#gn! reader x astarion

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman (GN! Reader x Astarion)- Chapter One

Hello! This is my first fanfiction in a very long time so please be kind (I'm fragile)! I have played DND before, but I will be taking a few creative liberties. With the Deathbringer class, the ceremony for creating a Deathbringer is vague so I have based the ceremony on the Grey Warden ceremony (with creative liberties) in DA:O. Also with the mine (in background) think Markarth from Skyrim (Cidhna Mine). This is an Astarion x Reader based on my ongoing mental story that I am obsessed with and finally had to do something about it. I hope you enjoy!

Title is inspired by the song Dove Cameron sings. The picture of Astarion is is by @aristenfromwarsaw on Tumblr. Nightmask and Astarion’s tattoo are off the internet, the picture of Rowan is from my PlayStation lol!

Chapter Two

General INFOOOOOO:

Astarion x Gender Neutral! Reader. 

  The sex of the character is female so if I ever become brave enough to write smut, the smut will be male/female sex. Otherwise, the character will be going by They/Them pronouns. I will do my best to be consistent with this as I have not written a gender neutral character before! 

Trigger Warnings: mentions of Death, mentions of blood, mentions of torture, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of emotional abuse (not a lot)

Name: Rowan (I don’t care for Tav so I chose another Gender Neutral name)

Race: Half Drow Elf, red eyes, black hair, draconic sorcerer parents

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Class: Rogue

Subclass:Night Mask Deathbringer

Background: You are a Night Mask Deathbringer hailing from the Underbelly of Westgate. You spent the first 5 years of your life living happily in a grove with your sorcerer mother and your mercenary father- until a group of Ravenger’s killed your father, lit your town on fire, and sold all the women and children to a mine outside of Westgate. You remained working in that mine in poor conditions with your mother until you were 9. Your mother hatched an escape plan, but she became ill and you had to escape on your own. You live on the streets scavenging for food and fighting off attackers until you are 13 years old. Dahlia, the leader of the Assassin’s in the Night Mask Guild was scavenging for someone to drink from when she came across you. Dahlia watches you- a scrappy, skinny, feeble little thing fight off three older boys as they attempt to steal your food and your tent. Dahlia intervenes when the boys manage to overthrow you- draining them completely and leaving them to die.. She offers you a warm bed and a promise that you will never be hungry. That you will become the scariest thing in the darkness. After devoting 5 years to the Night Masks, you were deemed appropriate to become an A class assassin by going through a painful rite to become a Deathbringer- not quite undead, but not entirely alive either. As a pseudo vampire, you have become a powerful assassin despite your general disdain for tasteless killing. The money is good, you have a roof over your head, and your belly is always full- who wouldn’t become a little morally flexible? While taking care of a contract in Baldur’s Gate, a strange ship comes flying towards you…...

Chapter 1: Rowan (you!)

   Your head is throbbing when the smell of fresh grass hits your nose. Jolting upright with a start, you wince and press your hands against your eyes- desperately trying to get the black spots to fade away. 

What in the hells happened?

 You rub your eyes and slowly blink your way back into focus. You smell the stench of burning and look around to try to identify the source. 

  You survey the landscape and find that you are in the woods next to a stream with a precarious light shining brightly behind a large rock. Turning your head again, you see dark smoke coming up from somewhere beyond the trees. 

Suddenly, the events of the last 24 hours begin to replay in your head.

   The Nautiloid. La’Zeal. Shadowheart. Oh gods they are going to kill each other if I don’t find them quickly.

    You had met the two women on the Nautiloid when that thing put a disgusting, worm in your head. In response to your contempt, the worm wiggles behind your eye to make it’s presence known. 

   Despite how well you had fought together, the other two women had made it very clear that they had no intention of “bonding in the name of womanhood” as Dahlia would say as she whipped you for insubordination. It was hardly bonding- unless you count thick leather and your bareskin. 

   Slowly you get to your feet and test out your balance. Solid. All is well and there isn’t a single scratch on you. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Patting yourself down, you find that your daggers are still intact and your two hidden blades are not broken. Testing them, you watch as they slide smoothly out of your wrist guards and follow the curve of your index fingers. You smirk.

      Excellent, now time to make sure the glowing rock won’t kill me.

     You creep along the forest floor, barely making a peep as you approach the rock. You hear the sound of a woman groaning. You reach for your daggers as you go around the rock, brandishing your weapons- only to see a Tiefling woman on GODS DAMN FIRE! 

       She offers you a tense smile.

 “That looks incredibly uncomfortable,” you say awkwardly. You wince at how scratchy your voice sounds. You were never really one for “friends” and preferred to rely on yourself. You were less likely to suffer from heartache and Dahlia had been less likely to beat you that way. She once found you and your crush, Tessa, making out in an alleyway. Tessa was a warlock in training at a local guild and you had quickly been consumed by your love for her at the age of 13.

“Becoming attached is a weakness. Falling in love is a weakness. You will do no such things girl. You are a divine monster in the making. You are not made for love, only death and servitude.”

Once you had been deemed a Deathbringer, she never tortured you again and you never attempted to get close to anyone out of fear that the beatings would start up again. You would obey and you would serve- that kept you safe. And Tessa? Well, Dahlia killed her.

 “Oh this?” the Tiefling says with a heavy breath, “I have never felt better.”

   The fire begins to settle around the Tiefling. She stares back at you with investigative eyes- your weapon already sheathed, your eyes giving away your weariness. 

   The Tieflings eyes glow with recognition, “Well fuck me! It’s you! From the Nautiloid. Pleaseeeee tell me I found you before those so called ‘Paladins’ of Tyr did.” 

 She looks at you with desperation and nerves. You pretend to think about it, trying to assess the Tiefling’s posture and disposition. She appears to be friendly and open like a puppy- not what you would expect from someone who was just literally on fire and is now looking at you like they are on the verge of a panic attack.

  You shrug, “Fortunately for you, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 The Tieflings beams at you with a happiness you never thought was possible in your presence. 

“We really shouldn’t spend too much time here. These so called paladins-”

The Tiefling is interrupted by the worm screaming visions into your heads. You see her on the front lines of the Blood War- scorching rage erupting from her being, but a sense of melancholy underneath. The mantra I will be free chanting in your head. 

  You feel your own vision come screeching into your head as she dives into your brain. You try to resist and control what she sees to the best of your ability, but she sees it. The ceremony that turned you into what you are. The way your body felt when Orbhak drank your blood. The radiating pain in your muscles as you try to keep yourself alive- resisting the urge to scream while your muscles cramp. The way he allowed your blood to drip slowly into your mouth from his wrist- your body aching to survive.

  She feels the way your new found power bursts through you- painful and like ice, your body numb. Then nothing.

   “What in the hells was that!?” 

      She matches your weary eyes with curiosity. You shrug, “I think it’s the tadpole,” you pause to fling your arms around to paint the worm (?) when she looks at you with confusion,  “The- Mindflayer? put it in our heads.”

You say it with a finality that even shocks you. You have a tadpole. In your head!

She stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes before she curses out loud.

    After further conversation, she tells you that her name is Karlach and she asks you to assist her in killing the people after her. You decide to help her kill the supposed “Paladins of Tyr” in exchange for assistance in finding Shadowheart and La’Zeal. The sooner the unwanted visitor is dealt with, the sooner you can go back to solitude and safety. There is safety in numbers after all.

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

    You are setting up camp with Karlach as she vibrantly retells the day’s earlier events.

 “And your eyes!” She exclaims, looking at you in wonder, “A single change of color and you had that man PISSING himself in fear!”

     Karlach cackles as you give her a wide, appreciative smile. You never felt like your ability was something that others would find acceptable or in this case, admirable. The praise itself was uncomfortable, but your soul aches to bask in it- to feel something other than loathing. After the battle, Karlach had basically begged you to explain what you are and how you became so “magestic” as she put it. Despite your better instincts, you trust her and find that you actually enjoy her company. She takes your whole “not quite alive” thing very well.

Karlach is intelligent and quick. Her smile is infectious as she preached her love for being free from Avernus as they set up camp.

 You smile to yourself sadly, “I guess I haven’t ever actually used my vampiric stare on myself so I have no idea what you are talking about.”

   She stares at you and leans forward across the log, “Your eyes, they go from being bright like the earth to red like blood.”

 Ah. you thought, begrudgingly, my inner murderer is showing.

  Embarrassingly enough, you never looked so you didn’t know. You didn’t really care to look either- the hype wearing off after the first 6 months before you learned to use your stare.  5 and a half years later and you feel apathetic towards your condition. You often wonder if you could have been powerful without the whole “immortal, spooky semi-vampire thing”. 

    You push that thought aside as Karlach continues to highlight both of your best moments in combat. You chime in occasionally, finding your voice and your charisma deep within you- unaware of the individuals watching your camp.

[destructive-poet]

tav complaining to shadowheart abt their period

everything’s fine until she realizes how energetic astarion is in combat the next day.

and then it just kind of. hits her.

she gives tav the most offended and disgusted look mid-battle.

(secretly though she’s not a freak-shamer I think she supports their endeavors)

[astarion-approves]

More than sex.

Astarion x gn! Tav

"You’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?”

“Yes.”

Rating: Mature (for the subject but no actual sex or smut in any way shape or form.) Tags: Demisexuality, demisexual Tav, Demisexual Reader, No Smut, gn! Reader, Slight spoilers, Act One spoilers, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, Drabble, short and sweet, Confessions

Ao3 or keep reading below:

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

“I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

Tav considered these words, anytime they saw Astarion having ‘fun’ was on the battlefield. Either stabbing his way through anything that stood before him, or sneaking up behind them and slitting their throat before they could even scream. “And what’s your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

Astarion smiled, taking a sip of his cheap wine before speaking, “By the hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” 

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. So, how about—“

“Shadowheart is free.” Tav looked over their shoulder to where she stood by her own tent where she fiddled with a bottle of wine attempting to open it with slow hands. 

“Wait, what—“ Astarion shifted to look past Tav to where she stood, the woman catching his gaze and glaring in return. 

“And she’s really pretty too,” Tav offered. 

“I’m not interested in hearing her praise her goddess tonight.” 

“Well, there’s also Lae’zel—“

Astarion shook his head. “I think she would rather behead me before she would ever bed me.”

“Halsin is available too—“ The Druid elf was handsome, and such a powerful one at that but before Tav could even finish, Astarion cut them off.

“Tempting, but not the one I’m interested in.” 

“Gale���“

“No.” 

Tav hummed, putting their hands on their hips as they scanned the rest of the camp. There were many others, but most were already too drunk to even remember their own names. “I can’t think of anyone else.” 

“There’s always you, darling.” 

“Me?” Tav snorted a laugh. Surely he must have been joking. Of all the people that Astarion could have… Tav would personally put themselves at the bottom of the list. 

“Yes, you. It’s not everyday someone like yourself would be propositioned by someone like me, and this may be your last opportunity—“

“No thank you.” 

“No?! What do you mean ‘no’?!” Astarion was shocked, his hands jumping to his chest as if Tav had stabbed him directly in the heart. 

Tav grimaced, the way that Astarion’s face dropped, the hurt that filled his eyes so quickly… “Look, I’m not… rejecting you—“

“Sure sounds like rejection to me—“

They shook their head. “I need to be in love first… before I can…” Tav lifted their hands, gesturing towards Astarion in a weak display of trying to find the words and failing. “Don’t get me wrong… you’re- you are breathtaking, Astarion. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on—“ 

“Yes, I know. But– you’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?” 

“Yes.”

Astarion paused, taken aback. “Well, that’s actually quite admirable… But why?” 

“For me, I want it to mean something. Sex is an easily obtainable thing, but love… love you have to work for, to fight for, to earn and to cherish. Sex is great and all but… making love to the person who means the most to you in the world. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.” 

Astarion tapped his finger against his lips, thinking to himself before speaking again. “Hm. Sex and love, I never took you for such a sap,” he said with a light laugh. “Well, how do you feel about being friends then, hm? The kind of friends that protect one another, that is.” 

Tav chuckled. “I think it’s too late for that.” 

“Too late?! So what, now we can’t even be friends?!” Astarion threw his hands up, frustrated. “All I did was hit on you and now—“ 

“No, no,” Tav cut him off, reaching for Astarion’s hands and holding them gently. “What I mean… We can be friends but… I have developed some feelings for you. If you want to be friends, that’s fine. That’s great, actually. I just… well, I need to know if I should ignore those feelings—“  

Astatrion pulled his hands way, choosing to gesture towards Tav as he spoke. “So, let me get this straight. You have ‘some’ feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Tav replied with a nod. 

“But you don’t want to fuck me, tonight? Right now?” 

“Right.” They nodded again. 

“How very interesting… and even.. a little refreshing,” Astarion smiled, a smile that almost seemed shy… With his head turning away from Tav—and Tav swore they saw the smallest blush growing on his cheeks. 

“Refreshing?” Tav questioned, learning towards Astarion in an attempt to see that adorable blush— 

Astarion waved them off, the blush already gone and Astarion back to his usual self. “Never mind that, Tav. I guess we can see where this goes then?” He reached out, taking Tav’s hand into his own and giving it a light squeeze. “Whatever this is, anyway.” 

Tav smiled. “I’d like that.” 

[bluebells-and-dragonflies]

Imagine Astarion with ears so sensitive that he's never willingly allowed anyone to touch them except for you. Imagine laying next to him in your bed, facing him, lifting your hand up slowly for that first touch. His eyes on yours, the rapidity of the breath he doesn't need to take, but still does reflexively. Seeing that he's nervous, but that he's trusting you, feeling his shaking hand come to rest on your waist. The audible sound he makes- half a moan, half a gasp- when you finally brush your thumb over the soft skin at the tip of his ear.

You trace the long shell of his ear and watch his pretty eyes, deep red like velvet in the moonlight, flutter shut. He says your name softly, as close as you've ever heard him to prayer. You pinch his earlobe gently, and his hips roll forward involuntarily, the jut of his hipbone pressing against your thigh as he makes himself still. Heat flares low in your belly, but you tamp it down as quickly as possible- likewise, Astarion makes himself still against you. This isn't sex and won't become sex, you'd promised each other (though that's not to say that you won't explore this thoroughly during one of your hours-long lovemaking sessions. He is all about experimentation these days, after all).

You lay there, touching him in his most vulnerable place, with reverence and grace and occasionally disbelief that you could be here at all with this beautiful, horrible, ridiculous and wonderful man, that you could be trusted so completely. You take in his every shuddering breath, the flexing of his fingers in your shirt, the softness of his mouth when he presses his lips to yours and tells you he loves you. If you have your way, if he has his, if somehow your utterly insane lives hold together for a year or a decade or ten, it will always be like this.

[sharkboywrites]

Friendly reminders to cis fanfic writers that afab≠woman

Afab means assigned female at birth so this includes/can include cis women, trans men, transmasc people, nonbinary people, and intersex people.

If you’re making a fic where the reader is a woman, uses she/her, wears feminine clothing, etc. tag it as fem reader instead.

I’ve been smacked in the face as a trans man by reading fics tagged afab thinking it will be gender neutral, but the reader is actually a woman and I’m disappointed because I was ready for a fic I thought would apply to me.

Have fun writing and make sure you’re tagging your fics properly, ty <3

[whiskeyskin]

Love and Longing

Premise: When Elminster delivers Mystra's blessing to reprieve Gale from the Orb's volitile nature, there's a certain something he's been denying himself for over a year and he's finally alone in his tent 👀🍆💦

• Gale x gn!tav �� 18+ • E/M Rating

Gale's POV, reader referred as "you", no mention of specific pronouns or genitals, porn without plot, male masturbation, fantasising, oral both recieving, penetration, jealousy, love, longing, horny!gale, fluff, lemons, Astarion x gn!tav referenced, marking if you squint

1.9k words

Gods bless you @wizardblood for this gifset we gladly receive 🥵✨

Part 2 here, if you like that sort of thing?

A/N: Y'all are making me UGLY CRYY WITH JOY AT THESE LOVELY COMMENTS 😭😭😚😚 Thank you for over 800 notes!! You beautiful, thirsty creatures 😏💜

A/N: 1k NOTES?! 🥹🥹 I love each and every SINGLE one of you 😚✨

_____________________________

Gale looked down at the solid protrusion currently causing his bedroll to tent, attempting to keep his breathing even.

It had been what felt like an age since he'd allowed himself to indulge in arousal.

He lay under the blankets, naked as a babe, anticipation crackling in the air around him.

After removing the charm on his underwear to suppress such feelings, it had all come flooding back.

Especially with you around.

His attraction to you was undeniable, however much he thought it impossible; especially after his heartbreak with Mystra. Nevertheless, his feelings for you grew with each step you took, every kind word and all the good you sought to accomplish.

You'd spoken in his defense passionately when Elminster had delivered Mystra's word; the fire in your heart had rivalled that of Karlach.

You'd vowed that there was another way to be found. That you wouldn't allow him to sacrifice himself.

And he loved you for it.

Gods dammit, he did.

He'd fallen hard for you.

He tried to deny it, of course.

It wouldn't lead anywhere.

He had to die.

It was his destiny to end the Absolute, whatever the cost.

No matter stolen glances across the campfire. Ignoring the heated moment of magic between you, where you'd shown him how you felt for him.

Besides, you'd taken Astarion to bed multiple times since the Tiefling party. He couldn't compete with the sultry advances of the Pale Elf.

His paultry offerings of affection wouldn't stand a chance.

But still, a part of him envisioned what life could be like if it was spent by your side.

Hearth crackling, the day's sun swooping low in the sky across the water, two arm chairs and a bottle of wine.. candle light and the smell of strawberries, sweat and arousal. The sound of your voice against his ear, the feeling of your wet, ribbed warmth welcoming him home after a long and stressful day.

Gale licked his bottom lip, his breathing heavy. He reached a hand under the sheets, in the privacy of his tent, to indulge in thoughts of you.

Gods, he wanted to use his mouth on you, he wanted to drown in your heady scent. He would press kisses against your inner thighs, teasing and tormenting, languishing tongue and teeth.

Your unfettered arousal evident before him as he would glide his mouth up your sex, tasting your sweetness and salt. You'd moan his name and wind a fist into his hair, sending sparks through his scalp.

He took the tip of himself in his first fingers, pre-cum had already gathered between the slit and dripped onto his stomach.

Taking a deep breath, he began to gently pulse the head. He hissed as blinding pleasure seared across his vision and sunk low in his belly.

"Ahhh.." he exhaled, with a widening, sinful grin.

Finally, he could touch himself after all these months.

He gritted his teeth against another groan that tried to escape. The sensation of oanism foreign to him but welcome, thoughts of you flooding his mind, as he fell into an old, familiar rhythm.

Oh, you would moan so sweetly underneath him, as he filled you to the brim with his cock. You'd envelop him to the root, sensually clenching your walls around his girth.

Gale replicated the feeling by adding a second hand to squeeze, imagining you enveloping him.

He moved slow and deliberate, like you were taking him for the first time. Every rib of his fingers torture against his sensitive flesh. He pumped his hands in unison, along the thick, veined length of himself, building up the pressure constricting his erection, increasing the speed and fantasizing that he was entangled in your loving embrace.

He'd hold your legs aloft, parted just for him. You'd bray like a wild animal in heat, with the need for his throbbing length to ride you to climax.

One hand clumsily slid to cup his testicles, to massage them and drive him closer to the edge. His hips gyrated at nothing, rutting against the thought of you.

You'd climb to take control and ride him like a stallion through the night. He would hear the salacious slapping of your cheeks against his hips, as he'd watch you bounce yourself in wanton bliss.

He'd hold on to your waist, fingertips digging in hard enough to cause contusions.

He wanted to bruise you, claim you as his own. He wanted to sucker his ownership right over Astarion's bite marks.

He had no right to this ugly and repulsive feeling of jealousy, he knew this.. but he couldn't help himself.

They both vied for your attention and he couldn't stand that Astarion had tasted you when he hadn't.

He wanted to hear your cries as he fucked up into you, slamming your hips down on him harder. Gods, he wanted his name on your lips.

Gale licked the sweat gathering on his top lip; he imagined it was you tasting him.

He fantasied about you using your beautiful mouth on him. You'd cover his body in long, wet, trailing kisses before you'd take him in your mouth. You'd gorge on his cock until he couldn't breathe. Your skillful tongue needy to please him. Your hands wielding a very different kind of weapon, sheathing it entirely down your spectacular throat.

You'd look up at him through lidded gaze, his hard length completely engulfed. The contact would be searing, it would burn him to the spot, it would ignite his soul and turn him to willingly to ash.

There would be love and devotion in your eyes, blissful happiness in your heart.

Gale swallowed and shook his head from side to side.

He wanted to see you.

Wanted you to see him.

See him like this for you.

Helpless and desperate for just a moment of you.

He wanted you to look at him with adoring eyes that turn lustful, when you see him abusing himself, with your name on his lips.

Gale uttered the illusion cantrip and you appeared on your knees beside him. He gasped and smiled brightly at you. He knew it wasn't real but gods he wanted it to be.

You smiled back at him, infatuation shining in your eyes.

"Gale.." softly came the only word he'd been able to summon you to utter. It was warped but it was still your voice. It was still you.

He threw back the covers so you could see him. See all of him. Naked. So you could drink in the sight of him stroking his thick, alert and wanting cock to the thought of you.

"It's for you. Only for you. Going to come for you-just for you." He managed, his voice husky from lust.

"Gale.." You whispered, licking your lower lip and gliding your hands up your strong thighs. You cup yourself through your camp garb and palm yourself in circles, "Gale.." you moan, throwing your head back slightly as you ground against your hand.

His hips twitched unconsciously at seeing your image pleasuring yourself for his enjoyment. That you felt this joy together.

A rumble started to build behind his cock, it tightened around his belly and coiled itself around his legs. It rose through his chest, painfully electrifying his nipples to stiff points, as it wound it's way to the base of his skull. There it gripped him, held him, allowed him to go no further.

He whined in frustration. Gods he wanted to come, it had been so long, so very long.

"Gale..?" Came your voice, he looked at you and his stomach flipped uncomfortably in desire.

You looked spectacular; hair mussed, eyes glassy and wide, lips pink and swollen from lust. Still touching yourself through your clothes, rocking vigorously against the friction.

You placed a hand on your heart and threw your head back in ecstasy. His body began to violently tremble in anticipation.

Oh gods, you looked resplendent on the precipice of orgasm.

"Gale!" You whimpered, sweat glistening on your skin, "Gale.. Gale.. Gale.." you moaned between breaths, your image replicating the noises he'd overheard when you'd snuck into the forest, and committed to memory. The reckless abandon of your heady moans of pleasure. Your face tightened and released, your mouth falling open to gasp.

The desire at the back of his head suddenly pulled taut, every muscle strained, pressure swelling behind his erection. His eyes rolled back in his head, before he came undone.

He jerked and thrashed on his bedroll, trying and failing to keep his ministrations to himself. Thick spurts of cum shot over his stomach, chest and neck, as he came hard for you.

"For you-all for you-only for you." He whimpered, his jaw tense, teeth bared.

He pumped raggedly, squeezing every single drop of his seed from himself. It was almost to the point of pain but the pleasure balanced it perfectly to make the suffering delicious. His muscles seized and toes curled to their fullest extent, as he huffed out a breath and lay feeling weightless on the carpeted interior of his tent.

Gale lay there breathing heavily, sweat damp on his brow. His softening cock still pulsating with after effects, within his loose grasp, as his brain buzzed with static.

His heart felt twice it's size and his entire being was in total elated relaxation, with a doltish smile plastered across his face.

He could quite happily lay like this forever.

It had been so long.

He couldn't remember release being like this.

It was.. dizzying.. violent.. euphoric.. transcendent.. monumentous..

sticky..

cold..

uncomfortable..

"Oh no." Gale groaned, as he looked down on his masterpiece.

Your image had disappeared; there was no way he couldn't have concentrated through that kind of orgasm, even if his life depended on it.. and Mystra's eyelids, the mess he'd made of himself.

His cum lay heavy on his stomach and chest, spattered up to his neck and jaw. Hells, it was even on the floor!

He internally grumbled to himself.

This was the not so fun part of masturbation.

The sharp thud back to reality and the clean up.

He sighed. Well, that was short lived.

Lucky for a Wizard, clearing away the stains of his growing shame, was painless.

Gale waved his hand and the evidence of his debauchery disappeared.

He suddenly felt empty and hollow. The euphoria of release gone all too soon. Slumping back on to his bedroll and bringing the covers up against the chill, he frowned to himself, a cavernous feeling in his chest.

Gale waved his hand, using his last spell slot to conjure your image again.

You appeared laid down with him, tucked closely, your stunning eyes soft and content.

His heart ached; he wanted this.

It didn't matter how much he denied it, he knew what love felt like in the beginning and this was it.

This wasn't because of a covetous, lustful haze from the urgency of ejaculation.

It was comfort.

It was safety.

It was love.

And it terrified him.

More than the thought of ending as a small blip in the farest reaches of the realm. More than dying alone in excruciating agony.

Falling in love with you scared him because it meant that now, he had something to live for.

You smiled sleepily at him and readjusted yourself to get comfortable beside him.

"Night." You whispered, blowing him a slow kiss, closed your eyes and curled in nearer to him.

He stared longingly at your resting form; you looked so peaceful. Wet stinging burned his eyes and he sniffed dryly.

He needed to get to sleep.

He really should..

You'd only last a minute.

He couldn't bare the thought of opening his eyes again without you there, laying beside him..

Tears fell from his eyes and dripped to his pillow, as he shut them tight, "Goodnight, my love."

•°•°•

Part 2

Or.. I've got a Masterlist.. yuh know.. if you like this sort of stuff 👀😏

[graveyardcuddles]

Do you ever think about how intensely Astarion must be able to not only hear but also feel his partner's heartbeat and breathing thrumming through his own body when they have sex? It's why he would probably really love cockwarming his partner or being cockwarmed by them so much. To slow down and savor the melody of his love's body. The intimacy of listening to their pulse and memorizing how it feels as it changes rhythm, speeding up with excitement and pleasure.

Chest-to-chest, his unnaturally still, undead body feeling the reverberation from his lover either around him or inside of his own body. Feeding on their energy. Relishing in the aliveness of their body echoing throughout his body. It probably makes him feel as if he's alive again himself, helps him remember what it feels like to have a beating heart in his chest as he feels theirs, pressed up against his body and their blood coursing through his veins. He feels very much alive again.

[kittenintheden]

Let Go

just a horny lil thing nbd

Rating: E Word Count: >1k Content: 18+, fluff, gentle sex, making love on a bearskin rug and being mushy about it, gender neutral reader

---

It's taken time, encouragement, and familiarity to reach this point, but you're here now. Lost in bliss, riding your love's lap as he continues to take his pleasure in you. You've come already, of course, because Astarion is nothing if not a stubbornly attentive lover.

It's been work for both of you to get to this place of true comfort, of true loving abandon, and it's been so very worth it. Your post-orgasmic haze leaves your focus soft and glowing, your hands knit together behind his neck as you ride him, watching him finally let himself go and enjoy the moment to the fullest. A little selfishness. A little self-focus.

His eyes are closed as he sinks into the sensation of you, his arms wrapped around your back as he thrusts up, up, up, your body gently bouncing from it. Long and languid strokes going much sloppier than he'd normally allow, so many months ago, but he's no longer obsessed with the performance of the thing. He's here. He's inside you. He's letting himself feel it all.

Astarion takes a hand from your back and spreads it out against the bearskin rug where you're making love, giving himself more leverage as he lifts himself into your pliant heat. His breath comes in short bursts, little puffs past his lips. He tries to interject his favorite sultry quips when he can -- he is a man who loves the sound of his own voice -- but even those come out piecemeal.

"So hot inside," he pants, resting his forehead against the side of your cheek. "Feel so… bloody good. Want to… want to… I… please can I…"

You watch his face, the tension between his brows as his pleasure climbs, the way his lips part, the tips of his teeth just peeking through. His hair, his pride, falling unkempt and sweaty across his forehead. Your own body is stretched with aching pleasure, your recent peak leaving you sated and delighting in the simple joy of feeling him inside you.

It's magic, seeing him like this. No grand gestures, no performative moves, no catalog of exciting positions. Its just you, and him, and your collective ecstasy. Your collective love made physical. You smile to yourself, secret, and reach up gentle fingers to caress his ear, thumb rubbing soft circles, stroking along it lobe to tip, and he groans as he leans his head into it.

"Going to make… going to make me come, I… can't…" he stutters.

You know. You know exactly what you're doing, and you're rewarded with a long roll of his hips up into yours, his fingers gripping you tight, and the wrinkle in his brow smoothing out into relaxed rapture as his mouth stretches into a lazy, contented smile before it drops open. You watch the journey across his face as he reaches the crest of his wave and then crashes down with it to the other side.

He holds you tighter to him as he shivers, his last thrusts shallow and messy.

"Gods, gods, gods," he whimpers, going softer, going weaker, going still.

When he finally opens his heavy eyelids to look upon you, you know there are stars in your eyes. There is simply nothing like watching him let go for you. With you.

[a-case-of-attachment]

Astarion didn’t get jealous.

Scared and lonely? Well yes, of course he did. He even felt angry and vengeful as well but when one considers the life he had been forced to live up until his involuntary relocation to the nautiloid you could hardly blame him for feeling those things.

He couldn’t really remember being jealous of anyone or anything in the short years he had lived before being turned. Then again, he couldn’t really remember much from then at all. Not how he looked, his mother’s name or even if there had been someone for him to love and cherish. Everything important was gone, like it had been swallowed up by a dense fog and no matter how much he search all he ever found was more nothingness. Hardly a good reference point when trying to remember if you had experienced something before or were just familiar with the concept from books.

It was possible he had once been jealous of Cazador’s chosen few. The favourites that had gotten to rest in actual beds and spared the crueller torments that often befell the spawn. Not forced to lay on the cold and unforgiving floor, surrounded by rotting rat carcasses and the smell of fresh and old spawn blood so thick in the air that it felt like he was choking on the stuff.

Maybe that had been jealousy, but Astarion thought it had been more spiteful envy. More angry and covetous of the reprieve then jealous of the attention the favoured few got. He didn’t want to be one of those pathetic, snivelling devotees that scurried around behind Cazador like roaches, blinded by their idiotic belief that all the pain and suffering meant something. That there would be a worthwhile reward at the end of it all. No, all Astarion had wanted was to be treated with just a shred of common decency. Something that he had been denied until he had been fortunate enough to find you after the crash.

So yes, Astarion was sure that he had never been jealous before yet here he was, most certain that as he stared across the fire of their ever-growing camp that was exactly what he was feeling.

You and Gale were huddled close together just outside his tent, heads leaning towards the other and whispering as you both poured over the pages of whatever spell book the wizard had pilfered from the bandit camp, they had raided just that morn. You were smiling, laughing as the idiotic man waved his free hand about, clearly regaling you with a tale that he was heavily embellishing if not outright lying about. You seemed to be enjoying it though, encouraging him with your sweet laughter and wide smiles even as you shook your head in disbelief.

Normally Astarion wouldn’t care if you were feeling gracious and decided to bestow one of your ever hopeful companions with your attention. Astarion was always the one you went too first when arriving back at camp. He was always the one whose flirtations you returned and the only one in their camp of weirdos and misfits who could say they had seen you naked and on more than one occasion at that. He was the one who’s attention you sought. The one you always made time for. Him. Not anyone else…normally but tonight wasn’t like normal because tonight when Astarion had approached you, all charming smiles and quick wit you had done the unthinkable and he had been left staring after you in shock and disbelief like a complete idiot because tonight, you had said no.

Now, don’t misunderstand, you were allowed to say no. He wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want like he had been. Sure, there had been a playful back and forth a time or two. You like to tease him as much as he did you, playing hard to get and making him work for every stollen moment and mouthful of liquid gold that ran through your veins, but it had been playful, done with a teasing smirk and eyes full of promise. Astarion had known that with the right word, the perfect brush of fingers and a well-timed appreciative once over that you would be putty in his hands, willing and open to his advances and what that would lead to. You had never outright said no to him before and for Gale for god’s sake.

Had you maybe hit your head on their last little adventure, and no one had noticed. Perhaps you might even be under some sort of spell or enchantment. Whatever it was there had to be some sort of explanation for this, this madness because there was no logical reason as why you would suddenly up and abandon him for Gale of bloody Waterdeep.

You laughed again, louder this time. Your smile wide and eyes practically glowing with it. Astarion’s mood darkened even more, his eyebrows furrowing as his scowl deepened. Honestly, what in the hells could be so funny about the dull drivel Gale passed off as story’s of his adventures? If you wanted a story, then Astarion could spin you a tale so grand and fanciful that whatever rubbish Gale was regaling you with would look like a child’s bedtime story.

Huffing he turned away, his grip on the book he had been pretending to read for the better part of an hour tightening as yours and Gale's laughter mingled in the air like wine and vinegar. He was not jealous. He wasn’t. He just didn’t like Gale’s barking bellow he called a laugh mixing with your melodic and light one. Really, he would be doing everyone a favour if he went over there and stole you away. It wouldn’t mean anything. Wouldn’t mean that Astarion was hurt and angry that you would want to spend time with Gale instead of him. You were free to do whatever you wanted. He wasn’t your keeper, and you were more than capable of making decisions for yourself even if those choices were clearly wrong.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed as he watched Gale subtly move closer to you, using the small spell book he had suddenly pulled from his pocket as a rather poor excuse to draw you in. The two of you were so close now that a leaf would barely fit between you. He couldn’t see what Gale was showing you anymore but what he could see was how Gale was looking at you. His head was turned towards you, his eyes soft and full of longing as his voice dropped into something gentle, smoother. You seemed oblivious to the shift in tone, your eyes and attention fixed on the book between you, but Astarion could see it all. Gale was a man in love and longing, looking at you like you were the most breathtaking piece of art and the first drop of rain after a drought. It was uncomfortable to watch what Gale probably intend to be a private moment and it made something squirm and tighten in Astarion’s stomach.

Everyone knew that Gale had romantic feelings for you, well, everyone except you but you didn’t seem to notice that almost everyone in their weird little group wanted you in one way or another. Astarion was sure that at least three of the others were halfway in love with you and those that weren’t coveted your body. Gale though, he was the one who had fallen hardest, his feelings as clear as if he had spelt them out with fireworks in the midnight sky.

Astarion had been so smug at first when you had started to favour his company over everyone else’s. He had been able to see the wizard’s heartache and longing, but he had scoffed at the foolish man’s feelings, making a grand show of whisking you off to his tent or other less crowded parts of the camp so he could have you all to himself. It had been a heady rush to have all your attention on him, to become the sole focus of someone who wasn’t expecting him to take his clothes off and seemed to genuinely enjoy his quick wit and rather scathing comments.

He had taken a rather perverse joy in calling you darling and seeing Gale scowl as you smiled ever so sweetly at Astarion. He had been so free with his touch, everything from a simple brush down after a fight to cupping your jaw or brushing his fingers gently across your cheek. He was the only one you allowed to touch you so openly, practically inviting him to lay a hand on you whether that be the small of your back, the inside of your thigh or even your hand, your fingers laced together. Gale had seen it all and Astarion had thought the wizard had understood that you were off limits to the likes of him, but the fool had apparently not given up hope and thought to worm his way into your good graces with made up stories of grandeur and whispered spells.

You turned your head towards him, a question on your lips that quickly vanished as your eyes widened, finally realising how close Gale had gotten whilst your attention was elsewhere. Time seemed to slow then, the world around him falling silent as everything else fell away apart for the two people in front of him.

Gale’s eyes fell from your eyes down to your slightly parted lips. His tongue slowly wetting his lips and giving them a slight shine. His eyes went back to yours, a flicker of uncertainty dancing through them before determination set in. He shifted, the dull thump of the forgotten book hitting the floor not enough to break the intense staring the two of you were doing. Your breath hitched, eyes widening impossibly more as you and Astarion both seemed to realise what was about to happen at the same time.

Astarion had never moved so quickly in his life before.

One second, he had been sat across the other side of the camp, book open but forgotten in his lap as he watched you light up for Gale and the next, he was up and across the space before the book even had time to fall closed. His fingers curled around your arm, and he yanked you rather violently onto your feet and away from the wizards’ searching lips. “Ahh!” Your surprised cry was loud, most likely drawing the others attention but Astarion barely even heard it, his eyes fixed on Gale who had jerked back at your sudden disappearance.

“There you are my darling.” Astarion smiled brightly, his voice loud and cheerful as he spoke over your stuttering indignation at having been so roughly handled. Gale was glaring back at him now, hands curled into fists on his thighs and practically vibrating with anger. Though he supposed it could always be the magic he was always consuming to keep from blowing himself and more importantly them up. It could be quite hard to tell sometimes and Astarion didn’t care enough about the other man to actually bother to work it out. All he knew was that he had to get you away from him before Gale got another one of his disastrously good ideas and tried to make yet another attempt on your lips. “So sorry to break up this little,” Astarion slowly dragged his eyes over Gale, hardly able to keep the sneer out of his voice, “dalliance but there is something I need your assistance with love.” He didn’t wait for an answer from either of them, spinning on his heels and dragging you along behind him. “Astarion!” you hissed in a mix of annoyance and disbelief, but you didn’t stop him, didn’t even try and break free of his hold, just letting him quickly lead you across the small camp and towards the tree line.

Now with a part two!!

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

I have a request for Astarion ! What if reader is usually the one being seduced by Astarion (because that's how he is) but reader one day does the very chivalrous hand kissing to Astarion after maybe protecting him from an enemy?

Rizz if you will.

It's Called Chivalry, Darling

pairing : astarion x (gn) reader

summary : astarion makes a point to be chivalrous so you return the favour to distract him from being worried.

warnings :talk about weapons and fighting, reader gets hurt.

a/n: thanks sm for your request :). i tried my hardest to execute this idea, i hope you like it anon :0 (i have not played baldurs gate)

“I think we could stock up there. ” You point to a row of buildings, signs practically unreadable, grabbing the attention of the others in your group. They all hum in agreement before heading off in their own directions. The only store you assume you’ll be needing is a general store, so you head in that direction. 

You reach for the handle but someone else's hand beats you to it, pulling it open for you. Turning to look, you make eye contact with the ever handsome Astarion, smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Why’re you opening the door for me? What do you want?” You point an accusatory finger in his face, causing him to chuckle. His laugh is so soft it almost makes you drop your finger. 

“It’s called chivalry, my dear. You aren’t familiar?” He follows behind you as you enter the store, rolling your eyes at him. The store is mostly empty, besides a few men looking through the wares available. But even with all the open space for him to walk, Astarion seems to tail you as if the store is crowded. 

“Ooh get some more of that stuff, remember you used it on me? It made that cut on my arm feel like nothing.” He points from behind you at a healing balm in a small, glass jar. You stop in your tracks to grab it, causing Astarion to push into your back, and you look back at him with a confused stare. 

“Why’d you stop? ” His brows are furrowed, face close to yours.

“Why are you walking so close to me?”

“I just can’t stand to be far from you, my love,” He places his hand on his chest dramatically, voice incredibly theatrical as if he wasn’t already dramatic enough. You're sure that people in the store are shooting glances your way but, unusually, you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when Astarion is looking down at you with playful eyes and a giddy smile on his face. He looks so sweet like this, so free of worry and attitude, his guard is down. But you can't let him realize your thoughts, so before he could even notice your staring you force your face to remain as stoic as before.

You once again roll your eyes then continue your search for anything the group may need. Once you finish you head towards the door, making a point to open the door for yourself which causes Astarion to grunt in disapproval. 

The group finds each other once more and you head out of town, fully prepared for what might be ahead. At least that's what you think, maybe a stupid thought considering you're never truly safe on this perilous journey.

As you travel along the trail, your group seems to split off into its own smaller groups. Whispering and laughing with eachother, making far too much noise in your opinion. And Astarion, slowly trickling from the front all the way to the back where you're walking, finds his place beside you. 

“Why do you always walk so far towards the back? That’s a dangerous position for someone as small as you, no one to keep you safe from behind.” He chuckles to himself as he notices your brows furrow. 

“There’s nobody to annoy me either.” His hand flys to his chest, pretending to be hurt once more, his pace faltering ever so slightly then catching up with you again. 

“Ouch. How you wound me so with your cold words darling.” 

“Astarion, if you wish to accompany me in the back I’d appreciate if..” Your sentence is cut off with a yelp of surprise as you trip over a dip in the road, stumbling forwards. But you don’t fall very far, Astarion’s hand gripping onto your wrist and pulling you towards him. Your chest hits his, and you take a moment to regain your bearings before taking a step away from him.

He raises your hand, still in his grip, up to his lips and places a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles, “You must be more careful, darling. Don’t want you getting hurt.” 

You know your face is pink, you can feel it, and the smirk on his face solidifies your worry, but you remain composed and give him a simple nod as you pull your hand away. 

“Shall I hold your hand to ensure you don’t trip again?”

“In your dreams, fangs.” He smiles, it's always so soft during these moments, and the sight alone almost causes you to take back your words and give in to his offer, but you stand your ground and keep your hands close to your hips. Astarion lets out a small laugh at this.

You continue to walk in peaceful silence, Astarion making small quips so the air is never truly silent around you. You've come to realize that Astarion can't stand silence whenever he's around you, and he makes a point to keep the noise level up. But when his tone shifts, and he becomes quieter, you take a peak around. You notice that the group is much closer than before but you don’t mind. Safety in numbers and what not. 

But something feels off. It’s eerily quiet. Not even the whistle of a bird and you swear the wind has stopped entirely. And you think the rest of your group notices as well, perhaps the reason that they had moved closer was so they wouldn’t be caught off guard. Their hands stay on their weapons ready to take them out. 

And then it happens. A group of goblins jump from the surrounding forest and circle around your party. Usually something as small a threat as a goblin would be no problem but in such large numbers they might prove to be a problem. When they initiate a fight, thrusting their blades towards you, you draw your blade. 

Slowly, you pick off goblins, one by one. They’re stronger than you expected and their weapons are much nicer than the ones you had encountered in the past. But you keep your guard up and they’re unable to land a blow on you. It’s when the amount of goblins in front of you is reduced that your guard is let down even the slightest. And your focus shifts. Not the smartest move.

You look around you, realizing that Astarion is no longer by your side.

In your state of distraction, a goblin is able to strike you, leaving a relatively large cut on your arms and cutting the arm of your shirt into a tattered piece. The pain causes you to refocus for a moment, just enough to kill the goblin before you look back towards Astarion.

When your eyes reach his position, your heart drops to your stomach. He is completely surrounded and you're certain that he is unaware just how shitty his situation is. So without a second thought, you leave the goblins in front of you behind, and rush over to him. 

Swinging your blade with as much force as you can muster, you kill the goblins behind him and grab his wrist to pull him out of his unfortunate position. You kill another, after ensuring he is no longer in the way. The two of you pick the goblins off together, standing back to back. And when the fight is over you finally allow yourself a moment to breathe. 

But it doesn’t last long. 

Astarion pushes at your shoulder, causing you to stumble forward, you hardly catch yourself but you do. When you’ve found your footing you straighten up, turning to him with furrowed brows, “What was that for?” 

“Why would you do that?” His tone is so aggressive it catches you off guard, “You could’ve gotten hurt! How could you be so irresponsible? Look at your arm, Gods!"

He holds your arm in his hands, hesitating for a moment before ripping off a piece of his own shirt. Gently, he pushes the arm of your shirt up to uncover your wound and begins to wrap the piece of cloth around the wound with shaky fingers, muttering curse words under his breath.

“You could’ve been killed Astarion! I would’ve gladly gotten hurt in order to prevent that.” You try to keep your cool. The pain is hardly noticeable with the amount of adrenaline pumping through your body. And you honestly find yourself more worried about him being angry with you Obviously, he’s yelling in your face, but it might just be shock getting to him. 

“Why would you do that for me? That is absolutely ridiculous.” He huffs, throwing his hands in the air, then allows them to fall back down to his sides. And an idea suddenly enters you brain. 

Slowly, with caution to not annoy him further, you reach for his still shaky hand. He stares at you, brows furrowed, but he doesn’t pull away. Gently, you place your lips against his bloodied knuckles, making an effort not to hurt his already irritated skin.

“It’s called chivalry, Astarion. You aren’t familiar?” You notice the smallest change in his eyes as they soften, even a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He isn’t mad, just worried. And you know that all the annoyance has fled his body at your attempt to make fun of him and his flirtatious remarks. Honestly, he's a little flattered you remember what he said, and flustered from you playing his own game against him.

You take a step closer, placing a hand on the side of his face to pull him in closer, to plant a soft kiss to his cheekbone. His curls touch your fingertips, and you take the opportunity to play with his soft hair for a moment. When you pull away, a pink tint lingers on his skin, allowing color to flow on his beautiful face. “You know I don’t want you getting hurt.”

This time he lets out a soft laugh, “That’s enough, darling. I understand what you’re doing, you can stop mocking me.” He turns away from you, but you rush to his side, wrapping your hands around his arms. You lean into him, resting your head near his shoulder as you look up at him.

“Shall I hold onto you so you don’t trip, my dear?” You mock his usual flirty tone, and he pushes your head away gently in an attempt to hide the color rushing to his face, ruffling your hair up.

“What, I'm not allowed to flirt with you but you can do it to me?”

"That's exactly right, my dear."

[lovelybluebirdie]

A sight to behold

Astarion x gn!Reader

Summary: Astarion is far more than his beauty, and you want him to know.

Word Count: 1,7k

fluff, comfort

[AO3]

“You should get some rest, love,” Astarion whispers against your hair. He holds you comfortably in his arms, your fingers loosely grasping the end of his collar while his hand strokes along your waist, caressing your battle-bruised skin. 

Usually sleep didn’t take long to claim you after an exhausting day of defeating vigorous creatures or learning another disturbing fact on the tadpole inside your brain, but tonight it seems to avoid you for some reason, leaving you tossing and turning within your bedroll until Astarion eventually pulled you into a loving embrace.

“I’m good,” you mutter as a deep yawn escapes your throat, smothering your last syllables.

Astarion cups your chin between his thumb and index finger, surveying your face. “You’re a weary little love if I ever saw one.” 

“Fine, you’ve got me,” you reply in a drowsy voice. “Maybe I am a little tired, but somehow I can't find any sleep.”

His brow furrows. “Is anything troubling you, my dear?” he asks sincerely, pondering if he might’ve done something wrong.

The unpleasant thought has no room to spread its hooks any further, as he's met with only fondness from your tired eyes, leaving his ribcage bursting with adoration.

“No need to worry about me, Astarion. I promise, everything’s alright,” you assure as you begin to massage his ears, causing them to twitch.

“You still need to get some sleep though,” he scolds with half-closed lids. It's more of a moan, as he’s unable to suppress his desire for your blissful fingers to go on. You seem to know exactly where he enjoys them most, he notices, when another quiet groan spills from his lips. 

You brush the pointy tip of his ear once more, cautiously not to overstimulate this sensitive part of him, before you rest your fingers on his neck and playfully raise an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to indulge in your beauty a little longer before I find myself dozing off.”

A benign remark, and yet something inside Astarion shifts. Something he can’t fully fathom at first, a faint sense of melancholy starting to linger, despite the comfort of your touch.

He’s been called beautiful more times than he can remember, but he’ll never be able to judge for himself, being robbed of his reflection since Cazador turned him into a vampire spawn centuries ago – his own appearance remaining a dark shape from his past.

“Beauty you say?” he mumbles quietly. “Tell me then, what is it you see when looking at me?”

Your expression softens as you grasp for his hand and squeeze it lightly. It seems you’ve already caught his musings, as you often do, without him needing to vocalise that something’s on his mind.

“Well, your most outstanding features are probably your piercing eyes – crimson, like rubies,” you explain before resting a kiss on his cheek. 

Astarion listens attentively. His gaze must indeed be exceptionally sharp, he thinks, trying for a brief moment to recall the colour his eyes were before he was turned, but to no avail. A shiver runs down his spine as he wonders if you might think of him as a dangerous predator at times, uncertain whether this poses a pleasant or a frightening notion.

“Sometimes they’re full of anger, resembling freshly shed blood. And other times they’re… so soft. Reminding me of the cutest puppy eyes I’ve ever seen, almost competing with Scratch,” you giggle as you draw your thumb along his cheekbone, right where your lips parted from his skin.

Astarion stares at you in bewilderment. “What do you mean – puppy eyes?! I’m a century-old vampire spawn, not some gushing maiden.”

“You asked what I’d see when I’m looking at you, didn’t you?” You offer him a mischievous grin before blowing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Or do you prefer me to stop?” 

Astarion rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “Fine, go on.” 

Although not particularly delighted by the comparison you draw, he can’t resist the urge to listen to you further describing him.

“There are also your beautiful white curls – so smooth that I often find myself wondering which soap you use for them to stay that way,” you say as you take one of said strands between your fingers. “Come to think of it, those are probably one of my favourite parts of you, my love.”

“Mhm, I certainly have the best hair in camp,” Astarion purrs approvingly, a smug grin playing around his lips, vanishing the furrow on his brow from your previous remark.

“Don’t let Shadowheart hear,” you joke before continuing. “Of course I also adore your smile – seeing those little wrinkles when you laugh.”

Astarion’s grin freezes as he quickly feels the spot beneath his temples.

“My sweet, you surely must’ve noticed by now that one of a vampire spawn’s rare perks is eternal youth, so I’m quite positive that there are no such things as wrinkles on my face.”

“If you say so,” you chuckle as you reach for his hands to press loving kisses on his fingertips. “This was supposed to be a compliment, you know.”

“Perhaps if I wasn’t your lover, but your doting grandmother,” he grumbles with pursed lips, but doesn’t pull away. 

“I sense you desire to listen to some of your less grandmotherly features, then?”

Astarion battles another grin but loses, his lips twisting to a wry smile. “Yes, please.” 

It's true, he doesn’t want you to stop, secretly enjoying how sincere you express your sentiments.

“Let’s see if I find some, though…” you tease, earning a gentle nudge to your hip before your eyes are glued to his face again. “Honestly, you're stunningly beautiful, Astarion – a goddamn sight to behold.” 

Astarion’s smile widens at your flattery. “Oh dear, that sounds far better than being described with the attributes of an old lady.”

“As I thought,” you reply, brushing one of his curls behind his ear. “But do you want to know what I adore about you most?”

Astarion's eyes grow round. “As humble as I am, I'm always thrilled to receive some more praise.”

He notices a flush to your cheeks as you let your finger slowly trace along the bridge of his nose, until it comes to a rest on his lips. 

You clear your throat, seeming in search of the right words. 

“You’re so much more than your beauty,” you begin, your fingertip still resting on his bottom lip. He presses a kiss, his curiosity roused.

“I love the way you make me laugh, like no one else can, despite all the madness we have to endure. Or watching you reading for hours, chuckling at little passages you like. Seeing how you squint when you take in the details while you embroider a piece of fabric.” 

You pause to cup his face in your hands and smother him with gentle kisses, starting at his jaw, moving up to his nose and then his eyes. Astarion remains silent, graciously relishing your warmth. 

Your words and touch are like a balm, and not for the first time he wonders how he came to deserve such kindness.

“Your skin is cold, yes, but no one has ever kept me this warm when being in their presence. You’re brave, and despite everything you had to endure, you turned into this wonderful man I came to love more than everything I ever held dear. You're most precious to me Astarion, and I never want to spend a day without knowing you by my side.”

It’s not often that Astarion finds himself speechless, and yet your genuine affection robs him of the ability to respond. He has to hold back tears that dwell behind his fluttering lashes.

Deprived of his ability to speak he can only press a kiss to your forehead, followed by another peck to the tip of your nose, before his lips crash into yours – hastily, in need of you.

Astarion can sense your pulse quickening as his tongue enters your mouth, a soft moan escaping your lips while your hand runs through his hair. 

He gently bites your lower lip, the initial rush of his kiss replaced by a sudden tenderness, a flutter spreading right where his dead heart once beat.

Astarion has never felt like this with anyone but you. Perhaps you've turned him into a love-struck maiden after all, he thinks with a smile as he kisses you once more, gentle and soft, before your lips part and he glances at your endearing eyes, finding his voice again.

“I love you too, you cheeky little thing. Even if you have the guts to describe me like a grandmother first, and then almost make me weep from your loving words,” he chuckles while grasping the fabric of your nightgown to pull you closer against his body.

Astarion is used to conceal his emotions behind his jesting shell, and yet when he’s with you, his façade naturally crumbles.

“Guilty as charged,” you reply fondly.

“But honestly… Thank you,” Astarion speaks softly. “For seeing me, like no one else does.” His words come out raw, honest. “You know I don't pray to any of the gods, but if I did, I'm sure I would've caught myself thanking them for bringing you into my life. You're a vision, and through the time I spend with you, it almost feels like my dead heart starts beating again.”

“You’d better stop with that loving talk yourself, before we'll both start to weep,” you laugh as you reach for the corner of your eye, a single wet streak glistening on your skin.

Astarion moves up to kiss it away. “As much as I like to revel in our mutual affection, I don't wish to see more of your tears.”

“Well, perhaps we should call it a night then. I’m certain I’ll find some rest soon,” you whisper as you shift closer in the crook of his arm. 

“You truly should, as I'm positive there’ll be more shenanigans awaiting us tomorrow,” Astarion replies and places a kiss on your hair. “Sleep well, my love.”

“You too, Astarion,” you hum, sounding slightly weary again. Maybe sleep has decided in your favour after all, he thinks as he notices your breath becoming more even.

When you finally doze off in the safety of his embrace, Astarion's chest is filled with warmth over the love he holds for you.

Masterlist

[yourfriendowlbear]

Protection (Astarion headcanons)

Astarion x gn!Tav

Summary: Astarion notices how you've protected him over the years.

Warnings: brief mention of manipulation; murder; small act 3 spoilers; brief mention of nightmares

Note: this is my first astarion piece I'm posting! let me know if you'd like to see more headcanons, or if you have something you'd like to request

He’s watching you adjust a curtain to block out the afternoon sun from the drawing room when he realizes it. 

You spend so much energy protecting him. In big and small ways.

Just now, you’re balanced on top of a stool, fighting with the thick cloth to get it to lay just right over the window just so that he can feel comfortable in the home you share together.

But really, you’ve been doing it since the beginning. Looking out for him whether you realized it or not.

You’d been so willing to protect him from the intellect devourer that he'd made up to manipulate you. Hadn’t even thought about it, just sprung into action because he’d asked for help.

And then, only a short time later, you’d protected him from the Gur Hunter. You’d followed his lead, allowed him to pace the conversation. And then, when it was clear what needed to be done, you’d killed the Gur, an arrow loosened from your bow piercing the hunter’s throat.

Countless battles, you’d fought by his side, felling enemies before they got too close, tossing him healing potions when his injuries were too egregious.

You’d even plotted out a damn near-perfect strategy for taking down Cazador, spent countless nights reading ancient scrolls in the Devil’s Fee and padded the pockets of more dark wizards than Astarion could count to arm yourself with as much information as you could gather.

And when you were in Cazador’s chambers, your plan was put into motion. He hadn’t been particularly happy about hanging back, but when the fight started and Cazador still hadn't seen him, Astarion was glad for your thorough mind.

He did notice, just as Lae’zel went in for the first blow, that you’d placed yourself directly in Cazador’s path, blocking him bodily from accessing Astarion. Of course, there was no way you could stand up to the vampire master’s magic, but the barrier stood as a warning–Cazador would not get to Astarion easily.

You make sure his tea is the perfect temperature, make sure he’s well-fed, keep him company, bring him more books when he desires.

And when the nightmares plague his rest, your touch is gentle as an angel’s as you stroke his hair and try to lull him back to calm.

There are tomes on the table in your bedroom, ancient, dusty things that tell of events long forgotten. You’d heard a drunk orc make mention of a ring that allows vampires and drow to walk in the sun, and that was all it took to set you off on another quest to defend him–this time, from nature itself.

The stool wobbles under you, and lightning quick, Astarion is there to steady you. His hands find your hips just as the stool tips over and he’s able to brace you and let you down gently.

Maybe he protects you, too.

[whaledenwtf]

Hello! This might be a weird request but what about Gale, Halsin and Astarion with a s/o who's super cute and friendly and overall just a gigantic sweetheart who also happens to canonically be horrifyingly powerful. Like potentially even more destructive than Gale and the orb. Enemies who know their lore turn and run just at the mention of them and their name strikes fear into many hearts but then the camera pans over and it's this short sweetheart of a person. Literally this post basically

Thank you so so much, I really love your writing! Also Happy Holidays sweetie! ☺️

I love this idea!! I made it headcannons so it wasn't too long to read! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! Please ask more, I love writing things for people <3

REQUEST HERE

Headcannons: Astarion, Gale and Halsin with a super cute friendly S/O who's horrifyingly powerful

Warnings: None, this is just indulgent FLUFF, Minor Spoilers for Act 1 and for Gale and Astarion's Lore

Astarion

You were always sweet with Astarion, and only made him feel comfortable and safe.

After he told you he was a vampire, you accepted him despite everyone else telling you not to!

When you told him you could beat Cazador, he didn't believe you at first because of your sweet nature.

The first time he realized you were a legend was when you guys raided the Goblin Camp to save Halsin.

You initially told everyone your name was Tav, so nobody really knew who you were.

Every Goblin met their end with a swing of your weapon, gutting them before they blinked.

It scared your companions, honestly.

When you got to Minthara, you told her your name was (Y/N), and she backed away from you.

Astarion was confused until Karlach, Wyll and Lae'zel spoke of your legendary moniker.

Wyll may be known as the "Blade of Frontiers" but you were known as "The Walking Death" and that was thrilling for Astarion.

Every monster, creature and being met their demise when face to face with you.

Astarion was a slave for 200 years, only knowing the bare minimum from Cazador. But knowing you were on his side, and under his thumb, that thrilled him!

Once you apologized about lying to your companions, they all welcomed you in their arms, especially Astarion.

As he slowly falls in love with you, he realizes that he likes knowing his significant other is not only powerful and showed no mercy, but showed him life through another lens.

You show him that love doesn't make someone weak, but stronger.

You're powerful, and having you by his side makes him feel unstoppable as well.

He is very grateful for you. You will pull him from Cazador's clutches and stay with him through it.

Despite your sweet nature, you kicked ass. You saved everyone you could, which annoyed Astarion. But he loved you despite it, and always will.

After all, why would he run away from the first good thing to happen to him?

Gale

He was also confused about who you were right away. As a scholar he spent most of his time in books, rather than the battlefield.

Honestly, his mind was distracted between the Netherese Orb in his chest and Mystra.

When you pulled him out of the portal, he was struck by your kindness.

Then he was struck by your beauty when you fought valiantly for your companions.

He was excited seeing someone so powerful near him, and honestly fell harder.

After telling you what Mystra did, you told him you'd kill her.

He laughed you off, until he saw what you could do.

Now he's worried he won't have a goddess to worship.

Your battle prowess is astounding, and he can't help but admire you as you shout commands to your companions.

You always were gentle with Gale, soft touches and sweet nothings between you two.

He always finds it difficult to associate you with your title.

"The Slayer of Man and Beast" he's heard Lae'zel and Shadowheart call you.

You always chuckle and tell them "soon you'll have to add gods to that"

Now he's even more worried about his goddess

Over time, he considers you his goddess. After all, you've protected and respected him much more than Mystra ever had.

When he tells you about the Netherese Orb, you shrug him off.

"Nothing will keep me from you, not even a bomb."

Wow

When you two are alone, he caresses your muscles and your hands. He's in love with the idea of his significant other being this battle-worn individual set to protect him

Throughout your adventure, you remind him that you would protect him with your life.

"All for little old me?"

"Nobody will stop me from protecting you. No monster or goddess."

Man you really hate Mystra for hurting Gale so bad.

You dream about smiting her and protecting Gale in your arms.

While adventuring, you always keep Gale by your side. Everyone teases you for it until you shoot them a warning glance.

You're so so good to him. You take hits for him, heal him in battle, and heal him in the privacy of his tent.

"You're too good to me." He muttered once, eyes closed.

"You've never been treated right. It's my personal duty to make sure you never doubt yourself ever again." You replied, kissing his eyelids.

He just fell harder.

Halsin

He actually knew who you were before you saved him.

When you said your name, he bowed his head in respect.

"An honour to put a face to the name" He said to you.

You told him you loved how big and safe he was.

"You're the one who would keep me safe, little one."

He wasn't wrong. You've saved him multiple times throughout your adventure.

You were very sweet with Halsin, always leaning against his arms and closing your eyes when you sit together in camp.

He found it amusing, seeing such a feared individual be so innocent and kind with him.

In his 350 years of existence, he's never been so captivated by someone like you.

When he tasked you with eradicating the Goblin Camp, he enjoyed seeing the fear in Minthara's eyes when you said your name.

Despite being a druid, he knew that with life also came death. He accepted your past.

He found the juxtaposition of your personality endearing.

One day, he was in wildshape lounging around as a bear. You laid on him and spoke about different topics regarding your life.

In that same day, he saw you obliterate 20 goblins on your own.

He never thought he'd be aroused by someone killing goblins, but you did that.

You also knew all the spots to scratch when he was a bear??

Yes that's the spot. Right behind his ears.

He liked seeing the way you treat your companions with such kindness.

You showed respect and compassion to those who you find deserve it. You helped people find safety, and feel safe.

It was beautiful, the way you showed such love to those who were close to you.

He always compared you to the ocean.

"Why the ocean?" You asked him once.

"You can be calm, bring peace. But you are also wild, strong in the most beautiful way." He replied.

He enjoyed the way you blushed.

One time, you asked him to wildshape and you rode him into battle. Nothing is scarier than seeing (Y/N) "The Tempest" riding onto a bear.

Even your companions were scared

Ever since then, you always did it. It was like couple bonding, somehow??

Gods, he loves his little tempest

Hope this is as enjoyable for you guys to read as it was for me to write!!

[dragonsfictavern]

Without Much Spoken

Astarion x gn!Reader

a/n: My first attempt at posting for bg3 and Astarion. But I plan to continue posting many more fics for not only this lil guy, but for a lot of the party! So stick around!

summary: During one night of your groups travels together, Astarion enters the room to find you overwhelmed and crying. Acting before thinking it through, Astarion comforts you.

word count: 1.1k

Walking up the stairs of the Inn their group was staying in for the next couple of days, Astarion opens the door as he normally would, heading to bed after the exhausting day that had finally, at last, ended. He was more than ready to plop into bed and fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep. His only true escape that lasted far few hours.

But as soon as the door creaked open, a small sliver of light shining through, your sobs broke through the silence like a fierce screech. They stopped a moment after, the silence even more heavy and the tension growing thick the longer neither of you speak.

Astarion opens the door, only a bit further. Enough for the light from the hall to catch on your features. Your frozen, having fled to isolation in order to prevent this. To stop anyone from seeing you, to not bother anyone else with the weight of your intensely hyperactive feelings. Especially him. God, you didn’t want to bother him with this.

Astarion was always good for a light joke, a quick quip. He was good at that. At making things feel lighter, even unintentionally making you feel better at times. But that’s not what you wanted right now. You didn’t want to feel better in that way, you didn’t want to attempt to push aside your emotions for another, you didn’t want to just forget about what you felt. You needed to let out what was overwhelming you. What twisted your gut with anxiety, what made it hard to breathe, what sent your body into overdrive, what clouded your mind and made you feel like a complete mess.

You needed it out, and you knew Astarion wasn’t typically the one to go to with that sort of thing. You never held it against him, you cared for him, you may even love him. But you knew he had little to no experience in the ways of comforting someone. Knew he didn’t really know how to do that. So, in an action you convinced herself was selfless, you didn’t confide in him. Didn’t give him the chance to offer whatever type of comfort he possibly could provide.

And Astarion knew it all and more. With his past, he knew how to read people easily. Learning how others think was vital in his line of work, in his everyday life, in his survival… Reading you always seemed a little bit easier for him to do than it was with others. He could see what you were trying to do. The way your body stiffened on the bed, the tears both dried and fresh on your cheeks, the way your hands clenched as if you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

Astarion didn’t feel any particular way about this revelation. He could see your reasoning, your line of thinking and what brought you to the conclusions you ended up at. So he honestly couldn’t explain why he reacted the way he did.

His hand shuts the door, encompassing you both back into darkness without thought. His feet move toward you on their own. Though the darkness surrounds you both, both of your eyes end up adjusting again. You can see the way Astarion stops at the edge of the bed, his form hovering over your curled frame on the bed.

It’s without a word that he slides into bed behind you, his back resting comfortably against the headboard. His legs spread wide, giving you enough space to sit between them. His hands softly curl around you, not trying to overwhelm you even more. One hand around your stomach, feeling the erratic breaths you take as you attempts to hide your cries. The other hand over your heart, feeling its pounding rhythm, both from the mix of emotions that sent you to this state and from him finding you here. He didn’t need to do this, his hearing being able to pick it up well enough on its own. But for some reason he needed the reassurance. That it was all real.

He pulls you into his chest and you don’t hesitate to fall against him, putting your weight on him. He isn’t doing this to prove anything to you. To prove he can comfort you, if you needed him to. No, he isn’t going to make you come to him and he’s not going to make you hide. He doesn’t know why he’s done this. He just… did. Wanted to. It’s all he can grasp onto.

The feeling of him being there was enough, you realize. It had taken so much energy to try and remain still after Astarion found you, but now that he was here and he’s staying, you can’t hold it in any longer. It physically pained you beyond explanation. Sobs broke out of you, the action moving your body with its force. You couldn’t control it.

Astarion just sits there, not saying anything and not really doing anything either. But it’s more than enough. You didn’t realize how being alone had made everything so much worse. You thought that being alone, having nothing around that could possibly add to your array of emotions was what was best for you. But as you two laid together, you noticed the way Astarion didn’t add anything. The way he could actually help in ways everyone else just couldn’t seem to.

Eventually you begin to calm down, your body shaking but your emotions releasing and leaving you. That’s when you feel Astarion’s hand on the back of your head. You jump slightly, but besides that, you don’t dare acknowledge it. His hand gently starts combing through your hair. Then when he reaches the end, he brings it back to the top of your head. You sigh heavily, falling into him further. The peace of the empty silence, the darkness that covers everything, washes over you both. Neither of you seem to want to break it.

You tilt your head ever so slightly, hoping he doesn’t stop. The gesture was doing wonders to help calm you down further. You can barely make out Astarion through the darkness, but you can see enough to tell he’s simply staring ahead. It’s then you realize that he probably hadn’t even noticed what he’s doing to you. How he’s actually comforting you. It sends waves of pleasure through you, working both to overwhelm you a bit more and yet also calming you. You fall back, fully resting on him once again as he, in a way, pets you. Your eyes seemingly closed on their own.

It’s only after an unknown amount of time that he murmurs in your ear, “I’m here.”

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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[whiskeyskin]

Different kind of Intimacy

Premise: After Astarion's confession at Moonrise, you decide that your usual style of feeding just won't cut it any more.

• Astarion x gn!Tav • Mild rating •

Reader POV, fluff, conversation about boundaries set, sweetness, understanding, softness, Astarion feeding, despite female in the inspo picture no mention of gender, love, security, intimacy, doped out Astarion

2.3k words

Shoutout to @ladyofthecreed for this beautiful piece of art for @aevallare! How stunning is it? 🥹💜 And thanks to @crepsley for the tag 🙌

This is a little different than my usual smutty style but I saw this picture and felt inspired to write something a little softer for our boy ☺️

•°•°•

"You can feed on me tonight, if you'd like." You offered with a smile.

"I was so hoping you'd say that." He lilted back to you.

You took a breath to speak again and stopped.

"Yes, my sweet. What is it?" He questioned, with a curious tilt of his head.

After the incident with the Drow at Moonrise yesterday, Astarion had confessed some deep feelings and troubles he'd had.

After he'd admitted his growing feelings for you, despite it starting out as a manipulation, he'd stated very plainly that he didn't want anyone to think of him in terms of sex but that he still wanted to be with you.

So, you'd suggested that you'd become friends first, instead of lovers. That you would still be together but wouldn't have sex until he was ready, if he ever would be.

He'd obviously joked and tried to lessen the mood with a flippant remark but you'd learned him well enough to see he was appreciative of the gesture.

You'd pulled him into a hug, and after his inital shock, he'd held on so tightly he had been reluctant to let go.

He'd offered his hand to hold yours and a silent bond was made between you.

You'd been thinking on this development between you this last day since your conversation together. Pondering on ways to make him more comfortable, to give him more autonomy within the relationship.

Astarion had been very sweet and attentive throughout the day. Like something had settled within him, like something had slotted into place.

He'd stuck very close by you, while carefully adventuring through the perilous Shadowlands.

During battle he'd taken a more protective and defensive role around you, instead of stealthy and offensive. Several times throughout the day, he had slid his hand within yours and lightly squeezed - completely unprompted - just to feel the warmth of your skin.

He'd also spotted something that would be valuable to you in a fight and gifted it to you; you didn't ask how he'd gotten it, even though you could probably guess.

And now, it was time to settle down for the night, he'd dragged his bedroll to rest next to you. Producing a small potion from his pack, you assumed he was probably already hungry and needed to feed, hence your invitation, but you needed to discuss this first.

"I've been thinking, about what you said last night, about not thinking of you in terms of sex," you started, his face pulled into an unsure expression, "It's nothing bad, it's that I've been thinking about how you feed. It's quite, sexually charged. Especially the way you feed. It's urgent and rough and-"

"-Rough? I-I thought I was being gentle. You've not said anything since that first night. I-" He sounded hurt, afraid he'd been causing you pain. You hushed his worries.

"That's not what I meant, I'm not making an issue of it, I promise. It's not something to be sorry for, it hasn't bothered me until now. I thought it was all part and parcel of the experience; foreplay, if you will?" You shrugged.

"I mean, you'd feed, get hard and then we'd usually fuck. But now I believe we need to re-think our approach." You explained further.

"It's not that having sex wasn't out of desire for you. It's-it's complicated to explain," he signed with a furrowed brow.

"I told you, that it's not that I'm not attracted to you, trust me," he smiled wickedly, you shook your head and went to speak but he cut across you to continue, "You are wholly different to ones I've seduced before. This was of my own voilition, for one - although out of necessity as transactional protection but - things have changed. I've changed. You've made me see what I'm capable of. You've.." he paused, swallowing and looking around the vicinity for the right words, "You've encouraged me. Had faith in me. Shown me kindness I've not felt in two centuries. I care for you in a way I thought impossible, but I don't know how to be with someone, without reliving the past.. But I desperately want this to be real, truly real." His claret eyes bore into yours, pleading and sad. You slowly raised your hand to cup the side of this face.

"This is real, just because it's not a sexual relationship, doesn't mean it's not real." You smiled, reassuring his doubts. He closed his eyes and leaned into your palm. Your heart squeezed as his cool cheek pressed further into the warmth.

"The act of a vampire feeding on someone has been made inherently sexual. It's been fetishised, and so in turn, has the whole vampire thing. Which works to the vamp's advantage. I can't blame the people for it. Being bitten, being fed on is an intoxicating experience." You couldn't help but shudder at the memories of you both pressed together.

"For me too," He breathed, his neck tensing, "The feeling of feeding has no match."

You smiled softly and sighed, "Like you said, 'There's nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire'." You both pursed your lips in bitter resignation.

"So, to remedy this, we need to unsexualise it going forward," you continued, "Before feeding was all teeth and rubbing up against each other like animals. Now, it's going to be slow and intimate. Not sexual intimacy, true intimacy."

"It's different to the enemies you drain on the road, or in battle. It's you and me, and that's special. We need to make it special." You smoothed the cool touch of his cheek under your thumb.

He swallowed and sat up, intrigued, "What did you have in mind, my dear?"

You certainly had had some ideas.

"Well, you've tried both of the 'best' places to feed from; the jugular and the femoral," you announced, gesturing to your neck and inner thigh, "But I was thinking of the wrist? It's a pretty neutral place to feed from."

"Sounds reasonable. It's certainly a slower feed than the neck, or thigh." He agreed with a head tilt, "Although they are an awful lot of fun." He said through tilted gaze and a dangerous grin, his hand gliding up your thigh to caress it.

Your stomach flipped from habit, but you squashed it down.

"Stop it," you chastised him with a gentle nose boop. He scrunched his face and let out a small, high chuckle. His hand relented to your knee, thumbing the seam where he'd stitched a hole for you.

"Feeding will be more about taking the time to connect with each other, without sex. It'll be slow, patient.. calming." You let out a long, cleansing breath and blinked slowly, to emphasise the point.

"Well, then. Henceforth, I shall drink from your wrist when you're resting." He gave a tilted nod.

"Um, no. I was going to suggest feeding before sleep. I'd like to be present with you. Truly present with you. Not groggy from sleep, or blissed from sex. I'd like to be with you."

He looked taken aback, but interested, "Alright then.. feeding before rest," he said, testing the idea on his tongue. He seemed to measure it acceptable before asking, "Could I.. request something of you.. while I feed?" He asked, his words measured.

"Of course, darling." You answered enthusiastically, glad for his input.

"Would you.. play with my hair?" He requested, a little sheepishly, "I-I find it. It's not a sexual thing, before I always hated it but.. when you do it-it's.. comforting to me. I-I don't know why."

Your heart swelled and your eyes began to gently fill at the surprisingly sweet request.

"Of course, I will." You smiled, blinking back unexpected tears.

Astarion smiled back and took a faux breath and huffed it out in expectation.

"So, shall we, my dear?" He flourished a hand for you to lie down.

"We shall," you nodded, "How do you wish to do this?"

"Lying down would be fine." He suggested.

"If that's what you'd like." You began unfolding your leg from the crossed position to stretch it before laying down.

"Wait.." he stopped, then looked up through curious eyes, "What about this?" He asked, as he gently laid the side of his head down on your thigh.

You beamed, "That's nice.. wait-" You scooched a little more, "Lay on your back."

He did as he was told and shuffled around so the back of his head lay fully on the cushioning meat of your crossed leg, the other extended alongside his body.

You gazed down at him laying contentedly in your lap, "How's that?" You asked.

He manoeuvred himself to rest more squarely, testing the feeling, which he seemed to agree with.

"Comfortable."

"Which wrist?" You offered both in the air.

"Wrap your arms around, and I'll feed from your non-dominant one."

You leaned down more, rounding your spine so you weren't sat so upright. You cradled his head with your arms and let your wrists hang loose.

Astarion took your hand and wriggled himself within your arm's embrace, then looked up and smiled at you. Your own broadened across your face.

"Is this alright?"

He nodded, paused then crooked a finger at you.

You bent down a little more and he brought his fingers to tenderly grasp your chin and pulled you in for a delicate kiss, barely anything in comparison to others you had, but filled with a warmth and softness that hadn't been there before.

"Thank you." He breathed, "For thinking of this, for respecting my wishes."

The breath was stolen from your lungs and your chest ached. You couldn't deny it aby longer. You were in love with him.

You didn't reply, you simply pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Eat up."

He paused again, looking like he was about to say something but decided against it. He took your hand and carefully pulled up the sleeve, before bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply.

This was a little ritual he liked to do, like a fine wine; you have to smell the bouquet.

He chastely pecked several times at the thin blue lines on your inner wrist, before slowly sinking his fangs and drinking deeply.

The pain, while still present, was surprisingly minimal. Much less sharp than his usual snapping bite down on your neck, or inner thigh.

You rest your other arm on his chest, but quickly his other hand grasped your hand and placed it on his hair.

You grinned to yourself, "My mistake, sorry dear." You admonished yourself, giggling, while beginning to weave your fingers into his loose curls.

Astarion mumbled against your skin, something sassy no doubt, but it was hushed by the sensation of his hair being twisted between your deft fingers.

He moaned into your wrist; it wasn't with reverent pleasure, it was in contentment.. ease..

You stared down at the beautiful pale Elf laying in your lap, feeding gently on your life force. His ears were lightly wiggling as he drank, latched onto skin.

You stifled a laugh, he was like a kitten nursing milk. It was too adorable. Of course, you'd never seen this angle to witness it before. It was beyond endearing.

He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, slowly drinking his fill of your blood. His body language relaxed, instead of poised to pounce. The pace of his pulls against your wrist laboured and suckling.

Seeing him like this, calm and steady, instead of scared and jittering, unlocked a compartment of your heart you'd fervently kept closed off from the world.

Gods, you loved him.

You loved him so much you ached.

Your heart physically panged to see him so blissfully unbothered and relaxed.

You brushed his hair out of his face, and twirled it between your fingers. You smoothed his locks like petting a contented animal, and wove fingertips under the length, to massage the base of his skull.

Each movement illiciting a gratified sigh, his body sinking lower and lower into your lap.

After a while, your head started to feel woozy and your extremities were starting to go cold and numb.

"Astarion?" You whispered, gently rubbing your hand on his chest and tapping twice with your peace fingers, "That's enough, love."

He stirred, dazed from feeding. He clamped his two fingers on the puncture marks, as you reached for the healing potion from his pack to pour over them. A small drizzle and the marks were healed.

You took a steading breath and swigged the rest down to help with restoration of blood before a spell from Shadowheart in the morning.

Stoppering the empty bottle and placing it on the ground, Astarion's weight still lay heavy on your lap.

His lips and teeth dyed the colour of you, as he smiled dopily, eyes remaining closed.

You sat with him in the moment, returning to weave his white curls between your fingers. The vague warmth of your blood coarsing through him transferring back to you through skin contact.

Astarion let out a serene and easy sigh, his eyes heavy as he tried to open them.

"That felt.. very different." He whispered, almost like he was breathless.

You kissed your fingers that waited on his chest and pressed them to his temple. He kissed the air back at you, body still heavy and exhausted.

"I don't know how to describe it. My body feels heavy, but light.."

The light pulse of your blood through his dead veins was present again under the pads of your fingers.

"I assume this new feeding technique is a success then, dove?" You inquired, keeping your voice low.

Astarion swallowed thickly, the stain of blood still on his teeth. He licked his lips lethargicly, "Most certainly. I feel.. completely.. utterly.. totally.."

"I hope the end of this sentence is a good one." You teased at his lack of composure.

He let out a sharp exhale of amusement through his nose, "It is.." he muttered.

You smoothed the line of his jaw, careful to not touch his sensitive ears. You smiled at the recent memory of them twitching as he fed.

"Did you know your ears wiggle up and down when you feed?" You asked in soft merriment.

"I did not.." he replied, flexing his eyebrows slowly.

"It's very cute."

"I am not cute." He tried to exert, with not much conviction, "I am a terrible creature of the night, feeding on helpless victims. I am a monster. I am not cute." He posited in feigned outrage.

You gazed down at the soft, tortured, beautiful soul in front of you and quickly blinked back the tears that swelled.

"No, you're not my love.. and I promise one day you'll see yourself the way I see you." You beamed at him.

Astarion squeezed your had three times, you repeat it back. You take a shaking breath in and blow it out, smiling.

A different kind of intimacy.

•°•°•

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