you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. “Can we not do this tonight?”

“Yes. Of course.” Astarion nods. “Can you pass me the soap?”

You turn to grab the soap bar, but his pained, breathy gasp makes your eyes jerk toward him. Shit. You turned your back to him, and now his eyes are moored to whatever it was he sliced into you. You suppose he was going to see it one way or another, but you meant to save him this pain until it was at least a little further healed.

“Fuck.” He sobs, tears spilling from his eyes, and his hand is poised at his mouth. “By the Gods, Illyria. I don’t know what to say. I— Gods. What have I fucking done? What is wrong with me? I do not want to be that person. I do not want to hurt you.”

“I know,” you murmur, too tired to even cry at this point.

“Do you hate me?” He asks, his voice so small and so pained that it’s like a vice around your heart. “I—I’m a monster.”

If nothing else, the stark contrast between the two sides of him makes it relatively easy to separate and compartmentalize the two. In your perspective, they remain too separate people. You would be lying if you said you were not a little frightened of those hands that held that dagger like a chisel; the hands that scored your flesh with Gods knows what.

But when you look into his eyes, you remember that this man has spent centuries having his body taken over and used as a pawn, just as it is now. You never blamed him for the atrocities he committed under Cazador’s rule, and you cannot bring yourself to blame him for the actions of another wearing his skin.

“I don’t hate you, Astarion.” You take slow steps toward him. He looks confused for a moment, his eyes wide as saucers. “I just want to save what’s left of you while we still can. May I?” You nod your head toward his lap.

He nearly lurches forward to grab you, but you’ve been feeling that longing in him the whole time — the desperate need to hold and be held. Astarion catches himself, sits back down, and outstretches his arms. Crawling into his lap, he’s cautious not to touch your wounds, and you lean into him with your head pressed under his chin, safe at last.

“I didn’t think you would want to be close to me after what happened.” Astarion’s voice is as knotted with emotion as you’ve ever heard it. He takes your hand, bringing it up from the water, and his fingers trace the band of the ring. “I didn’t think you would want to be with me at all.”

“Does everyone think me so exceptionally fragile?” You bring your head up to look at him. He still has tears welling in his swollen eyes, falling occasionally down his cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your index finger. “I never once judged you or was scared of you because of the things Cazador forced you to do. This is much the same for me. It may have been your hands, but it wasn’t you.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he murmurs. “I do not deserve you.”

“That’s enough, Astarion. You deserve it all. Happiness, comfort, to live, and love. We both deserve all those things,” you remind him. You take his face in your hands. “I love you because I just fucking love you. The moment you tossed me into the dirt and looked into my eyes, I loved you, and every moment since, even when it was painful to love you, I loved you still. I love you so much that it’s terrifying, because I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I love you, only you, now and forevermore, and you deserve to be loved like that. Alright?”

A small smile breaks through his beautiful lips, and he takes your hand, kissing your palm and interlocking your fingers. “Thank you. Y— You still want to marry me, yes?”

You huff in exasperation. “I just finished telling you that I will love you forever, and that’s your question? Obviously. You promised me eternity, Astarion, and I’ve never known you to be a liar.”

“Well, in that case,” Astarion swallows and takes a big breath. “If you’ll indulge me, I would like to marry you before we descend into the Hells and likely get ourselves killed.”

“You’re agreeing to go to the Hells with me?” Your mouth drops open. “Truly?”

“Mhm.” Astarion nods. “I will go along with your insane little plan on the condition that you marry me before we leave. If we are to die down there, I would at least like to die as husband and wife.”

Do you tell him? He’s agreeing to go to the Hells, but he doesn’t have the whole story any longer. If you’re going to tell him, now is your chance, but you just got him back, and it didn’t go well for you last time. No. You’ll have to tell him eventually, but right now, you just can’t bring yourself to utter the words. You lock all thoughts, all memories, and everything else away behind the guard that will keep Astarion from seeing it through your connection, as long as you’re careful.

“Can it just be you and I?”

Astarion’s brows furrow. “You don’t want all our friends there? Drinks? Dancing? A grand soiree?”

You've never been the kind of woman who fantasized about a big, extravagant wedding and a white ballgown—let alone one at all. In fact, the idea of having all those beating hearts and insincere congratulatory smiles sounds awful.

“If you want that, I understand, and we can, but we could have all of that when we get back from the Hells alive with you safe.”

Astarion glances away, looking blankly at the water. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

“Astarion. No. Don’t be foolish. If anything, I don’t want all those people to see you looking so positively mouthwatering. You might have to compel me not to eat everyone in attendance.”

“I do look rather dashing in a suit, do I not?” He chuckles. “I think I would rather enjoy an intimate affair.”

You comb his wet hair back and out of his eyes. “Me too.”

“Your wounds need to be cleaned.” Astarion murmurs, making you twist slightly so he can get a look at them. Every time he sees them, the emotional link between you is inundated so heavily with regret and despair that it actually feels like it weighs your mind down. “They aren’t healing well.”

“Is that an offer to help, or are you just stating the obvious?” You tease, trying to get him to lighten up.

“How can you be so casual about this?” Astarion snaps, unable to conceal his own outrage. His anger is not so much at the flippant ease with which you have shrugged this off; it’s at himself for doing it in the first place. “How can you so easily just forgive me and move on after I did this to you? You should hate me. You should be terrified of me.

“Why?” You retort coldly. Patience is wearing thin here. You do not have time, nor do you care to lament on your skin. It will heal, and what’s done is done. Where will being angry or sad over it get you? Nowhere, so what’s the point? If you want to grieve it, you have an eternity to do it later, so why is he being so insistent on this? “Would it make you feel better about it if I punished you for it? Is that what you’re looking for, Astarion?”

“Yes.” His voice is full of desperation. He takes your arms, almost shaking you, but it’s just his entire body that’s trembling violently. “Punish me. Hit me. Burn me. Stab me. I don’t fucking care, but do something.”

Straddling him, you take your face in his hands, sweeping your thumb over his cheek, dip your head, and kiss him tenderly. “I forgive you.”

Moonlight courses through the windows of their bedroom, casting a spectral-like glow across the floors and furniture. Though he is exhausted physically and mentally, he cannot seem to fall into his trance. He fears that if he lets his mind rest, it will not be him who she wakes up to.

Illyria trances peacefully beside him, though in an awkward position on her side so as not to touch the half-healed portrait of his cruelty that will be etched into her skin for eternity. Even now, those wounds still seep, dotting her shirt with little pinpoints of blood.

How could he do that to her? How could any version of him want to do that to her?

Astarion doesn’t want to wake her. She is more exhausted than even him, so he moves stealthily out of bed to go pace the halls of the manor, where he can hopefully work out some of this restlessness.

Coming back to himself in that cage had been a chilling experience, with the sting of silver wrapped around his wrists and sapping his strength. He’d recognized the smell of the room right away, even under the smell of Shadowheart and Illyria’s blood. For a moment, he was sure Cazador was going to enter and make him pay for usurping the Rite. He almost didn’t pull himself together quickly enough to save the Cleric.

The horror that he would take Cazador’s torments and mimic them makes his stomach churn, and he stymies the dry heaving. Is what’s left of his soul really all that stands between him and that vile version of him? Could he be worse than Cazador? Would he be?

He hates that the answer to that is yes.

Astarion leans his forearm on the wall, looking out the window absently, while his mind revolves in a spiral of unsettling thoughts. He’s agreed to go to the Hells with her. Truthfully, he feels he has little choice. It’s either this or become what he spent centuries loathing and killing or enslaving the one person he’s ever truly cared for.

If she were not at risk, he might just let himself go and accept the consequences of his actions. Two centuries of fighting to survive, only to gain his freedom and have to fight to survive again.

He is tired of fighting for his life.

If it comes down to it, will he renounce the powers the Rite has gifted him? Could he say goodbye to the sun and hello again to the pain of hunger and darkness?

If it means never hurting her like that again, he has no choice.

“Astarion?” Her voice makes him jump and whirl. She’s gotten good at sneaking up on him, and he finds himself proud of his little bride. Half of her face is hidden by shadows, and the other half is illuminated by moonlight. She yawns adorably. “Are you okay?”

“But of course, my love.” He declares and offers her a quick, easy smile that he hopes will appease her worries.

She cants her head at him with a lopsided grin. “Come on, Astarion. What’s troubling you?”

“Am I truly that easy to read, sweetheart?” She would see through any disguise he tried to decorate himself with.

She pads over to him, her nightdress swaying about her upper thighs, and taps on his temple. “You can’t exactly hide it from me, Astarion.”

“Ah,” he says, smiling slightly. “I suppose not.”

Illyria leans into him with her hand splayed across his bare chest, peeking up at him through thick lashes. “What’s bothering you?”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, being careful with her back, and kisses the top of her head. “I’m just restless. Sitting in a cage for a week will do that to a man.”

“Restless, are you?” She raises an eyebrow, the beautiful cracked crimson of her eyes shimmering like polished gems. Her hand starts to wander around his body. Gentle, tentative touches to see how he will react. “I could think of a few things that might help relieve that restlessness.”

His body responds to her proximity, the way she leans her soothing weight into him, and those tender touches. The blood rushes to his cock.

Astarion’s shock is evident in the way his brows try to climb his forehead. “Surely, you’re not suggesting?”

“Sex, Astarion.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m suggesting sex, but if you’re not feeling up for it, you only have to say the word. You know that, right?”

“I know.” He leans down, hooking her chin with his index finger and guiding her eyes up. He needs to make sure she actually wants this, because he cannot fathom how she could after what he did to her. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

She grins mischievously, pushing him, forcing him to take steps backward until the back of his legs hit the settee, and then she shoves him hard. He could easily have stayed on his feet, but he lets her push him around. Illyria climbs atop him, straddling him.

He grasps her hips as her weight settles on him. Astarion’s hips hitch up involuntary, pressing his length into her with a grunt. She grinds against him, eliciting a gravelly moan from him.

Gods. She really still does love him, doesn't she? Even after everything he’s done to her, including all the things he did that he cannot even remember, she still wants him.

Illyria rolls her hips slowly over his cock, spreading her slick desire along his length and seeking out her own pleasure. It doesn’t bother him. In fact, he quite enjoys watching her like this; her eyes are heavily lidded and sensual, moaning when her clit drags across his cock.

She runs her fingers through his hair and down the ridge of his ear, which never fails to drive him fucking mad. A breathy hiss is expelled from his lungs, and he grabs her hips and forces them to sink further with a growl.

“You’re truly okay?” He asks breathily, the yearning starting to overtake his self-control. “With me? With us?”

“I’m really okay,” she smiles, leaning down to kiss him with such sweet devouring that he’s not sure what to do with his hands or where to touch because he wants all of her.

He can’t resist anymore, and his fingers curl into her hair, and he kisses her back with the same fervour. His heart begins to pound, and the sensation of the slick of her folds still stroking him sends another thrill down his spine. He helps her carefully take off the nightdress and throws it aside before their lips crash together again.

Illyria reaches down, stroking his soaked length, lifting her hips, and slipping the swollen, pink head of his cock in and out shallowly. She keeps him at the cusp of her entrance, teasing him until he’s whimpering, trying to grab her hips and shove them down.

“Ah-ah,” she tuts. “Eager, aren’t you?”

He can feel her wetness dripping down his shaft, further driving him mad. “Love,” he hisses. “Sit on my cock, or I swear-"

Astarion feels himself sink to the hilt in one rapid move, the sudden tightness around him bringing forth a surge of pleasure, making his head fall back and blanking his brain. “Gods. You’re so fucking perfect.”

His hips begin to roll, fucking her gently in a rocking motion. She squeezes him as he increases the pace of his thrusts, hands on her hips, making sure the angle is perfect to drag himself against her ridges and hit her spot.

She meets his thrusts, grinding to match his pace with her hand pressed against his chest over his heart. His eyes rake over every inch of her, the scars on her neck that mark her as his, the curve of her waist, and the lines of muscles that ripple beneath her skin as they flex with every move. She is the most breathtaking thing to ever walk this earth, and she’s all his, and he’s all hers. Now and forevermore.

“Fuck, Astarion,” she whimpers, and she looks at him open-mouthed and adoring.

Astarion’s hand drifts down her chest, running down her belly, and moves between her legs, finding her clit. He rubs slow circles around the border of the sensitive flesh, which instantly rewards him with a whimper, and her cunt tightens around him to the point it’s borderline painful.

“Do you love me?” He murmurs uncertainly and is desperate for reassurance. She is the only thing that burns in the darkness he gets lost in. She completes parts of him that are raw and sharp, her softness and fluidity rooted inside him, and she soothes that latent beast.

Her eyes open abruptly, likely feeling his unease in their bond. He doesn’t try to hide it anymore. She takes his face in her hands. “I’ve loved you since I met you, and nothing will ever change that. I will love you for eternity and well beyond,” she says in breathy pants.

His cock throbs inside her the moment she says those words, his breath catching in his throat. Astarion will never tire of hearing that beautiful hymn in his ears. A whimper leaves his lips.

She smiles — one of those smiles she only saves for him — unashamed of her fangs and kisses his cheek. Her hips increase their pace, and his thoughts scatter completely. He moans loudly, his hips jittering here and there as the tension starts to coil in his belly.

The rhythm at which she lifts and slides back down around him grows increasingly intense, and with it comes his own desire to chase his climax and empty himself into her. At this rate, he will not make it.

“I’d like to try something. I’ll need to take us back upstairs to bed.”

She slows, cocking her head at him. “I’m intrigued. Lead on.”

Astarion moves slowly, grabbing under her thighs and letting her wrap her arms around his neck. He effortlessly carries her back to their room.

He lays down on the bed, patting his chest. “Lay down on me and allow me to please you, yes? I will be cautious of your back.”

Illyria leans forward with no hesitation, kissing his chest and brushing her soft lips against him. He manages to find a way to hold her in a one-armed embrace that avoids what he’s done to her.

“If it gets too much, tell me,” he purrs.

With his feet firmly planted flat on the bed, Astarion begins to pulse his hips up into her, intensifying his pace incrementally until he’s snapping his hips hard and fast. His pulse races from the effort. His fingers work in harmony, sweeping and gliding in the way that makes her see stars.

“ Shit. Astarion,” she gasps, her body limp in his arms, engulfed totally in his ministrations. “Y-You. H-Hells. S-so good.”

Gods. He can feel her pleasure through the bond, and it only amplifies his. “I—I love you,” he whispers to her.

Astarion continues his upward pistoning until his own climax threatens to overpower him, and he has to bite his lower lip to keep his composure. It doesn’t work. He stills for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to focus on anything else. His cock is throbbing, begging for him to resume. When he opens his eyes, they meet Illyria’s, her breathing shattered, her knowing smile understanding why he needed a break.

She bites her wrist and brings it to his lips. “We wouldn’t want it to go to waste, would we?”

He laps at her with a low growl and then begins sucking, resuming his thrusting, hammering into her mercilessly. Astarion feels her orgasm near. Her fingers curl into his chest, her body tenses and trembling in his arms, her breathing uneven.

Hells below. Her blood in his mouth is an ambrosial divinity he will cherish until the end of time. The sensation of his cock stretching her, the ridges of his head dragging over her walls, and her sex increasingly tightening around him is going to throw him over the edge before her.

With a quick twerk of his hips, he changes the angle just slightly so that he’s more in line with the sensitive bundle of nerves inside her. The way she cries out with each strike lets him know he’s aligned himself just right.

A couple more powerful pumps, and Illyria comes, crying out loudly. Her body shudders, her back arching, and she slows his pace to drag out the remaining aftershocks of ecstasy. He revels in the feeling of her walls squeezing and clenching him, almost too much.

He relinquishes her wrist and rains small kisses on the top of her head and forehead. He rubs her arm until she quiets. She looks up at him, confused. “You didn’t come. Why?”

His cock is still buried in her, throbbing and switching insistently. He smiles down at her softly. “I’m right behind you, little love. I wanted to make sure you were done. Kiss me, will you?”

She shifts, moulding her lips to his. His hand cups her cheek, and he once again begins pounding into her dripping cunt, driving himself into her fast and deep. It’s not long before his own climax consumes him, and he comes with a series of low growls and grunts. His eyes shut, his hips stuttering out of tempo as he spills inside her in an intense wave of pleasure.

When his brain starts to function again, he finds her stroking his sweat-damp hair back with tired but adoring eyes. He glances at her back to make sure he didn’t harm her further, but it looks, well, terrible, but no worse than before.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says softly with a yawn. “I missed you quite terribly.” She taps his temple. “Missed this. I feel... incomplete somehow without you now.”

“Did you miss me or the sex?” He teases lightheartedly.

She shrugs and taunts him back. “Both, I suppose. The sex is fantastic, after all.”

“So you enjoyed that?” Astarion asks.

There are wisps of doubt niggling his mind. Was I too rough with her after what I did? Would it remind her of being held down? What if I frightened her?

“I did, very much. You weren’t too rough, and you do not scare me.” She smirks at his wide-eyed stare. “And you? Was it okay? You are okay?”

Shit. He sometimes forgets to shield his thoughts.

“Okay?” He scoffs at her capriciously. “Yes, darling. I had to take a break in the middle simply because it was feeling far too okay.”

She thumps him on the chest, and he covers her hand with this. “I missed you, too. I do not know where I go, but wherever I am, I am always trying to get back to you.”

Illyria brushes his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Are you still restless? You need to sleep, Astarion. I can feel how tired you are. Do not be afraid. I’ve got you.”

He smirks. “If I were, do you think you could be convinced to go another round?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As with most fic writers, I am a WHORE for comments. We appreciate even just an emoji. Please feed your fic writers the sustenance of comments 🥰

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Do you think she should have told him right away?

What will his reaction be when she does eventually tell me?

Also, who is ready for a cute intimate ceremony

#astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts #ascendant #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg #astarion ancunin #astarion ascended #astarion x oc #astarion angst

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