#making astarion run for his fucking life right now

[andrewknightley]

honor run update im about to be killed by a bunch of rats

[dhampling]

one fem!reader, 2k

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?”

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

-

astarion is a newly-minted girldad. that's it. that's the plot.

word count: 2,028

an: fluff, fluff n more fluff. no smut this time. soon. promise. parts ONE and TWO linked respectively but can be read alone.

-

“She’s asleep, Astarion!” 

You are wide eyed, furious; speaking in a whispered shout at your husband.

His pale hands flit across the ties of your shirt, frisking every which way they turn. You slap them off like flies on fruit.

“Even more reason to take advantage of the situation, if you ask me.” He murmurs hungrily in your ear, hands now circling down to your waist to tug on your waistband.

“It’s a fine job I didn’t ask you then!” Gritted teeth. Eyes aflame. Cornered against the dresser.

The crib beside your bed holds your infant daughter - skittish and fresh to a world wholly unknown in every sense of the word. She rests rarely and wails often for company in these early months of being alive with you both. Pallid and red-eyed yet beautiful beyond comparison and entirely yours. 

Seeing you together brings him joy unparalleled. 

He has, genuinely; never been prouder of anything of his doing - saving the Sword Coast is a drop in the ocean that is completely and utterly awash with love for your youngling. The mistaken mess of his own bastard elven vampiric genetics now born unto another. This time it would be right. The hunger, the rot; the abuse and neglect, they were hundreds of miles away.

He would make it right. 

But it was already so. She was here, and you all cried together in that dark, sweaty birth chamber. His great guttural sob at her birth, wracked with emotion he never knew he could possibly be permitted to feel on this immortal coil. Your genuinely feral howls of pain turned weeping with pure joy.

Two full days of agony unlike any you’ve ever endured and she had arrived, breathing; wailing; skin of a changeling in birthing viscera and lungs keen to rival any bellow of the Gods.

Astarion weakly clinging to you both; tears salting your lips and wetting her tiny head for hours on end. 

The great weight of another being on your shoulders. His sincere - yet cliche - fervently whispered oath to her just moments after being placed in his arms.

She is home. She is loved beyond any unit of measure. She will want for nothing, and she will never know anguish like that of her parents and their complex lives. No matter who she is or what she becomes, she has two people who are in her corner. She will be fierce if she so desires. Cunning. Witty. Roguish. Barbaric. Horrid. 

It didn’t matter. It never would. 

She was yours, and his; and she would always have a choice.

He had spoken with her for hours, the nurse whispered to inform you once you had awoken from the deepest slumber of your life. Even then when you looked he was hanging over her small form in her cot, running his lithe fingers over her tiny hands and feet in a repetitive soothing pattern. 

When you queried the topic of conversation he simply looked at you with a grin so lovesick it would flip your stomach completely. Butterflies.

-

“We deserve a bit of fun though, darling. Mummy and Daddy’s evening off? No?” 

Astarion pouts, wrapping his arms around you - still pinned against the dresser - and inhaling your scent deeply. 

You return the gesture and cough reactively.

“You stink of Noblestalk. I know your tricks.”

You playfully shove him away and tiptoe from your room to the landing, the pale elf hot on your heels.

“I have never stunk in my life, thank you.” He sulks. 

You pointedly stop to look at him, before picking up a basket of waiting laundry and descending the stairs. He follows.

“I’m trying to fuck you, dear. Don’t make it weird.” He rolls his eyes and huffs. 

You hum. 

“Corpses tend to smell awful.” 

“Warning.”

“You started it.”

“Touché.”

A beat of silence.

“Mummy and Daddy’s evening off though, love? Really?” 

“Oh shut up, you horrid thing. I know.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

He captures you in a kiss as you reach the bottom of the stairs, slow and patient. Holding your free arm to keep you close. 

“Look at me. I’m the epitome of the fatherly jester!’

Waggles his free hand.

‘I have been blessed with brains and humour anew by the birth of our daughter, clearly.’

He grimaces.

‘Not necessarily superior versions of either, but I - am - changed.” 

From the moment of her conception you’d felt it. An old wives’ tale. The night you’d agreed to mother a brood alongside him, you knew she was there. That she was her. That she was brewing as something brilliant deep inside you and nothing would be as it was ever again. 

He’d called it ridiculous, gestured wildly and rolled his eyes to the deepest hells, but a hazardous hope never left them until you’d far missed your bleed and it was confirmed to be true.

From that moment onwards, something shifted even further in Astarion. 

The domestic tether to your townhouse in the city - no longer just a convenience to remain a steady base for you both, but a fundamental part of his scene setting, to plant roots and grow together. Two centuries of rot and abuse, and his reward was finally nearing completion.

His nesting phase began far earlier than yours and with greater intensity than you could’ve matched even without the issue of your later-heaving belly. Entire pinboards tacked with decadent fabric swatches for every occasion - be it swaddling or nursery curtains. Tailor’s tape around his neck each morning and notebook in hand to note your measurements and take inventory of your wardrobe; ensuring you never looked awry or felt anything less than wholly comfortable. 

Because gods forbid ill-fitted clothing stand in the way of you and your brutal vomiting spells, obviously. A pointed click of his tongue as he fixes your sleeve.

In the middle months of your gestation, the typically discerning clientele who visited you and Astarion in your tailor’s store at the dead of night were the first to become privy to the news. Rounder by the week, flushed; brimming with a deep fatigue and yet somehow absolutely aglow.

Children to be fitted for yet another presentation evening placed sleepy hands on your belly with a saccharine softness. Their parents jostle you - sometimes in congratulations, sometimes to whisper in sheer curiosity. Dhampir are a notoriously rare breed, and you’re certain there were rumours of a third party involvement in the process.

‘No, no. We just tried really, really hard.’ You’d smile, as if in a blissful stupor from just the recollection. He’d turn to you with his ridiculously brilliant hearing; needle between teeth, brow raised; lips upturned in a slight quirk. Devilishly handsome, never anything less.

-

You drop the laundry basket in the kitchen corner. A stuffed bear falls from it. Clive.

A pause.

“You never asked what I did with that shirt, you know.”

It takes you a moment to recall which shirt he’s referring to. He sits at the table and watches you lazily.

“Which? The one for Mr. Chugley? I didn’t think it needed much by way of adjustment, at least?”

A stale piece of burnt toast sits on the counter untouched. You bite and chew and bite and chew like a woman who has never once tasted a morsel so divine; so untainted by the evils of hot butter and a filling bronze crunch.

“Oh - Bunt? Gods, no.’

He sips his stone-cold tea. A fresh film wobbles on top.

‘Bunt Chugley.”

A snort of laughter sends it straight back through his nose and out onto the table. You begin to choke on your toast.

“Bunt Chugley.” You giggle, crumbs spilling from your mouth.

Astarion stands to wipe himself down, creasing over with an escalating laughter.

“Bunt Chugley.”

He waggles his hands, eyes heavy lidded with lack of rest. 

He looks purely maniacal.

“That’s- that’s what we should-’

You stop for breath, cackling now; hands over knees for a brief moment.

‘We should call the next one Bunt Chugley.”

He launches into a wheezing fit.

“How- How would that even work, darling? Like Bunt Chugley Ancunín, or- or-”

“No! No, no. Just that. Bunt Chugley.”

You hold both hands to your eye as if framing a canvas, looking through the gap at the ludicrous proposition in front of you. 

He takes a moment to still. Smiles at you dopily.

Crosses the floor and brings both hands down to your waist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, my love.” He grins and holds his forehead against yours.

You look at him, dazed.

“Hmm?’

He simply looks up. 

A profoundly gut-wrenching wail becomes apparent to you from above. Your face falls.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Astarion.”

-

He’s up the stairs before you can comment further, swiftly darting back into your chambers and grinning with an unbridled joy - though, you note, with lack of rest that grin is beginning to look more insane by the hour.

“Sweetheart! My darling girl. Shush now. You’re sounding something absolutely wicked.”

You watch on from the doorway, arms folded; stale toast in hand and jaws meeting in a firm chew.

He’s far too good with her. 

It somewhat surprised you at first just how innately fatherhood came to him, but as he picks her up and cradles her intently it’s as if there are fractures of his own childhood coming back. How he was loved, how he was held. 

A piece of him, now alive and breathing again after all these years of death.  

He coos at her, bouncing her small frame gently in his arms and hushing her with each wail. It takes very little for soft mewls to take their place as she reaches aimlessly in his direction. 

He leans towards her grasping fingers and allows her to take one of his ringlets from the front of his head as he kisses her tummy. She’s enthralled by him; recognises him. She wants to know more of him. 

As he lifts his head her grasp remains firm.

“We have some work to do on your sleight of hand, I think. Not to worry.” 

Ever so gently, he unpicks her fascinated fingers and kisses them all in tow. Her face looks almost ready to crumple before he reaches for one final kiss on the very top of her head.

“There, now. All better. Back to sleep?’

A gurgle. A puzzled blink.

‘Absolutely. Mummy does look particularly radiant today, doesn’t she? I’ll be sure to send your regards.”

He catches the smile on your face. Winks your way.

“You’re getting the baby to flirt on your behalf now?” You tease.

“That’s the lady of the house to you. She was simply passing on her praises.” He whispers as he places her back into her crib and steps back fondly. Sidles over to you as you finish the last bite of toast and pulls you in for a soft kiss.

“Stop playing coy. I know you feel the same way I do.’

He whispers down at you.

‘You want another one, don’t you?’

A kiss on the very top of your head.

“You’re projecting.” You smile.

You can’t deny him for long, he knows this. You don’t particularly want to. 

Since becoming a mother you’ve taken to parenthood almost as naturally as he has; and when the topic has come up since you’ve struggled to say no and mean it.

“Think, though. The sooner we try again, the sooner we can begin building our little mercenary force.” He looks at you with the face of a man who thinks he’s just had a really good idea.

“Oh! Yes! You’ve sold me!’

You pull him into a long kiss, the kind that still makes you swoon after all this time together. He tastes like cold tea and smells so clinical you can’t help but laugh heartily as you pull away.

‘That Noblestalk is getting to me. Have a bath and try again with a little less?”

He scowls before narrowing his eyes in thought.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It just might, my darling dearest.” 

You wink this time.

The bath starts running before you’ve fully made it back down the stairs.

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

so I saw your requests are open. It seems that Astarion believes- at least in the beginning- that his purpose is to give pleasure. He does it to survive, he does it to gain Tavs trust and affection... what if Tav takes it upon herself to pleasure him. I HC Astarion is more dominant as he regains his autonomy, after centuries of having no say or control hiw would he react to Tav gently kissing him, asking him to let her make him feel good for a change. He's spent all this time giving, he deserves to receive for once. Expecting nothing in return.

Yaaas, let's go. I think I may have made this a lil fluffier than what you had in mind but hopefully it works! Playful/Sweet Tav! This is set before he admits his feelings but still in act 2 so he's like close!

TW: They bang and it's graphic under the cut with some mentions of his backstory, which is fucked up. But yeah, sexing is occurring. 18+ That's it. Pretty sweet outside of his backstory.

~

Astarion was aware the sex could be enjoyable, despite the centuries of the act being used against him. There had been glimmers of genuine pleasure through it all, mostly poisoned by the knowledge of what happened to all of his conquests when the job was finished after, but still. They were there.

Enough for Astarion to be somewhat prepared for the loveliness of being with you. When he had made the choice to seduce you, he had done it assuming that sex would be mediocre at best, and unpleasant at worst.

But no. Instead it just felt... wonderful. A word that Astarion was not used to associating with the deed. Though he supposed it made sense. He did like you after all, even outside of the protection he could get out of you. You were intelligent enough to make for good conversation; you were fun, mischievous even. Enough to match up with his own bitchy little quips. But you were also... sweet. Caring even, though it seemed you had a habit of giving that care to the least deserving mortals in the realm.

Not that that was a bad thing. He had been more than ready to use that kind nature against. It was so easy to worm his way into your heart. And the sex was good? Astarion's luck was almost certainly on the edge of running out, but he'd happily take advantage of the streak while he could.

You were just... so submissive. So ready for him to take the lead. Astarion had developed many personas in bed over the centuries, cultivating them for whatever situation he may need. But they were always tools, it had little or nothing to do with what he wanted. Just what he could use to lure them back to their deaths.

In all honesty, he had tried to do the exact same with you, and he would have too if he hadn't lost control on that first night. But then you had to bare your neck to him, the siren song of your blood screaming at him to bite. And then he just... lost control.

Was it the best sex of Astarion's life? Yes. Was he about to tell you that? No.

And it kept being good. Even on the nights he didn't drink from you, he liked it. Borderline loved it, if he was emotionally capable of associating that word with you. And he wanted to enjoy it while he could. He knew deep down that this was temporary, for more reasons than one. Soon enough he simply wouldn't need you anymore. After you defeated the demon for Raphael, Astarion would have some idea of Cazador's plans, and maybe enough to figure out a way to secure his freedom for good. And unless you planned on killing the man yourself, he... wouldn't have any reason to keep the facade going. Not to mention the obvious fact that you could wake up from your lust-induced stupor and break things off at any moment. Astarion wasn't looking forward to either outcome. But how else would this end? It's not like the two of you could set off into the sunset together, like some inane fairytale.

... right?

Astarion wasn't quite sure anymore. And he certainly wasn't going to figure it out any time soon. It was easier just to push the whole thing out of his mind. Especially now, when the two of you finally had a private room at the Last Light Inn, thank the gods. One more night of calm before they rushed into a temple full of horrors.

It was hard to hide his excitement as he pushed you onto the bed, his fangs already sharpening in anticipation. He wanted you to be marked head to toe by the end of the night, bites, bruises, anything and everything to remind you that you were his.

At least for tonight.

"Wait, wait!" You laughed as Astarion crawled over you, wasting no time in trying to claw your clothes off.

But the ask was enough to make him pause, a flash of worry running through his when he asked, "What's wrong? Did I- are you okay?"

You shook your head at him with a smile, your legs suddenly wrapping tightly around his waist "Nothing sweetheart, I'm fine. But..."

The next thing Astarion knew you were always flipping him over, so fast that he couldn't help but be impressed. He always underestimated just how strong you were. You grinned down at him as you sat atop his thighs, your hands rubbing over his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, "But I think it's my turn to spoil you for a change."

Astarion furrowed his brow, sincerely confused for a moment. And maybe even a little self-conscious, "Why? I mean-do you not like how-"

"You're very good darling," You gently interrupted with a laugh, your hands already working to pull his shirt over his head, laughed as you sat atop his thighs, doing the work to unbutton his shirt, "Best I've ever had, sincerely. But don't you think that things have been a bit one-sided?"

He hadn't, not for a moment, but he sure as hells wasn't going to complain. Not when he had a gorgeous woman on top of him, one who was already doing the work of taking his cock out.

"Let me take care of you for once," You murmured as you started to stroke his length, pre-come already dribbling at the tip, "Anything you want is yours tonight. Just say the word."

Astarion blinked up at you, momentarily at a loss before regaining his usual confidence. Or at least some of it, "Taking your clothes off would be a fantastic start."

You laughed as you did just that, light and airy while you tore your shirt over your head. Astarion didn't waste any time in surging forward, latching his mouth around your nipple with a groan.

He wrapped his arms around your bare back, pulling you closer as you moaned.

"I'm supposed to be pleasing you," You panted as you slipped your skirt down your thighs, tossing it to the side as he suckled on your chest, "Remember?"

"Pleasing you pleases me," Astarion popped off with a chuckle, looking up at you with dark eyes, "Lovely thing that you are."

You softly smiled down at him before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. And then you were squirming away from him. Ducking out of his arms and lap.

He just hadn't expected you to sink to your knees in front of the bed. You rubbed at his thighs, so close to him that he could feel the heat of your breath against his length.

"Can I?" You asked coyly, the question sweet enough to make him shiver. He would never get tired of that, you always asking for permission for the smallest little things.

Astarion sat up with a smile and a nod, tangling his fingers in your hair as he said, "Of course my sweet, go right ahead."

And off you went. You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling on it like the little minx you were. You looked beautiful down there, your hair in disarray as you swallowed around his cock; more than happy to let him take the lead and force your head to take him fully down your throat.

You were drooling around him, staring up at him with your big wet eyes as you worked your tongue around him. It felt wonderful, amazing even. But it wasn't enough. As lovely as your throat was, it was only his second favorite place to store his cock.

"Get up here my love," Astarion ordered, his voice rough and his mind too preoccupied to notice his own slip. He tightened the hand in your hair, easing you off of his cock with a groan, "As wonderful as your mouth is, I want to be inside you."

You grinned up at him before gracefully standing, your breasts on full display, pretty enough to make Astarion's mouth water. You pushed him back first onto the bed before crawling over him again, the heat of your wet cunt so close to his sensitive cock. You gripped the base of it before rubbing the head over your folds, whimpering as you used him to circle your own clit.

It felt amazing, and it looked even better. But Astarion was nearly out of patience. He gripped your hips, his nails just on the edge of piercing your skin as he growled at you, "Are you trying to kill me darling?"

"Just the opposite," You breathily laughed as you finally started to sink down onto his cock, brokenly moaning all the while, "J-Just want to make you feel good."

You were so wet, tight and perfect around him. And the noises you were making, all of your little whimpers and whines. They would be haunting his dreams for years to come. But it still wasn't enough. Despite how lovely it was to have you bouncing in his lap, he couldn't help but thrust up inside of you, matching your movements in tandem.

You gasped as he really started to fuck into you, hard and deep enough to bring tears to your eyes. You were clutching at his chest, hard enough to make him bleed. Not that he cared. How could he when he had you like this? Desperate and needy as you pussy leaked slick onto him, so soaked that Astarion knew that you had to be close.

It had been a long instilled habit of Astarion to be sure his partner always reached their peak first. It was nearly ingrained in his DNA at this point, a pattern that he had no intention of breaking anytime soon.

But then you were leaning in to kiss him, something that shouldn't have caught him off guard, yet it did.

The press of your lips to his felt so soft, so sweet, nothing like the way he was savagely fucking into you. It was gentle, loving even. And before Astarion knew it he was coming, his end abrupt and explosive. It felt like fireworks bursting behind his eyes; he barely even had the wherewithal to move his hand to rub at your clit. But he managed, and soon enough you were crying out above him, your pussy clenching hard around his still leaking cock.

You were still kissing him in that same tender way, softly licking into his mouth as warmth overtook him. He felt... good. Too good even. Enough so where he barely knew what to do with himself.

You pulled away first, but you didn't go far. Thank the gods, Astarion wasn't... he didn't know if he could handle being apart from you at the moment. You rested your forehead against his, smiling down at him with a smitten look, one that made his heart clench.

"Did you like that?" You asked softly, wincing slightly as you pulled off of his cock, "Because I sure did."

I love you.

The thought came sudden and unbidden, screaming into the front of his mind without his consent. He didn't-he wasn't-why had that come into his head at all?

Astarion tried to stomp the wayward thought down as he gave you a strained smile.

"I loved it," He answered sincerely, the truth of his feelings far too close to the truth of his idiotic heart, "I-thank you darling. You really are amazing, aren't you?"

"Such a charmer," You sighed as you laid down next to him, reaching out to tangle your fingers together, "I really never stood a chance against you, did I?"

That was almost enough to make Astarion break out in hysterical laughter.

But instead he squeezed your hand, his eyes turned to the ceiling while a conflicted smile graced his face, "No. You never did."

He could only hope that continued to be true.

[charmandabear]

La Douleur Exquise

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mildly dubious consent, thigh riding, dry humping, vampire bites, blood drinking, fear play, degradation, modern au

Summary:

You never hook up with strangers you meet in clubs. And this one is a vampire? This may just be the worst night of your life. Or maybe the best. It's hard to say.

An adaptation of @ogyscrypt's erotic audio, "Wait... you like being drained?" The second I heard this I couldn't get Astarion out of my head. Chaboi's vampire kink is STRONG, y'all.

And thank you so much to @wicked-well for letting me use your gorgeous render for the header, it fits too fucking perfectly 🥵

You’re unsure if it’s the thumping bass of the music, or the rakish way he smiled at you from across the bar, or the buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins. Under any other circumstances, you’d be significantly more cautious. Yet here you are, stumbling out of a club with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen attached to your lips. You paw desperately at his black button down, grabbing his collar to pull him into you. His scent is even more intoxicating than the whiskey sours you’ve been pounding all night – something sweet, herbal and citrusy. If you have any sense, you’ll ask him the name of it.

But that’s not what matters right now.

All that matters is the feel of his body as he presses you up against the brick wall in the alley beside the club. The orange glow from the streetlamps make his white curls almost look golden, the silver hoops in his pointed ears sparkling in the low light. The fingers of his left hand are hooked in your belt loop while the right is tangled in your hair, teasing at the possibility of pulling without giving into the temptation.

He breaks the kiss but keeps his lips close to yours as you both pant heavily, brains addled by lust and blood pounding in your ears. He chuckles, a low rumbling sound that makes your pussy tingle, and flashes that devastating smile.

“Don't get shy now, darling,” he purrs, lightly brushing his fingers over your exposed midriff and sending goosebumps down your arms. “Slide a hand into my shirt, slide a hand into my pants, be adventurous!” He returns his lips to yours, breathing through the kiss, “believe me, I do not mind.”

You take his advice, your fingers fumbling at his buttons and revealing his lean, sculpted chest. His shirt falls open and he rests his forearm on the brick behind you, the delicate silver chain around his neck swinging gently. He effectively has you trapped, and when he widens his smile just enough for two fangs to pop out, you press your lips together to catch the whimper before it escapes.

“V-vampire,” you croak, all sense of logic immediately flushed from your mind. You know that you should be terrified, that you should try to escape, but somehow learning this little fact about your nightclub stranger has only turned you on more.

“Very astute, love, well done,” he sneers, and the sarcasm in his voice makes your throat go dry. “Don't worry, I've known a few people who are into it.” He takes a finger and gently runs it down the side of your face. “I have a way of finding people who are attracted to my… oddities.”

Your tongue subconsciously darts out of your mouth to wet your lips and he lets out a long, contented sigh.

“I do believe you're a special case, however,” he continues breathily, sending a shiver through your core. “I believe that you and I,” he moves his knuckle under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his, “are going to get on like a house on fire. Now come here.”

He fiercely resumes the kiss, grabbing you tightly around the waist and pressing his palm to the skin of your lower back. You slide your fingers through his curls and pull him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. You turn your head to the side as his lips travel down your jaw and onto your neck, pressing sloppy kisses along the way. This time you're more than happy to let your little noises of pleasure leave your lips, and you can feel him smiling against the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Oh, so you like neck kisses? Well, that’s a given, everyone likes neck kisses,” he giggles as he continues to tease you with featherlight licks and nips. “And I happen to be somewhat of an expert in the art of love bites.”

He captures your skin between his blunted front teeth and worries at the skin, shooting a stinging pain through you. His tongue laps at the tender flesh between his teeth, suckling at it without drawing blood. The overwhelm of sensations sends jolts of lightning through your core and stars dance across your field of vision. Just when the prolonged pain almost becomes too much to bear, he pulls off your neck with a wet pop and leans back to admire his work.

“Just beautiful,” he breathes, running a finger delicately over the purpling flesh. His eyes sharply meet yours as he says with a devious smile. “And don’t think I didn’t hear that moan.”

Your cheeks grow hot as your insatiable lust for this complete stranger – this vampire, a predator that you should absolutely be terrified of – gives you away. But there’s no turning back now. You lick your lips and let your gaze linger on his fangs for a moment before bringing it back up to those crimson eyes. “I like the feel of it,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

“I’m glad,” he says airily before leaning in close to your ear. “Even if it does hurt, just a touch. But the best things do, don’t they?” He grazes his fangs along the thumping artery in your neck, your blood rushing to your head in a mix of arousal and fear. “Every last one of them.”

You can barely rasp out the “please” fast enough before he plunges his teeth into you, the feel of icy shards seizing up the left side of your body. You should be frightened by the pain, but instead it melts into a sublime numbness that sends a rush of adrenaline through your heart. La douleur exquise – exquisite pain. You never fully understood the phrase until this moment.

That’s to say nothing of the obscene noises the man is making. As he sucks long, greedy pulls of your blood, his grunts and groans vibrate through your skin. His breathing grows erratic in your ear, every sigh of pleasure sending a shiver down your spine. He clutches you tightly, one hand protecting the back of your head from scraping against the rough stone. The gesture would almost be tender if he weren’t currently ravaging your neck and sucking your life force right out of you.

And yet… every little twitch he makes, his body pushing against yours as your blood begins to course through his veins, sends your desire to staggering new heights. The perfect pale skin of his chest flushes slightly, and you can’t be sure but you think you might see the front of his pants straining slightly. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking. Your breathing speeds up as you twist beneath him, trying to get just an inch closer.

“Hold still,” he snarls as he pushes you harder up into the wall. Your breasts heave as your breathing grows shallow, pushing your cleavage into his warming skin. His grunts fall deeper into his chest, growing desperate and borderline animalistic. You’re beginning to lose your faculties as your survival instinct puts all of its resources into just staying conscious, and a wanton moan slips through your lips against your will.

He slows suddenly, his heavy breathing tickling the open wound on your neck before pulling away. “What was that?” he asks in a low voice, your brain swimming as your head lolls to the side. He taps your cheek quickly to bring your attention back to him. “What was that? What noise did you just make?” You did not think your heart could pound harder with the amount of blood you’ve already lost, but somehow you can hear it ringing in your ears. He glares at you dangerously, clearly waiting for an answer.

“What?” Your voice is small, shame and embarrassment mingling with lightheadedness as you try to parse exactly what he’s feeling.

“You heard me,” he spits. “What noise did you just make, darling?” You’re terrified that you’ve made him angry somehow, until a devilish smile curls his perfect bloody lips upwards. “It was a moan. You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He grins like a cat who’s caught the canary. “Other side, now,” he orders, and you obediently turn your head as his fangs pierce the unsullied flesh and send a renewed sense of arousal ricocheting around your body. A desperate keen works its way out of you, high and needy.

His hand twists in your hair and your hips buck into him, yearning for relief. He pulls you tighter into him, and now you’re positive that you can feel his cock through his tight leather pants. You whimper as he continues to gulp down swallows of your blood, your limbs tingling and your cunt throbbing for him. He laughs into your neck before detaching himself, gently lapping at the gaping holes still pouring blood. He sighs contentedly, licking his lips like he had just indulged in the sweetest cherry pie.

“Just look at yourself. Grabbed by the hair, neck craned aside, in a literal back alley being bitten by a vampire,” he jeers, his tone growing derisive. “And here you are, given away by your little shakes of excitement. Moaning, wantonly, like a whore putting on a performance.”

You pout at him, unsure if you feel more resentful that he sees fit to insult you, or that you kind of like it. He sees the gears turning in your brain and he giggles, a high pitched tinkling sound and a far cry off from the terrifying predator he really is.

“Oh, are you mad at me calling you names?” he coos condescendingly. His wicked grin only grows, showing off your red dripping down his pointed canines. He takes your chin in his hand, examining you, as though he’s appraising the quality of a cut of meat. “I could tell that you were a good one the moment I smelled those broken blood vessels under the skin. The moment I realized that you bled so prettily.”

You press your back into the brick wall behind you, your body giving you signals to run while your cunt clenches around nothing. He runs his thumb over your lips and your tongue darts out to savor him in any way that you can. He slips the digit into your mouth and you suck desperately, wanting to please. His hand cups your jaw and he pulls your face in close to his, the scent of iron hot on his breath.

“Give me another kiss,” he whispers, popping his thumb out of your mouth. “Taste your scarlet crimson on my lips.” He pulls you in for another searing kiss, the salty metallic sharpness coating your tongue and setting off your fear response.

You slide your hands into those white curls with a surprising amount of fervor given how lightheaded you feel. He slides his knee between your legs, lifting you off your toes slightly, the pressure of his thigh giving you much needed relief from the dull throbbing in your cunt. You groan into his lips and deepen the kiss, desperate for him to devour you whole, and he chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Why do I get the sense that you’ve been dreaming about this?” he purrs, running a finger down your neck and swiping a droplet of your blood. He daubs the red onto your lips and you whimper, your tongue hanging out of your mouth like a lovesick puppy. “Why else would someone react so needily?” You whine and squirm on his thigh, conflicting instincts within you simultaneously trying to convince you to try to escape while craning your neck towards him. He chuckles and licks a stripe up the holes in your neck, pulling a ghastly shiver out of you. “Isn’t this just precious, you pathetic little thing.”

You gasp, once again surprised that the insult causes something in your stomach to flip over. He dives into your neck again and your hands clutch the collar of his button down, pulling him as close as you can physically get. He growls rhythmically in your ear with each swallow of your blood, and you can practically feel his cock sliding in and out of you so strong is your arousal. You claw at his back as you ride his thigh, his ragged breath caressing your hairline and tearing increasingly embarrassing noises from your throat. The pressure building deep within your core signals to you that it won’t be long now, and if he keeps this up you might simply collapse on the spot.

He pulls away panting and you make a strangled noise of frustration at the loss of his fangs. He drags the tip of his tongue up your jaw, transferring a thin line of his spit mixed with your blood onto your skin. He presses his lips to your ear with a low chuckle. “I’ve never seen such positive reinforcement for my illicit behavior. And look at you, practically grinding yourself on my fucking leg.” His voice is scathing but colored by an undeniable tone of amusement.

“Please,” you whine, your lips barely able to form the words. You grasp at him weakly, fighting against the blood loss to beg him to keep drinking so you can finally feel any sort of release.

“Oh, were you about to come? Look at me, slut. Are you actually going to come?” He grabs your chin and forces you to focus your bleary eyes on him. A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit, you are. You're on the fucking edge, aren't you?”

“Please,” you repeat, your voice raspy. “Please let me, I’m so close, I just need–” He cuts off your begging with a sharp tug of your hair.

“Oh don’t you worry, I will. And here’s what’s about to happen.” He runs his lips over your ear, and his voice has the feel of velvet pushed against the grain. Soft, but still somehow wrong. “I’m going to drain you dry while you rut on my leg like a bitch in heat. And when I let you come, I want you to moan for me in that pretty way you do.” He pulls back and hits you with a piercing red stare. “But I want you crying out my name. And if you do, and if you’re good, I promise, this won’t be a one-time thing.” His eyes are borderline hypnotic, and you find yourself nodding before you realize you’re missing important information.

“And what’s your name?” you ask shakily. His smile widens enough for his pink-tinged fangs to pop out. He brings his lips back to your ear and you shudder.

“Astarion.”

Before you can even process the sound of his name he’s sunk his fangs into your neck once again and you cry out with the pain and pleasure. You paw desperately at his collar as you grind your cunt onto his leg, rapidly building yourself back up to climax. The feel of his tongue lapping at your flesh, the vibration of his satisfied groans, and his heavy breathing in your ear swirl in a sinful mixture of lust and hedonism. Your roll your hips, your slick folds rubbing together and working your clit as the heat begins to spiral outwards. Your little whimpers grow into whines and eventually into full on moans until you finally feel yourself at the edge.

He can feel it, too, and he grunts between gulps, “Good. Good girl. Come for me.”

It’s all you need. “Fuck, Astarion!”

The moment his name leaves your lips he pulls his fangs and leg away, holding you up only by your hair as the waves of your orgasm wrack through your body, the sight of his feral bloody grin only prolonging it that much further. As the ripples of your climax slowly subside, he unceremoniously lets go of you and you slump down the brick wall and onto the dirty ground. He crouches down over you, taking your chin in his hand and forcing your gaze on him.

“Blink twice if you don’t think you’re dying, love,” he coos, his voice almost gentle. You manage a woozy nod, and then very deliberately squinch your eyes shut twice. He giggles and gives your cheek a few taps. He rifles through your pockets until he finds your phone, and picks up a limp arm and forces the phone into your hand. “Unlock code, pumpkin.” You force yourself to tap out the numbers before letting your head roll back to the side.

He pulls up your contacts and hits the plus button. “If you feel like you’re about to pass out, call emergency services. But,” his gaze flicks up to you as he pauses between typing numbers. “Once you feel like you can stumble onto your feet and get home, call this number, and leave a message with your address.” He drops your phone in your lap and gives you another kiss, sensual, his now warm lips moving softly against your cold ones. “And at some point, when I feel like it, I’ll come ‘round to you. And we’re going to do this again,” he kisses you and you can already feel a spike of arousal moving through you. “And again.” Another kiss. “And again.” His lips are wet from your blood, and you shiver as he pulls away, the cool night air sweeping against your frigid limbs. He breathes against your lips, a waft of iron infiltrating your nose. “I’ll see you soon, darling.”

He stands, and as he begins to walk away, you can barely hear him mutter quietly under his breath, “

.” You smile weakly, unable to bring yourself to care that you’re crumpled and satisfied in a back alley, knowing that you’re getting just as much out of this deal as he is.

[pursuitseternal]

#3 from the prompts Tav x spawn Astarion. I could see it playing out different ways. Either Tav says the "I want to please you " to Astarion. Or, specifically at a point where Astarion is reclaiming himself and Tav is feeling a certain way that night. Tav not wanting to make Astarion feel pressured into anything is reluctant. I don't know. They've both been done before though.

“I want to please you…”

Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts

CW: sexual frustration, emotional angst, Astarion’s recovering agency phase, female maturation, voyeurism

It hurts, your heart physically aches. You didn’t know it could do that. Not until Astarion confessed his feelings for you.

True feelings, heartfelt and sincere.

Passionate feelings without a way of expressing them passionately.

And it tears through you, body, heart and soul. You’ve never felt closer to someone.

Or further away.

The ruins outside of Rivington serve as a nice place to make camp for these few days. But since Astarion’s confession, since his new need to reclaim intimacy for his own, you’ve… started making due with your bedroll by the fire once more.

Giving him his tent to himself. Giving him space… privacy… autonomy…

Freedom.

So now, it’s just you, lonely, heart aching you, tending the fire well past midnight. Knees pulled into your chest, you fight the sobs that begin to push on your diaphragm and you hide the tears that sting in the corners of your eyes.

He loves you…

But he doesn’t want you. At least that's what your darkest, most self-loathing thoughts are whispering from the shadows.

You pull your legs in tighter with both arms, squashing your breasts in until they hurt. Maybe if they were bigger, he’d want you… or smaller. Maybe if you were taller… curvier… maybe if you had as much of a knack for seduction as he did…

Now those tears are coming down your cheeks, hot and thick, making your nose run.

A disparaging laugh of self hatred bursts from your snotty throat. Look at you, ugly crying and desperate. Good thing he’s out hunting and can’t see you.

Pathetic. No wonder he doesn’t have desire for you.

You pick up a long stick and stoke the fire, the orange light flaring brightly enough to illuminate the figure opposite you on the other side of the pit.

Astarion.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” His voice is small, timid. He speaks in gentle tones, as if he isn’t standing there with his bare chest covered in a few remaining smears of whatever animal’s blood was his supper.

“Oh, gods,” you groan, hiding your face into your knees, wishing you had learned the spell for invisibility. Would have been fucking useful right now.

Too late, he’s already come to crouch next to you on your bedroll. His body hums with strength from his feeding as he easily pries your arms off of your legs. “Why are you crying, my darling? Was… was it something I said?”

“N-n-no,” you manage to lie, well… white lie, your voice snuffled with your nose running still. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, the two words that immediately carry a lie,” he purrs, setting down to sit close to you. “What is wrong, my sweet… I’m all… pointy ears, my love,” he grins, attempting to lean into your line of sight.

But you turn even further. Your heart flips into your gut, retreating more and more away from confessing your own truths. “I… I’ll see you in the morning. I just… need sleep.”

Another lie he doesn’t buy. You can feel the tension coiling in those lean muscles of his. Which only makes your body ache more, longing and yearning fanning to life now that he’s so close. You fist your hands into the leather cover of your bedroll to keep yourself from reaching out to touch him.

Icy fingers settle on your fist, and it nearly makes you jump out of your skin, or scream… or jump into his arms. “Darling, I… I know this isn’t easy for you. Taking time to step back from carnal delights, from nights of passion,” you close your eyes as you hear his voice purring over those words. You know he can smell your arousal, he can probably even sense the way your pussy clenches at the memory of just those kinds of nights with him.

“I am thankful,” he continues to whisper, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’ve never felt more in command of my own faculties, my own choices… my own body for that matter.”

You give a wet, snot-ridden cough of a laugh. “I’m glad you don’t feel compelled to touch me,” you reply. Oh, that tone is bitter; your words are unfiltered, your voice rife with the days of ache and self-loathing that you’ve hidden fairly well… until now.

“Compelled?” he snips. “Darling, I… I want to touch you, to make love to you… to worship you….”

You stand, awkwardly trying to think of an excuse to get out of this discussion. But his cool, vice-like grip just catches and locks around your wrist. “No, no, my sweet,” he whispers, this time he sounds… pained. “You’re not getting out of this so easily.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you start your apology, turning to see him raised on both knees. His arms pull you in against him, his face burying into your belly. His nose pushes into the soft mound of your stomach.

“Don’t leave… please,” he mutters into the fabric of your shirt, the cloth growing damp with his breath as he just holds you like that, and you can’t resist returning his touch.

First, it’s fingers in his hair, combing and carding through those soft, sweat-damp, silver curls. A brush of your thumb on his cheek, and he looks up at you, crimson eyes wet with unshed tears and wide as if he can’t close them, too afraid you’ll disappear the moment he blinks. His hands skate over you slowly, roaming from your back to your sides… to the loose hem of your tunic.

“How do I feel?” you ask, wanting to hear his words of beautiful praise more than you even crave that touch that unravels your body.

“You feel… like home,” he whispers so quietly, you strain over the crackles of dying fire just to discern his words. “You’re a vision… a vision of love… of belonging and protection. You are the light in my life that keeps the shadows and monsters away, as if I were an elfling all over again, afraid of the dark.” His hands creep that chilling touch to find the skin of your belly, and he presses the hard planes of his torso against your legs. “If I lost you, my light, the shadows would swallow me, I know it.”

You close your eyes, grimacing as if the words he’s whispering aren’t the balm to your self-inflicted wounds, as if his featherlight touch isn't making your cunt ache more and more.

He takes a shaky breath in. “You are as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood…. I… I want to learn more about you… I want to please you…”

Fingers brush the bottom edges of your breasts, thumbs daring to tease the hardening peaks of your nipples. “Astarion…” his name leaves your lips like a prayer. “It’s ok. You don’t have to… I’m nothing special…”

His body goes rigid, his hands freeze as they barely graze your skin. Those crimson eyes burn as they almost glare up at you… “I know I don’t have to,” he finally replies, more confident, less snarky than you thought he could be. “That’s why I want to learn how to please you.”

Pulling you down, he kneels next to you on your bedroll in the dead of night. “Touch yourself,” he dares the words to leave his lips. “Show me how you pleasure yourself so I can learn.”

Your face flames white hot; tears form in your eyes not from self-loathing anymore, but from your body’s visceral reaction to his intense stare. Biting your lip, you slide your shirt up above your navel, and your trousers, you open to shimmy them awkwardly to your ankles.

You couldn’t feel more self-conscious. And then you look at his face. A few streaks of dried animal blood only make him look all the hungrier, the more predatory. And yet, his hands just rest on his knees where he sits on his heels. Those dark, dilated eyes race from your bared legs, to your mound, and then to your face. The right corner of his lip crooks ever so slightly into a smirk as he nods. Your eager student, ready to observe how you like to be pleased… by pleasuring yourself.

You close your eyes, and he grunts, whether in approval or not, you are too afraid to open them back up to find out. So, you start as always.

Your hands brush their way up your thighs, around your lower belly, a few more passes of your warm palms over every inch of skin between your knee and your navel. When you can hear his breathing grow heavy, you reward yourself with your middle finger dipping between your folds to circle straight for your clit. A sweep of your touch, and you draw generous amounts of slick towards it.

The lewd squelch it makes almost makes you open your eyes and stop… almost… until you hear him groan above you.

It’s all the encouragement you need. Eyes shut tight, your fingers, two of them, pump towards your entrance. Faster and faster, you thrust, stopping every now and then to circle your clit on your way. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath when your ears pick up another sound. It’s hands on fabric. Rhythmic… in time with your own tempo of pleasure.

Your hips buck at the sound as it pairs with the image in your mind.

Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you see him, pale hand touching himself through his pants. His tongue peeks from the corner of his lips… just a hint of fang behind as he grins. But he doesn’t notice your gaze, not when his own is locked on your swollen, glistening cunt where your fingers are now rapidly disappearing inside. Over … and over… again.

“Astar…” you breathe, unable to finish his name, your voice rippling with need. Hips bucking, wrist locking up from rapid use, every nerve in your body flares the second that devouring gaze meets yours. A cry swallows the second half of his name from the tip of your tongue as you shatter.

There is nothing but heat in your belly, lightning down your nerves, and arousal gushing from your center as you come at last… At long, long last.

He folds in on himself, his own hand pressing fervently on his erection, hips bucking into his palm. And when he finally lifts his head again, he’s practically drunk with pleasure…. Your name is an incantation of thanksgiving on his lips. “Incredible,” he half-whimpers. “You’re incredible, coming undone like that, just for me.”

“Mmmhmm,” you smile, content and sleepily as you pull your hand from your folds. You reach to fix your pants, but his grip locks on your wrist again.

This time, he pulls it to his mouth. He takes a deep inhale of your scent as if you are the rarest of blossoms, and then… he licks them, suckling gently on them. His tongue dances over your digits, savoring your flavor with every swipe.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pulling your shirt back down as you clumsily slide your trousers back up, “this was… something.”

“Something good?” You try to tease, but the weight of all your carried emotions takes those two words and bogs them down.

“The very best… best I have ever and will ever have,” he smiles tenderly, laying down beside you, snug in your bedroll.

[dancingbirdie]

Would you plz do a fic with Astarion when tav and the party looted a bunch of alcohol and take it back and drink it and celebrate at camp but tav gets a little drunk and astarion starts realising his feelings for them? 😳

I’d love astarion to take care of me after a few drinks 😂

Bless you anon, for gifting me this fic idea. It practically wrote itself and saved me from being bored all day at work. I hope you enjoy it!

A Night of Drinks and Realizations

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,120

Warnings/Tags: Astarion x GN!Tav, minor act 1 spoilers, drinking, drunkenness, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, FLUFF! Non-sexual HEARTWARMING FLUFF!

Song Credit: The Galway Girl by Steve Earle (I do not own rights to the music, lyrics modified slightly to fit the fic)

************************************************************************

Chultan Fireswill tasted exactly as its name suggested - like the last charcoaled bits remaining in a dying campfire. But, Tav had to admit, it got the job done. It was as strong as horse piss on a hot day. They were absolutely soused from just half a bottle. Although, to be fair, Tav hadn’t been a heavy drinker in their past life, before all this illithid tadpole business had come about. Now? Well, they supposed they had much more reason to imbibe. 

Tav sat around the campfire with most of the others, enjoying spoils from the goblin camp the party had handily defeated - mostly due to the help that Halsin and Lump the Enlightened’s group had provided. They had yet to make it back to the Emerald Grove as Halsin had requested. Utterly spent from the fighting and fleeing, Tav and the rest of the party had opted instead to rest for the night in the blighted village on the outskirts of the goblin camp. At least there were semi-usable beds in some of the abandoned buildings. 

Shortly after setting up camp, Gale had retired early, eager to continue reading some of the dusty tomes he’d been collecting throughout their journey. Astarion had slunk off in search of something to satiate his thirst, leaving the rest of the group in various states of relaxation around the fire. It was a quiet, peaceful evening. Everyone seemed to be deep in their own thoughts, ruminating.

That was until Tav hiccupped loudly, breaking the thoughtful silence that had overtaken the party. Karlach guffawed at the sound, smacking her hands on her thighs.

“Tav’s absolutely PISSED, look at them!” she managed between cackles. The other party members turned to observe them, curious. They had all been running about, fighting, nonstop for the past few days. No one in the party had ever been well and truly drunk in front of the others. There just hadn’t been the time, or the relative safety, to be inebriated.

Tav blinked blearily at Karlach across the bonfire, trying to focus. “‘M not,” they garbled. “‘M perffc-ly fine.”

“Chk. Your tolerance for this weak slop is an embarrassment,” Lae’zel spat from her seat next to Tav. “Give me that,” she said as she grabbed the bottle from their hand, upturning it and consuming the rest of the foul liquid in one go. 

Tav smiled amiably and patted her on the knee. “You’re *hiccup* lovely. I forgive you *hiccup* for takin’ my drink.”

Lae’zel stared at them, eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wyll, Shadowheart, and Karlach were nearly bursting at the seams to keep from laughing openly. 

“I do not require your forgiveness, ska’keth,” she snapped. 

Tav just giggle-hiccupped and smiled again. Looking to the rest of the party, they put a hand to their mouth and stage-whispered, “she’s a little grumpy, that one.”

At this, they all laughed uproariously. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, reaching for another bottle of alcohol piled near the rest of the camp supplies.

“YOU-GUYS,” Tav suddenly shouted in a slur, tottering over to snatch up a new bottle of Chultan Fireswill. “We should have a party. Like, right now, have a party.” 

“FUCK YES!” Karlach cheered, chucking an empty mead bottle onto the ground with a resounding crash. “I’m all in, baby,” she said, reaching for an unopened bottle of Ithbank.

“Here, here,” Shadowheart echoed, raising her own bottle. “We could do with a bit of levity and foolishness, I think. Does anyone play an instrument? Some music would be lovely.”

“It’s been a few years but I believe I can still pluck a few tunes on the lyre. Let me give it a go,” Wyll replied, rummaging through his pack supplies to retrieve the instrument. 

Moments later, he began plucking a jovial tune that had everyone besides Lae’zel tapping their feet and nodding to the music. After it finished, he continued with a dancing jig Tav was familiar with from the taverns in Waterdeep, although most of the footwork eluded them in their drunken state. 

“Where’s Gale and Astarion?” Tav shouted in a sing-song voice, twirling around in a laughable attempt at dancing. “Wake their asses up and tell them we’re having a party!” 

“No need for ass-waking, at least for me,” Gale called, joining the party from the direction of one of the abandoned houses. “No one can get an ounce of sleep with you lot frolicking around the fire.” 

“GALE!” Tav shrieked as they dance-skipped over to him, tripping slightly and smashing into his chest. “You made it!”

Chivalrous as ever, the wizard kindly grabbed Tav’s arms to keep them upright and restore some semblance of balance to their swaying form. “Quite literally impossible to miss it, Tav. Your voice carries extraordinarily well,” he replied, chuckling.

Tav gave him a rueful smile. “I drank, jus’ a lil’,” they explained. 

At this, his face broke into a wide grin. “I can certainly see that. Looks like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do if I'm to match the rest of you!” 

He guided Tav over to where Shadowheart was sitting, delicately perched on an old traveler’s trunk near the fire. “Perhaps stay here while I go peruse our stockpile.” 

Tav plopped down unceremoniously next to Shadowheart, who quirked a smile. “Enjoying ourselves are we?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Tav sighed out. “Although it would be even better if Astarion joined us. Where IS he?” they asked, swiveling their head around the village square, hoping to spot his telltale white blonde locks. 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Maybe he caught himself a big bear and is drinking it dry,” Shadowheart said teasingly.

Tav nodded seriously, “He deserves the biggest bear, ever,” they said, absolutely failing to notice the joke. 

Shadowheart scoffed. “Lovesick, little pup?” 

Tav giggled, abruptly hiccupped, and then giggled again at that. 

“He’s just beautiful,” they finally replied in a dreamy sort of voice. 

And then, “Inside and out,” they added, more softly.

Shadowheart threw her head back with a laugh. “Oh gods! You really are lovesick.”

Tav hummed happily. “I think I am, but - OH MY GODS!”

“What?” Shadowheart shouted, startled and peering about to assess the apparently impending danger. 

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” Tav shrieked, jumping to their feet and swaying about once more as Wyll began playing another lively tune. 

Confession utterly forgotten, they were lost to the strumming of the lyre, spinning like a top that might never stop. 

************************************************************************

Astarion had not planned to eavesdrop on the conversation between Tav and Shadowheart as he made his way back toward the camp. Truly, he hadn’t. But, at the mention of his name from Tav, he couldn’t help but wonder what the conversation was about. 

Stepping quietly around the corner of the decrepit tavern, he paused to listen. His heightened senses easily picked up on their voices as clear as if he would be standing next to them. 

Tav had… feelings for him? Astarion didn’t know what to do with this information. Why were they admitting this so openly? And to a person they barely knew? Was this a ploy? Was Tav banking on him hearing this supposed confession and trying to lull him into some false sense of security? The paranoid part of his mind was absolutely convinced of it.

But no, surely that couldn’t be it, another more reasonable part of his brain asserted. Lost in his thoughts, he observed Tav whirling about the campfire with their bottle of booze spilling out. They accidentally doused Lae’zel with a spurt of liquid, causing the Githyanki to swear loudly and move to the other side of the campfire. 

Astarion huffed a laugh. No, Tav was… many things… but devious was not one of them. He had observed them enough throughout their travels the last few days and had come to the conclusion that Tav was as harmless as a week-old pup to those they liked and trusted. They were genuine, transparent, and… open… to his utter confusion. And, okay yes, his considerable annoyance. 

But Astarion was truly hard-pressed to remain annoyed at Tav for long. They were just so gods-damned pure. As pure as the sun’s rays. Being annoyed with them was like being annoyed at the sun for existing. It couldn’t help what it was. Tav couldn’t help who they were. It would be a mistake, a waste of time, to despise them for their nature. 

He envied them for that. But above all else, if he were being totally honest with himself, he craved their attention just as much as he relished the actual sunbeams he’d been able to feel on his skin for the first time in over 200 years. 

But still, Astarion had no idea how to process this revelation, that the-pure-sun-incarnate-Tav had love for him. Love. Not merely lust, desire, or attraction. Now those he was familiar with.  Those had been a currency he’d transacted on Cazador’s behalf for so many years. But love? Love was an unknown concept to him. It had never been something he’d tried to cultivate in the minds of his victims. Astarion wasn’t even sure he understood what love actually was.  

A series of loud bangs startled him from his circling thoughts. He looked up and chuckled at the sight he beheld.

Tav had found several scrolls of minor illusion in Gale’s packs and had begun to set off fireworks. Bright green, pink, and yellow sparks were careening into the sky, exploding into images of flowers and pixies to the utter delight of Tav. The rest of the party were loitering about, laughing at Tav as they clapped their hands in joy. 

Seeing as this would perhaps be the best time to integrate himself into the party, Astarion strolled toward the campfire. Grabbing a bottle of some cheap swill they’d looted, he took a seat beside Shadowheart and nodded in a cheers sort of motion to the cleric. She raised her bottle in acknowledgement. 

“Come to watch the wonder that is Tav utterly debauched?” she quipped.

“I must say, I rather like them like this, all uninhibited and bawdy” he replied, his eyes following Tav as they danced and gyrated their way over to Wyll, who was plucking out another familiar tavern tune.  

“Wyll, do you know the song ‘The Amphail Girl’?” Tav asked too loudly, hiccupping.

“I do, but gods Tav, I don’t know that I’ve ever tried playing it,” Will admitted.

“Okay, okay,” Tav sighed in a mock-morose tone, stopping Wyll from playing by placing a hand on the lyre strings. “Then you must pass the lyre my friend and be ready to take some *hiccup* notes.”

Wyll, ever the good sport of the group, obliged Tav’s demand and relinquished the instrument. 

Astarion chuckled. “Oh, dear. They’re not about to actually put on a performance, are they?” he asked in a somewhat-rhetorical question toward Shadowheart.

She chuckled. “It appears so. Liquid courage really does wonders, it seems.”

They both watched as Tav began plucking at the strings of the lyre until they stitched together the right tune. After a few beats of strumming, they began to sing.

“I took a stroll down the old long walk

Of the day I-ay-I-ay

I met a little girl and we stopped to talk

Of a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

And I knew right then I been takin' a whirl

Down the Salthill Prom with an Amphail girl”

The entire party watched, enraptured, as Tav sang the lyrics in a beautiful, high tenor voice. Their hands never missed a chord, performing as though they knew the song by heart. 

“Did you cast Guidance on them?” Astarion whispered to Shadowheart, as Tav strummed the bridge of the song. 

“No, I haven’t touched my magic since this afternoon,” she replied. “This is all Tav. Shocking, considering how inebriated they are.”

It seemed the rest of the party members were in equal disbelief that their drunken compatriot could perform so flawlessly. Tav continued the song, smiling as they sang, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of the stares they had garnered. 

“We were halfway there when the rain came down

On the day I-ay-I-ay

She asked me up to her flat downtown

On a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl

Oh, and I lost my heart to an Amphail Girl”

And the longer Tav sang, the longer Astarion realized there were cracks now forming in his long-held aloof façade. There they were, singing with their heart and soul, radiating unobtrusive joy. Astarion was enamored by Tav’s utter lack of pretense. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, even if he had wanted to.

“When I woke up I was all alone

With a broken heart and a ticket home

And I ask you now, tell me what would you do?

If her hair was black and her eyes were blue

'Cause I've travelled around, I've been all over this world

Boys, I've never seen nothin' like an Amphail girl”

Tav concluded the song with a final series of strums. They opened their eyes slowly and looked around curiously at the party, as though they had forgotten where they had been before the song began. Astarion thought they had an almost ethereal look in their eyes. Everyone had grown quiet, the meaningful pause leading them toward more introspective thoughts.

Of course, that was before Tav doubled over and hurled the contents of their stomach on the ground. In a blink, that otherworldly moment was gone, and the party members groaned at the mess of ick now puddling in the center of their circle. 

Tav wobbled on their feet, very nearly careening to the ground. 

Strong arms caught them about the waist before they collapsed. 

“Now, now darling, the fun is truly over, it seems. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Astarion coaxed, leading Tav toward the tavern. 

“You alright taking care of them, then?” Karlach called after him and Tav. 

“Yes, yes, I can keep the pup from choking on their vomit,” Astarion promised.

“And make sure they drink plenty of water!” Shadowheart added.

“Astarion?” Tav mumbled, seeming to finally come to, blinking up at the pale elf’s face. 

“Yes, darling, I’ve got you,” he murmured, an arm wrapped solidly around Tav’s waist. 

“Oh good. Did you get a beat grig bear? Oops,” Tav chuckled, grinning. “I meant a great… big… bear. Shadowheart *hiccup* said you would.”

Astarion didn’t have a bloody clue as to what Tav was talking about, but he nodded along, charmed by their innocent look of excitement.

“We should drink to celebrate!” they said suddenly. 

Astarion well and truly laughed. “No, my dear, I think we’ve both done enough drinking for the night,” he responded. 

Tav sighed. “I suppose you could be right,” they grumbled.

The two fell into a companionable silence. Astarion carefully walked Tav up the steps of the tavern and guided them toward an old boarding room near the back. There was a bed there, mostly left untouched by grime and pests. In any case, it was a more favorable alternative to sleeping on the ground.

Gently, Astarion pushed Tav to sit down on the edge of the bed. Crouching to his knees, he began pulling their boots off their feet. Tav watched in a daze before lifting a hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. 

Concentrating on the laces of Tav’s boots, he hadn’t been expecting their touch. He jumped slightly in surprise. Casual touches were not something he was used to. 

At his response, Tav removed their hand from his skin but kept it floating there in the air, as if unsure what to do. 

“Sorry,” they murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Astarion held their gaze, pondering them thoughtfully. After a moment, he took Tav’s hand and returned it to his cheek. 

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I’m beginning not to mind those touches from you.”

Tav gave him a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Astarion,” they whispered and began to slump over onto the bed. 

“No no, not yet you don’t,” Astarion said hastily, rising to his feet and walking over to fetch a carafe of water from his pack. 

“Here. Drink all of this,” he said, extending the bottle to Tav.

“I don’t want water,” they said, frowning. 

“Trust me, darling, you’ll thank me for it in the morning,” Astarion chuckled. 

Tav gave a sullen huff. “Fine, but only because you asked.”

They downed the carafe in a couple of drinks before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Satisfied that Tav wouldn’t perish from alcohol poisoning - at least not tonight - Astarion made to leave the room. A quiet voice gave him pause just as he was about to cross the threshold. 

“Could you stay with me, please?” Tav whispered, watching Astarion through half-closed eyes. 

Astarion balked inwardly. Staying in the same bed with Tav would mean something. To Tav. To him. Was he prepared for that? What would Tav expect from him then, in the days that followed? Was this a step toward some kind of commitment? Did he want that?

As the seconds ticked by, he watched Tav’s eyelids close completely. They may not have even been aware that they had uttered that request aloud. They certainly weren’t aware of the effect it had on Astarion. He could just as easily pretend not to have heard them and walk out the door, leaving things as they were between them now: a curious potential.

But watching Tav’s chest slowly rise and fall with peaceful breaths, Astarion felt that craving again. The desire to be in the warm sun. To be touched by the sun’s rays. 

Fears be damned, he thought. At least for tonight. He could have this moment, he reasoned. He could have this one night. 

And, climbing into bed next to Tav, a part of him thrilled at the way their body turned and curled into his. The complete and total trust they had in him, that he wouldn’t harm them. That he - Astarion - was a safe harbor in which they could rest. 

The realization was too much to take in. So foreign. His mind couldn’t make sense of it. 

But, as he lay there in the quiet, his hand gently brushing Tav’s locks back from their forehead, listening to their even breaths, Astarion knew one thing. Whatever this new feeling was that Tav was drawing out of him? He wanted more than just a few stolen moments of it.

[glitteryinknotes]

Like with many things, it's been said before, but I just need to get this off my chest.

I despise the way the game's ending treats Astarion and the way he has to flee from the sun in utter panic.

I'm not annoyed by it, I'm not angered, I just... Deeply detest it. I can't understand it in the slightest. What the fuck?

Who thought of that? Who thought that would be funny? ESPECIALLY if you're not romancing him, but you still care about him as a friend. That miserable scene of him having to run for his life as the sun mercilessly burns him is supposed to be the last you see of him? After everything?

Honestly, the first instinct anyone caring about him (i'm not even talking his lover) should have is to run after him instantly to make sure he's safely reached nearest shadows and hasn't been burned to a crisp in the meantime. Everything else can wait; the world is saved, tadpoles dealt with, but your companion / beloved is now in mortal danger. This is priority.

And the right ending to his romance should be to frantically run after him, find him curling down on the ground in the first shadow from a random barrel stack he could find, and to have a heart to heart talk with him there, comfort him, plan your future, as you both await the dusk. No way in hell you're leaving him alone.

I just can't get over it, to be honest. We all know BG3 is a once - in - a - century masterpiece of a game, and it just pains me even more so because with everything, everything in the game being so wonderfully thought through, it genuinely feels that to that one part - but such an important one - no one really paid enough attention.

[edit: my original post did indeed include mention of AI, but I ended up removing it because honestly, I should have realised it while writing it's simply wrong to spread or recommend any content with AI use. Thank you @sometimesraven for pointing that out to me in the comments]

[multific]

Haunting You

Astarion x Reader

Summary: A ghost story turned love story.

A/N: The ghost mentioned below is based on the ghost in Mama 2013 movie.

The world was filled with all sorts of creatures.

Vampires, fairies, demons, dragons, witches and ghosts.

Astarion had seen many of these creatures, killed many and fucked even more.

He would say nothing surprises him anymore.

But that would be a lie.

He never cared for haunted places.

Until one night he had to hide in one.

It was an old castle, on the verge of complete destruction and yet, something held it all together.

Magic.

It was easy to deduct, the place was filled with magic so dark, it almost made Astarion run out.

Suppose certain death wouldn't be waiting for him outside. And yet, the new blood following him didn't enter.

Maybe then knew better like he should have.

He turned to his left at the end of the corridor. He wasn't sure what made him go that way in the first place.

But he heard possibly the most blood-curdling scream of all time. It was followed by low moans and groans.

It made Astarion stop in his tracks as he looked down at the long and dark corridor. He could make out the faint line of a woman. But her body seems to be broken in more than one place.

She kept on groaning as she just stood there.

Astarion has only ever felt this fear in life. The undeniable feeling of death.

The woman kept watching Astarion and he was sure, this would be his end.

Who could have guessed a haunted castle would bring his end?

The woman raised her broken arms as if she was preparing to charge at him. And he was sure it would be quick.

He knew deep down, that this was the end. There was no way he could outrun a ghost, an angry, vengeful ghost at that. Those were the worst.

He could feel his heart in his throat as he was sure he was taking his last breaths.

"Mama." a voice startled him, making him shake as he looked at the woman who just spoke. "He is a guest. We treat guests nicely."

You stood there, to his right, slightly behind him by the window.

Your eyes fixed on the ghostly figure at the end of the hallway.

You were a witch, Astarion was sure, he had seen your kind before.

But he had never seen someone like you, someone so beautiful.

He didn't dare to look at the woman but you, he had no problem looking at you.

Your eyes soon met his.

"Apologies for her, she is rather... protective." Astarion noticed that the ghostly apparition stood right next to him, watching his every move with her eyes, eyes fixed on Astarion who was too scared to look away from you.

"Who is she?" is what he managed to say in the end.

"I would say she was a loving woman with many children before her husband turned on her and killed her. Now, she is looking for her children. She often comes by there."

"How exactly do you know that?"

"You are rather sassy for someone who I just saved from death. But she told me the story. Come, you must be hungry." you said as you turned and walked away, he followed, leaving the woman standing there.

"What would you wish to eat? Meat? Or would you rather have blood?" you asked looking at him as you guided him to your living chambers.

"You are a witch." it was a statement, not a question. You both knew exactly what the other one was.

Not like either of you was hiding it.

"And you are a vampire."

"Actually, I am an elf-vampire. So, you were only half right." Astarion wasn't even sure where his confidence came from.

But you didn't seem to mind. 

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fallout-girl219

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, OR TO STEAL ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[kairiscorner]

i blame yang for this @xoxo-cha she better wait until i get into baldur's gate 3, I WILL NEVER LEAVE HER ALONE WITH ASTARION THOUGHTS AS REVENGE

(timeskip) osamu miya as your husband.

he definitely cooks for you, ALL THE TIME (or whenever he can!) he loves cooking and food, and he loves you on top of all those things; to see you enjoy the food he makes really brightens him up and makes him more motivated to get through the day all to see you smile because of the food he makes you.

but you gotta admit, when he's cooking and in the zone, he looks so fucking hot

he loves staying in bed with you and having your smaller, softer body being wrapped around his arms; he may have quit volleyball, but he still keeps himself fit with exercise—his arms are so... muscular, you're just so snug in between his biceps :D

you actually have to wake him up every morning, and it's a challenge. he's been so used to looking after and keeping atsumu in check that he's enjoying all his time being with you in bed and not wanting to wake up until it's opening time for his onigiri shop.

he always mumbles in his half-sleepy daze how it's 'too early' and how he can't function right now unless you kiss him all over or drag him out of bed (he got atsumu's childishness way later in life it seems)

he does know his limits though and doesn't want to burden you too much, which is why when he's the one managing the shop and you're going out to work or run errands, he does almost all the housework for you; he considers it as his daily exercise anyway !!

he isn't super clingy, though he does miss you quite often—he will sometimes seem like he's out of the mood when you're not around or you've been away from him for too long, and when you come back, he literally perks up and smiles a lot more often to have you with him.

he also offers to drive you around whenever he can, he doesn't want you having to commute on your own or walk the whole distance to where you're going—you're his spouse, he feels like you should be getting treated by him all the time, it's his obligation ever since you two married, to him.

he does sneak his large, calloused palms over your thighs while he's driving; call it an instinct if you want, but it's more like his routine whenever you're in the passenger seat next to him: to hold, roam his palm over, and squeeze your pretty thighs.

[he1chouarts]

I’m actually amazed at Astarion on my second run in ways I totally missed the first time. This is why I wanted to revisit Act 1 so badly, it was clear to me that there were echoes of things I’d failed to trigger or experience initially.

I think I dove so quickly into racking up approval that I launched past a lot of the early interactions that aren’t necessarily forced in-game or even ‘exclamation mark’ triggered. The first 12 hours alone were a fucked up mystery since I was being coached on how to play by my husband and he would refuse to explain certain mechanics that ended up being quality of life issues (like the fact that you really should start long resting and checking in with companions relatively quickly). I thank him for pushing me into this experience since I was a complete newbie, but it sort of cast a veil over the first big chunk of Act 1.

I feel now like I’m actually getting to see Astarion’s personality unfurl in a much more natural way, and it makes his Act 2 behavior make so much more sense and feel so much less disjointed. The romance is in line with the natural character development now, and it’s even more beautiful to see.

Like…Astarion drank from a bear and he’s so proud of it he has to drunkenly brag about it to his only friend in the camp. That was probably the first bear he’s ever drained, let’s think on this. He’s spent his whole life in Baldur’s Gate. No bears. Being suddenly free of Cazador must’ve been so disorienting, the sun so terrifying, until it slowly becomes his norm. You let him drink from you, and that was marvelous for him! He’s literally like a kid…in a way, he actually gets to be a vampire for the first time. Ever. No rats. No starving. No handing perfectly good, warm blooded mortals over to Cazador before creeping away to his dorm to hopefully just be left alone by the other spawn.

My dude is on vampire Rumspringa. Whether you’re romancing him or not, you’re his best frat bro. Life is kinda fuckin’ awesome when it’s not horribly terrifying. The moments are fleeting, but he does share them with you from time to time! He must really be happy…

First time around, I missed so many dialogues that clearly went from “life is great, I don’t want to go back to Cazador” to “I must amass fathomless power to bring Cazador to heel,” and those conversations contextualize the absolute sea of change that is going on inside his skull right before your eyes. It’s so obvious how he’s flailing, scared, elated, charmed by every little thing, and how these new experiences are threatening to alter him to his marrow. It’s like his murdery outbursts are a physical representation of him railing against the conscience blossoming inside his chest. It’s petulant. It’s bothersome. It hurts. He doesn’t know how to live outside of survival mode. He doesn’t know how to live. His power hungry tirades that don’t seem to make sense with the other calmer, more thoughtful exchanges are the death throes of a brain chemistry that has been driven by nothing but extreme trauma for two centuries.

The small fucking things keep me up at night, and I missed them. Over 200 hours of gameplay, and I still missed some of the sweetest bits. Wow.

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 3: An Empty Throne

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Ban confronts the Ascendant on his subterfuge.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Astarion by @morebird

Ban entered the study in the morning, slamming the contract down in front of him. Astarion sat at his desk, studiously ignoring her.

“So you found them,” she snapped.

She saw a quick flash of crimson as he looked at her, then his eyes returned to the sheaf of paperwork in front of him, the contract sitting accusingly beside it.

“Whatsoever do you mean, Ban?”

He lifted his quill, tapping the nib against the parchment. He couldn’t seem to make sense of the text, eyes running over the words without registering them properly.

“Oh, come off it,” Ban hissed. Liar. “You sought them out, bought that mirror, fucked me in front of it to distract me-“

She seethed at the memory of Astarion spreading her open in front of that immense mirror he’d bought, telling her what, in hindsight, had been an obvious fucking lie:

I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.

Astarion shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I commissioned the damned mirror, yes. But I-”

“What? You didn’t know? The shop and I share the last name!” Ban bit out, crossing her arms.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” he grumbled.

“A surprise? Oh, ‘hey love, here’s a mirror I bought from the family you didn’t want to ever see again’! Is that what your plan was?”

“They still don’t know. I just gave them my name, Ban.” Astarion finally put the quill down, looking up at her. “I wanted to have the information on hand, should you ever desire to do anything with it.” His lips draw into a tight line.

He’d been trying to anticipate her moments of withdrawal, but her anger was something he was still never quite prepared to manage.

Ban deflated, the anger morphing into an all-too-familiar resignation she couldn't say she'd missed. He was right, she supposed. She could simply ignore this, and her family would be none the wiser. But she knew she’d want to see them, to find out what had become of them.

“You could have just told me, Astarion, instead of hiding the information away and waiting until I found the contract myself.”

Astarion flapped a hand at her; the fingers trembling a little too much to give the intended effect. “And get this reaction? You can see why I was reluctant, darling.”

Ban scoffed at him. She looked down to the table where the contract sits. The name emblazoned across the top of the parchment looks back, mocking her.

Glasscraft and Son

Astarion watched Ban, noting the tense set of her shoulders. The guilt gnawed at him and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, a fang tearing the skin and drawing blood.

“You could simply discard the information, Ban,” he said, the snark slowly slipping away from his tone. “Now that you have seen it, it’s for you to use as you see fit.”

She drew in a deep breath, patience trickling away with every passing second. “You think it that simple, Astarion? One look, and I can decide whether I want to see them or not? Whether I want to know what happened to them or not? I don’t even know if they’re alive!” The shop, after all, could be run by some other family now.

“I could help with that,” he managed to say, his tone clipped. Uncertainty flooded his features; a look that would be rather unbecoming for the Ascendant, if he’d still let that side of him rule his life.

Ban watched as Astarion finally put the quill and papers away, pushing his seat back to stand. He regarded her for a moment, his eyes obviously doing what he always seemed to do nowadays - searching her, trying to read her. She liked it most of the time, appreciated that he tried, but at the moment it did nothing but intensify her pique.

A small click of his tongue, barely audible to her, and he took a small step forward. Close enough that should she want to, she could close the gap but far enough that she had space to leave. “I met him. I could tell you-”

“Oh!” she sneered, all venom and mock surprise. “I’ll now have to thank you for being so, so kind as to gather information for me, sweet Astarion.”

She saw the barb hit his heart; his pupils widening in a fraction of a second, face falling slack. Astarion looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily. At any other time she thought she’d feel guilty, but the anger roiling through her drowned everything else out. Even the idea that she should feel guilty merely served to enrage her further, driving her next words out without thought.

“Since you want to be so kind, then, my love, tell me: what did you discover?” There wasn’t any reason not to find out, not at this point. She eyed him dispassionately as he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“The proprietor is named Roderich Glasscraft,” Astarion said, with forced calmness. “I assume he would be your father.”

The hurt simmering in him had only grown, hidden underneath the now carefully-schooled expression; but even if Ban saw it, she cared little at this moment.

If anything, a not-so-small, irascible part of her wanted to twist the knife even further, the savage desire for petty revenge suffusing her.

“That he is,” Ban nodded. “Still a little bald shit, is he not? And what of my dearest mother?”

Arlette. Mom. Who’d always demanded the respect she thought she was owed, because I birthed you. The memories flowed in, Ban’s lip curling into a snarl in response.

Astarion shifted again. He retreated to settle back into his chair, apparently giving up on his rather futile attempt to offer her comfort. Crossing one leg over the other, he leveled a look at her.

“He mentioned her, but she wasn’t present.” The crossed leg bounced erratically. “There was also talk of your sibling.”

At that, Ban’s anger abated for a moment, a small sigh escaping her. “Yes, my younger brother. The only one in my sorry family whom I actually regret leaving.” She couldn’t help the next question. “How is he?”

Astarion looked uneasy. “Rode-” He ran a hand through his curls, looking exhausted and strung out. “He said your brother hasn’t taken a wife yet.” There was something else at the tip of his tongue, however, and he bit his lip.

“There’s something more, Ban...” A mere hunch, but Astarion had always been good at reading people, a skill honed over two centuries.

“More.” She sneered again. “Just say it then! Why even dither like that? You’ve already done it - don’t act like some sad puppy now. The Vampire Ascendant wouldn’t - I know you’re still in there, prick!”

Astarion recoiled as if slapped; his jaw clenched and his mind reeled, trying to come up with something, anything to placate her. “Love, pl-”

“Shut up!”

She knew she was being unreasonable, cruel, saw that the conversation iwas hurting Astarion more and more, but she found she didn’t care at the moment; there was only indignation, the white-hot mixing of rage and a creeping sense of being violated. She wanted to keep digging in, to see just how much he could take; see if he’d revert to his old ways, and fight fire with fire.

The Ascendant made an appearance, Astarion’s eyes narrowing sharply, his lips contorting into a sneer. He raised an index finger. “I’ll have you know, Ban,” he began, venom lacing every word. But then he paused for the briefest moment. He took a quick breath, and-

…And just like that, the Ascendant was gone. The fight seemed to fizzle out of him as he collected himself. He let his breath out slowly, face rearranging into a neutral, guarded expression, his hands clenched into fists.

“Your father seemed aggrieved by something, whenever he spoke of your brother.” Carefully said, enunciated slowly and without allowing any feelings to show.

“Aggrieved?” Ban laughed, the sound loud and completely without humor. “My father probably disapproved of something trivial he did, like folding clothes in a way that he didn’t find satisfactory.”

“Ban.” Astarion’s eyes locked onto hers. “It wasn’t that. I think-”

“Fuck what you think!” she screamed. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Assume you know better, because - what - you’re the man of the house? Because you can buy anyone?”

He almost lost control at that, lips curling angrily. “I have hurt you, kept you, used you - but I have never bought anyone; you of all people ought to know that.” His chest heaved, jaw working as he attempted to calm down. “And am I not attempting to fix this? Do I not try so hard to atone for my sins?” He sighed, all the fight in him having evaporated at her accusation.

“As wretched as I am, love, I am not that.”

His anger dissolved away - Ban could almost see it leaving his body. His eyes lost their hardness, and he sagged back against the chair. He covered his face with his hands, obviously resigned.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

The tone was quiet, despondent. There was no mistaking the pain.

Ban stared at Astarion for a long moment. He was right - instead of her husband she saw him, a small man by any measure but immeasurably powerful to her back then.

Roderich had never been a physically imposing sort, even as a younger man, but he’d always had an air about him that had made people inclined to respect him.

It was a respect often mercilessly exploited to great success - a ruthless businessman, rising in the ranks of the artisan guild through various machinations and dealings that had pervaded - tainted - Ban’s childhood. He’d passed those lessons along to her in the hopes that she would help her brother take over the business one day, or help her future husband run his own; lessons that had helped her consolidate power at the Ascendant’s behest, in the first months after they’d moved into the palace.

“I don’t have you confused,” she snapped. “You’re not him, but you’re close.” She wasn’t sure if she should elaborate, but did so anyway. “Power-hungry, manipulative, self-centered bastards.”

Astarion lifted his head from his hands to look at her, realizing exactly who Ban saw in him when she shut him out.

She could see him trying to read her again, his eyes darting across her face with their usual thoroughness.

“Exactly why I wished to know about them,” he replied with preternatural composure, hands clasping together on top of the still raised knee. Astarion’s gaze slid away from her as he looked to the side again. “To know them is to know you, and to know you is to know what you require of me.”

“I don’t need your drivel, Astarion.”

She’d had enough, wanted - needed out of this conversation. She didn’t want to let herself acknowledge that he was right, that their relationship would benefit from him knowing exactly what pitfalls to avoid. Didn’t want to acknowledge that she was blaming him for past deeds he was never made aware were painful reminders for her.

“I’m heading out,” Ban continued, when he didn't answer. She grabbed the contract from the table. From the corner of her eye she could see him keeping his eyes fixed upon nothing in particular, avoiding looking at her. He sat stiffly, almost painfully still, chest seemingly not even rising or falling - frozen, as though he was made of marble, except for the erratically bouncing leg.

A small breath escaped him. “Then I’ll see you when you come home,” he said, trying and failing to hide the question in his voice, tone rising at the end of the statement.

Will you come home?

Ban stared at the shop from across the street. It looked like it always had - squat and unpleasant to the eye - but now it also looked worn. The dust on the windows was of particular interest - her father would have never tolerated that back in the day. For a moment she almost started walking; her legs wanted to drag her forwards, through that door, back through memory and to the people she’d sworn she would never see again.

Days spent in the shop, helping out. Logging inventory, deliveries, receipts. She remembered running around the mirrors in the stockroom, delighted to see multiple Bans running alongside her - her only friends, save for her brother, in what little time she had been allowed to be a child.

A few happy years, before her parents decided to begin training her for what they’d said she was meant to be - a businessman’s wife, capable of assisting with the running of his shop as well as being in charge of his household, skilled at all the social niceties needed to help her husband elevate his standing in society - a relatively useful thing, though not her choice, but they were only surface level qualifications to ensure she’d be successful in her real role…

A pawn to be married off. A name on a contract to bind family fortunes together.

She stayed rooted to the spot for a long time.

The moon shone brightly when Ban finally returned to the palace. She walked in to find Astarion lounging on his throne, arms draped over the armrests, his legs spread slightly. The scent of alcohol filled her nose as she approached him; she sighed. That would explain the unbuttoned shirt and the steely, teasing, not-quite-focused gaze that locked onto her.

“You’re drunk,” she said, arms crossing as she came to a halt in front of the dais.

“Slightly inebriated.” He tilted his head at her, expression coy. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

In truth, he hadn’t expected her to come home at all. Fingers tapped on the armrests in a rhythmic pattern, and he leaned forward.

“You were asking for the Ascendant,” he crooned, ignoring the lump in his throat. That wasn’t him, not all of him; he knew that now, she’d taught him that. He’s Astarion - always was, is, and will be. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring the monster out to play, if that was what she wanted.

Anything she wanted from him, she would receive. Including this.

A look of consternation crossed her face. “That’s not what I meant.” Ascending the dais quickly, she placed herself between his legs; he sighed but shifted them farther apart to accommodate her.

“What did you mean, then?” His gaze hardened and fingers wrapped around her wrist, nails digging in a little tightly. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He tugged her abruptly, pulling her down and pressing his lips to hers in a single, well-practiced move. It was rough, his tongue pressing in without much preamble, merely seeking to consume her.

Did she want this? This painful, angry, meaningless sex they used to have? He thought he knew the answer, knew that this was wrong, but the ache of worrying all day at the prospect of losing her again had sharpened his edges significantly.

“Stop,” she gasped against his lips; he immediately stilled, pulling away from her.

Astarion’s bared chest heaved. “Ban, I-”

I’m sorry. Words he’d never learned to utter, and so they got stuck in his throat.

She offered him a sad smile, understanding. “No. I’m sorry. I was, am, still upset, but I should never have lashed out at you like I did. Can we- if you still want this, can we try again?”

“Were you going to leave?” The words came out of him in a desperate rush, spitting them out before he could reconsider.

He said it before he thought, hands gripping the armrests to hide their trembling. His one greatest fear, the one thing he could not endure. He worried it was happening again, that he was bound to lose her again - she was here right now but what if she started slipping away again bit by bit like sand slipping through his fingers like before and he didn’t want to think about it because she won’t leave but what if-

“Please. I need to know,” he choked out, barely managing it around the swirling chaos of his mind. His eyes shut, heart racing, frantic and frightened and trapped inside his ribcage and everything’s too tight-

And then her. He felt strong, muscled arms wrap around him, holding him close. Her scent filled his nostrils and he breathed in deep.

I’ll give you anything you want; just don’t leave, don’t let me be alone again. Never again.

He heard a whimper; he wasn’t even sure if it was him. He heard her shush him, heard her whisper, her breath tickling his sensitive ears.

“I wasn’t leaving, love. I just needed air. I’m never leaving you again. I’m sorry I left without making sure you knew I’d be back.”

The words soothed little of the panic drowning him, but even that felt like a boon. Part of him found this ironic: here he was, in the seat of his power, so utterly powerless against the weight of his feelings for her. Not that he minded. Not that it would ever be any different. Not that anything else ever mattered.

“I…” Another rough intake of breath, and Astarion forced his eyes to open. She was staring at him, arms still around him, eyes full of worry. She’d pulled away from the embrace, but only far enough to see his face.

“Astarion-” Ban began, but he interrupted before she could finish.

“I’m… fine.” he managed to say it, although he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. He wrapped his hands around Ban’s wrists, gently prying them away from him. He wanted her touch more than anything, but he didn’t deserve it.

Not when he’d lied to her, not when he’d just grabbed her for a kiss he worried she mightn’t have wanted. Not when he was… this.

These vacillating thoughts raced through his mind and he attempted to rise, to push past her and go to ground somewhere - anywhere - else. He didn’t deserve those worried eyes, that kind touch. He never had, what was he thinking, he was a monster, he was never enough.

But before he could stand and escape, Ban’s hand was on his chest, the touch cool yet comforting against his too-hot skin. “Love,” she murmured, and it was softer than he’d ever heard it since the rite; it gave him pause.

“Sit,” she said. “Let me help.”

He was powerless against her, stilling under her touch. Nervous eyes tracked her and he licked his lips, settling back down on his throne. Ban’s hand followed his chest, palm still pressed over his hammering heart.

“May I?” She inclined her head towards his lap and all he could do was nod. Yes, of course, yes. He’d love nothing more than to have her close, to remind himself that he still had her. He watched her lift her skirt and settle over his thigh, her rump a pleasant press of weight on him.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, feeling the cold, smooth skin slide against his fingertips. She was here, she was on his lap - even asked to be there. He didn’t dare feel relieved quite yet, but her mere presence ensured it slowly seeped in regardless. She shivered a little at his touch; his hand paused midway on its path across her back and he waited.

Ban’s hand glided from his chest to his chin, tilting it up so he’d meet her gaze. “Astarion,” she said, her tone still unusually tender. She could tell he needed the gentleness, that he was at the end of his rope, that she had scared him. “I’m sorry. About today. I didn’t think before I said that, or, well. Maybe I did.”

The admission hung in the air, and Ban swallowed.

“You meant to hurt me,” Astarion stated, unsurprised. “It isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last.” He allowed his hand to resume moving, and his fingers curled around her waist, resting around the curve.

I love you. I forgive you. Just don’t go.

“I understand,” he continued, “and will continue to do so. There is nothing to apologize for.”

She shook her head, the hand on his chin falling away to grasp his shoulder, squeezing. “No. That’s not fair. You’ve been putting in so much effort, and while I still resent you for going behind my back and… and even prying in the first place, really… I know what I said was out of line.”

Difficult words for her to utter. She’d never been open, never been outwardly affectionate, but she knew he'd been trusting her with his heart and she had purposefully cut it open.

Astarion let her words sink in, relishing the moment despite himself. A small smile played on his lips, the calm suffusing more and more of him, but nowhere near enough to defeat the lingering fear. “A favor then, love, if you’ll indulge me.”

He took a moment to think it through, then gently linked his free arm with the other, encasing her in an embrace. The smile widened, and his eyes were painfully soft when he spoke.

“Make love to me, will you?” The tone was teasing, the smile playful; the gaze was anything but.

Make me feel loved. I need to be reminded.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygmer-blog

[dark-and-kawaii]

love knowing that you’re into bg3 like so many of us Kiwi! Did you love all the romance options or do you wish we could’ve had others because have you seen Dammon and Raphael! Glad to have you back with us btw!

AWHHHHH STOP!!!! You’re going to make me cry! It’s so good to be back on here, honestly!!! Now to answer your lovely question!!!

I was honestly happy at first but the more I played the game the more I saw the potential in adding other characters as romance options…

𝓩𝓮𝓿𝓵𝓸𝓻:

Like, I fell in love with Zevlor the moment I met him and I honestly would’ve picked him over Astarion for my first playthrough if he was an option -yeah yeah I know unpopular opinion.

But as I continued I was so confused as to why he wasn’t available for us because if you don’t go Minthara’s route then he would’ve been the perfect substitute because HELLOOOOO PALADIN!!!!

Not to mention during act two that would’ve been a perfect redemption ark for him, like there was SO MUCH POTENTIAL!!! Like he literally needed a hug after all the shit he’s been through and we weren’t able to grant him that…

He’s been with us since Act one… Up until the end he was with me. So I ask Larian, why wasn’t I allowed to travel and bed with this man!?

Grinds my gears man!!! I’m trying not to spoil too much in case someone hasn’t played yet.

𝓓𝓪𝓶𝓶𝓸𝓷:

Okay okay okay, as for Dammon…. Yeah no, I fucked up bad with him my first play through… uhhhhh he kinda died when the tieflings and I attacked the Druids 🥲 Oops. But during my second run I realized my mistake and he’s very much alive right now 😂!!!

With Dammon I don’t necessarily want him for myself, but rather for Karlach. I ship those two so damn hard it’s unreal!!! He loves her so much, you can just tell 🥹

And when he tells her she’s very touchable, I always kick my feet and giggle!!! Adorable to the max!

𝓡𝓪𝓹𝓱𝓪𝓮𝓵:

-Gods, just look at him… I love him so much UGHHH!!!-

Now as for our beautiful, smug, elegant cambion, Raphael… OOOOOF don’t get me started because the mouse would’ve pounced on the cat. I LOVE, and I do mean LOVE Raphael. Everything about him I just adore, and again SO MUCH POTENTIAL.

If you go his route there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to romance him. Like if you let Haarlep use you and you leave house of hope it indicates that Raphael is doing the nasty with Haarlep in your form once you leave. There’s clearly something there!!! So why can’t we!? I feel they left it during his ending that there might be a dlc for him, I hope, maybe… Also can we all agree that Raphael would’ve been another great villain ending with Tav???

The relationship between Tav and Raphael in game is already so interesting, and if you break into the house of hope to steal from him he looks extremely hurt that you betrayed him. Not to mention he’s like the only one who’s actually upfront with you, I don’t feel like he really hid anything unless you’re dense -no offense-.

Another thing, just because Haarlep says Raphael is bad in bed doesn’t mean he actually is. I feel a lot of individuals forget what Haarlep is 😂 sex is basically their thing.

Not to mention his little helper is basically always saying “he can’t stop talking about you.”

Plus, hold on, we can romance Mizora but not him… Nah!!!

𝓖𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓼𝓱:

A lot of people have said Gortash, which at first I didn’t really understand but that’s because I was a huge simp for Karlach and if you’ve played you know…

However the more I play and the more I read into I do understand. He could’ve used a nice redemption after everything he’s been through. He was a pawn, someone to be used, and honestly that was his whole life. So it would’ve been nice if Tav was an option for him.

I feel they could’ve had two endings for him and Tav, a good and a bad. Good being his redemption where Tav opens his eyes like what Tav did for Astarion and then the Bad obviously they rule together.

I feel Larian made a lot of great choices but I also feel they missed a lot of potential, which hopefully they continue to listen to their audience and add more routes in the future. So far they have been so one can hope. I also feel like all of these characters were left to where they could be potentially added later down the road. Fingers crossed!!!

- 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝔀𝓲

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 14 - Kevin Bacon

Y'all talk about space dongs, before being rudely interrupted.

On AO3.

Your mouth tastes real weird when you wake up. And you’re more tired than you were when you went to sleep. Like that line from that Bilbo Baggins guy about being butter scraped too thin.

You lie on your stomach, numbed arm beneath your cheek (all of it crusted in drool), and the other arm twisted up all weird beneath you.

“Mgrghngh,” you say as you roll to your side.

You’re more tired than you was when Astarion pulled you outta the river he left you to drown in.

A voice lilts all pretty nearby. Speaking of. The man (elf vampire) sits a few feet away, needle in hand, working surprisingly quickly for a man with no sight.

Oh fuck. You lost your whole, entire corn-husking mind last night. And he fucking heard you do it.

“’M good,” you manage and reach for your bag for a dirt potion.

 And then wait for him to respond. Because he’s the type of asshole that relishes in the kind of barbed commentary that comes from watching somebody lose their whole corn-husking mind. Only he sits quiet. Sews a couple more stitches before tying off his work and snipping the thread with his teeth.

It’s your pants (trousers). He’s slit the sides and rigged them up with leather cording. It’s a real Mad Max kinda biker look, but it’s so much better then running around a refrigerator cave in a shirt and a fucking breechcloth (that shit was for summertime in fucking North Carolina, goddamnit).

“Try these on,” he says and holds it out. His back is mostly to you.

You stand all awkward. One knee cracks. And you shuffle over as pins and needles sweep up and down both your arms. Astarion sits all placid, tucking his needle into…is that a sewing kit? Man’s got a sewing kit? It even kinda looks like a goddamn cookie tin.

You slip one leg through, then the other. Gotta fiddle with them laces, and in the end, they really are side chaps.

“These’re great,” you say. You can even wiggle around without it pinching nowhere. It’s a little loose in the crotch, but that don’t even matter. Only thing it don’t got is pockets.

“I have something else,” he says. And reaches into his back and pulls out…

“Panties,” you say, in fucking Chondathan (at least he told you that’s what it was, this time).

He grins. “Well done. Now, I only had enough material for three, and you’ll need to belt them, but it should be more comfortable than stuffing that bundle into your trousers.”

That sounds like an innuendo. Shit, man made you panties. It’s the most weirdly personal gift you ever got in your whole life.

Great timing, too, if the general achiness curling low in your gut is any indication. Bitch is late. Not surprising, given all the fuck shit that’s happened. But still. She was gonna show up at some point.

What he made is kinda like ancient Roman bikini bottoms (which was a thing). Ties on each side and still a little baggy, but weird, old-fashioned granny panties is still panties that you didn’t have a minute ago.

You consider tapping his shoulder and thanking the man. Wonder briefly at how you’re more comfortable in your own head about like, physical affection with everyone else (imagining swooning against Karlach and frenching Shadowheart when she closes gashes you didn’t even notice). But when it comes to him, you just…can’t. Can’t even entertain the idea of joke kissing him, not even in your own head. It feels…weird. Like standing on the edge of a cliff.

“I did make a few hasty modifications,” he says as you start to unlace them trousers so you can slip on the panties. Which is when you catch his smirk. You seen that smirk before. That one’s goblin shit, right there.

“What did you do?” you say.

He waves a hand. “It’s merely cosmetic. And not my finest work.”

Did he leave one of them panties crotchless or something? Rig it to rip up the—

Nope. They’re all solid enough. And decorated with a simple piece of sloppy embroidery. Heat rushes up your face and you almost cringe away, until you realize that he wasn’t putting a dong on each one, but what you think is supposed to be a mushroom.

Because he’s a fucking goblin and is incapable of passing up an opportunity to poke at you.

“Cute,” you say.

“Aren’t they just?” He grins wide enough to show off his fangs. “I felt we should commemorate your first brush with hallucinogenics, darling. Consider it a souvenir.”

“And you thought the best thing for that was stitching them into my new drawers.”

“I had to contribute something.”

You stare at him for a long moment.

This all reeks of guilt. The whole “cutting you loose” thing. And goddamnit, it’s working. You still ain’t sure what you should be feeling about that. What the just thing is. Part of you thinks you should be pissed. Any maybe you are? But he’s also just…it’s difficult. It was a shit decision. Making it would have been a shit decision either way. And what saved you wasn’t him or even you; it was your bag getting caught up in some rocks. Ones you might not have come near if he hadn’t cut that rope. And then you woulda drowned for sure and been a bare-assed ringwraith in a fucking cave forever.

This might be him manipulating you. Making sure he does nice things so you don’t get mad—cause he ain’t fessed up on it. You noticed that.

Then again, he was acting all weird about this whole thing even before that cavern, when he realized he couldn’t see and you realized he’d have to rely on you. He really doesn’t like owing people.

What a fuck shit mess.

“Everything all right?” he says because you been quiet for a solid moment.

You wriggle back outta them trousers, pluck them up. Eyeball the tent. “I’m gonna go get changed, and then what’s say we get the hell outta here?”

***

You got three dirt potions left. You been down here, on y’all’s own for about three days already, you think. You should start rationing the fuckers. When you tell Astarion your plan, he starts speaking Chondathan at you. And he’s somehow even more pedantic about it than Gale makes you repeat yourself over and over until he’s satisfied with your inflection (fucking language rolls its goddamned r’s, which you was never good at).

After thirty minutes of you spitting all down your chin like a dumbass, he finally lets up.

He’s so quiet behind you, after that. Man’s got his pickup lines; can turn on the sleaze in less than a second. But casual conversation that ain’t complaining about something or imagining killing something or someone?

“So,” you say. Go for the tried and true, “You got any hobbies?”

“What, aside from murder and picking locks?”

Jesus, he ain’t never gonna let that go.

“Yeah,” you say.

A long pause. The cavern y’all are in now is lit up a little by them mushrooms. Y’all skirt around another bigass crystal somehow lit up from within. Probably some bullshit magic. It’d all be pretty if it wasn’t a giant cavern filled with fuck-knows-what hiding in the deep dark between the glowing fungi.

“No, not really,” Astarion says.

It takes you a second to connect it back to your last question.

“Huh,” you say. “That sewing was damn good for a man that can’t see. Better than most who can, I reckon. A fuck of a lot better’n what I can manage.”

“Considering your solution was to simply wrap a cloth around yourself, that’s not really high praise, darling.”

“Take the fucking compliment,” you say. “It’s good work. Even if them mushrooms look like dicks.”

His footsteps fucking trip. He sputters. “Excuse me? They look like what?”

“It ain’t really your fault. Technically, that’s what all mushroom is, anyway: space cocks.”

He makes a kinda muffled “ugh” sound.

And then a thought hits you. “Does your language have different words for genitals depending on the vulgarity? Is it even a vulgarity to y’all?”

“I…yes, actually.”

And the word he used translated to “cock.” Possibly the most vulgar, but also the least casual. Interesting. You do notice he don’t actually use hard swears (or whatever translates to hard swears). Combined with his fancy pants accent, you wonder what he was before that whole fuckface turning him thing.

“You know,” he says. “I didn’t expect this sort of conversation out of you. Though you do have a fine phallus of your own, so color me wrong.”

“Back to them space cocks,” you say, in an attempt to cut him off before the teasing can creep back in. It ain’t fucking weird having a goddamn sex toy. You’re a grown ass fucking adult.

“Space cocks. Do tell.” He literally purrs the last part of that. If y’all wasn’t walking, you’re sure he’d prop his chin up on one hand.

“Pretty sure I was babbling about them last night. But the parts we see, the parts that grow above ground? That’s just the reproductive parts of the organism it grows from. Which I always thought was funny since a lot of them look pretty phallus-like. When they ain’t being a cosmic horror and all.”

“And this amuses you, being a connoisseur of cocks, does it?”

Ooh, he’s digging.

“I seen enough,” you say. You ain’t folding that fucking easy.

“Forgive me darling, is there a point to this topic of conversation, or did you just really want to talk about cocks?”

“I want to talk about how weird mycelium are. You don’t need to—”

The rope tugs on your waist and you turn. He’s stopped. Grin dropped. Eyes open and unfocused, staring hard out into the darkness.

“Do you hear that?” he says.

You do not. There’s the hollow echo of the huge fucking chamber, your own breathing, and y’all’s footsteps crunching about in what has turned into dirt (must be the mushroom’s doing).

But his head tilts, and you know he’s tracking something. Intently. And the shadows around y’all become real dark.

“What is it?” you say as quiet as you can.

He don’t answer. Just frowns. Head turns this way and that, eyes darting around. Until his frown deepens. And the man looks down.

“There’s something beneath us,” he says.

A hidden chamber full of albino orc people your brain throws at you because it’s a motherfucker.

Then Astarion’s face goes blank in a distinctive way that opens ever, single floodgate of adrenaline you got into your circulatory system.

“It’s coming up beneath us,” he says, right as y’all both reach for each other’s hands and you holler, “Run!”

You catch the sound, now. Thunder shimmies up your shins through the thin soles of your stolen boots. With a couple steps, the ground shakes so bad you stumble. Astarion’s iron grip is the only thing that wrenches you back up.

“There’s a rock ahead,” you pant. Your throat already burns. “Next to a cliff. Mushroom…big’un. Growing on the side.”

The two of you stumble sprint over. Hit the edge of the rock right as the ground six inches from your heel erupts in a spray of dirt that knocks you to your knees.

Astarion manages to keep his feet. Once again hauls you scrambling up to the top of the stone as something roars behind you.

You don’t look. All effort is focused on the edge of the rock and the leap you’ll need.

“Three foot gap!” you gasp. “Plenty wide—”

“I can’t—” Astarion starts.

And you shove aside all your cringing and grab the man’s shoulders and point him in the direction he needs to go. But it’d be terrifying to leap without seeing. You remember the cavern where he found you, all the times he touched something. He needs guidance.

“Gimme the stick,” you say as a roar rumbles the air so hard your ribs rattle. You finally glance back.

Something big with a huge fucking mouth.

You barely fumble the stick, barely manage not to drop it. Skirt around Astarion. Judge the distance and leap. And it’s only once you’re airborne that you wonder if that bigass shroom can take your weight or if it’ll snap clean off the cliff like a rotten tree branch.

You land hard enough to go down to one knee. The shroom is squishy, yet firm enough that it only shivers under your weight like a hard mattress.

“Eleanor?” Astarion says, voice sharp.

You whack the cliff with your stick, at foot level, just beside you. His face snaps to that direction.

“Three feet! Here!”

He gives a single nod, waits for you to tap again—the thing below roar and its bulk moves up the rock oh fuck.

Astarion jumps. Lands right next to that sound, and you reach out to steady him and pull him further onto the shroom. Right as the big fucking monster comes bounding up the rock after him. You all but drag the both of you back, fall on your ass (Astarion stumbles over you) and scoot further away.

Up until your hand hits the edge of your little platform.

“Fuck oh fuck fuck.”

Somehow, it did not occur to you that the fucking ground monster might, like, climb.

Now you’re gonna die. Torn apart by a fucking armored hippopotamus-mouthed fucking tank of a thing that snarls and snaps…from its perch on the rock. Three feet of air between y’all.

Astarion claws into your shoulder. “What’s it doing?”

Big fucking monster makes a low sound. Paws at the edge of the rock. Then its head twists left, then right. It’s got little, beady motherfucking shark eyes on either side of what’s actually a massive, fuck off beak. It leans forward, one stubby foot reaching…

But then it pulls back. Makes that sound again. Leans real far forward to…nibble at the edge of y’all’s shroom and then make what you can only describe as a disgusted sound.

“Well?” Astarion says.

“I…” you say. Watch the thing growl and snuffle around. “I think it’s afraid of the mushroom.”

“What? What is it?”

“The fuck am I supposed to know?”

And the blind man rolls his fucking eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re a yokel from another plane. You’re sure it’s not about to pounce on us?”

It fucking stares at you, is what it does. Stands motionless, maybe a total of eight feet away, just fucking staring with its dead eyes.

Every muscle in your body goes limp and you almost swoon.

“I think we should be quiet,” you whisper.

To his credit, Astarion frowns, but crouches down to whisper back, “What does it look like?”

Stumpy legs, thick body, all of it plated in some armor looking hide. Big bitch has a face halfway between a shark and an African hornbill. All of it about the size of a rhino.

Which you tell him, leaving out the animal names. And to which he swears.

“You’re of no help, dear,” he says.

“You fucking asked me—” And cut off as the birdshark snorts. Like a cat watching a squirrel and dreaming of murdering the ever-loving shit outta it.

“We should stop talking,” you say.

“And what would you,” he starts. Seems to reconsider. Then lowers himself to sitting pressed against you. You manage to contain your fidget away. Mostly. And you both settle in for the worst staring contest of your life.

***

Birdshark gets bored after what has to be an hour. Huffs and moans, and then ponderously half slides back down to the ground. It gives you another glare. Then turns nose down, makes a chuffing sound, and all them armor plates fucking buzz and the big bitch slides into the dirt like it’s a fucking cow pond.

“What was that?” Astarion whispers.

The ground don’t move again. The buzzing stops. The whole cave falls silent.

“It went back underground,” you say.

Then Astarion starts to stand. “Well then, we’d beset get out of here before the beastie changes its mind.”

But you’re still staring at the dirt. You grab the bottom of his leather armor to stay him. “Did you hear it leave?”

The man pauses a long moment. Then sinks back down, silent as a whisper. “No.”

It hunts from underground, don’t it. It’s got eyes, and it for sure saw you, but sound seemed to really set it off. And the fucker is down there, buried, and it’s mcfucking waiting for you, ain’t it.

“It’s fucking Tremors rules,” you say. “Fuck me.”

Astarion shifts. You turn and catch the most baffled expression on him.

“It’s a story,” you say. “Monsters show up in a desert town. Big worm things. Hunt from underground. We can’t get on soft ground without it knowing and coming up right between our legs, I bet.”

You didn’t even know the man could get any paler. Granted, it’s like the difference between eggshell and dairy cream at some fucking hardware store paint aisle, and you can only tell the difference by holding up them swatches next to each other under the glare of a noon day sun. But it’s still impressive for a guy whose complexion can, at best, be charitably described as corpseriffic.

“Perhaps your people’s stories aren’t as fictional as you think,” he says.

Which one: they got them the concept of fiction vs. non-fiction and you got to learn how to fucking read here, hot damn, and two:

“I’m really starting to wonder,” you say.

So tremors rules. Fucking waiting at the base of that rock. You scan around the expanse of gloom and flat ground. Them other mushrooms is too high to climb, and you ain’t putting it past birdshark down there to uproot the damned thing and bite y’all’s legs off when it topples over.

But then, off in the distance, the color of darkness changes. You can barely see it (can only see it by looking around it), but there’s a slash of black about a hundred feet to the right. Beyond that, the soft glow of more magic cave mushrooms, all about level with the floor here.

“I think that might be a crevasse to the right,” you say. Scan it again to try to tell if it’s maybe just a ditch. No, no, you think the light reflects off stone on the other side, like a sheer cliff. Goddamn, it’s too dark. Fucking caves.

“What of it?” Astarion says.

Birdshark didn’t wanna leave that rock. It was only a short hop to get to y’all’s tender ass meat, but it seemed nervous. It would make sense for a subterranean predator to be skittish of open air.

“I don’t think it likes being away from the ground,” you say.

You can feel the man lift an eyebrow.

“Or we can stay here until I starve to death. You can feed on me if that happens, and good luck after that.”

For just a second, he looks at you like you done slapped him with a trout. Then he’s back to his usual sass and an eyeroll.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll have to run for it. I can’t see, and I’m rather sure it’s faster than the both of us. What’s your plan for that, darling?”

You think back to that movie, and remember some of the goodies y’all still got left over from that goblin camp that you are one hundred percent sure Astarion commandeered.

“You still got them bags of spark powder?” you say.

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Two

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You).

Word Count: 3240 (approx)

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

WARNING: Contains violence description.

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

(Lots of comforting camp life content.)

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A/N: Happy Monday!

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Chapter Two - Six

The ground shakes beneath you as the boom of a war horn ravages the forest. You stand behind Minthara on a large boulder. There’s a small gathering of tieflings above the ivy-covered gate, and they don’t seem like powerful druids. Your heart plummets in guilt.

What have I done? These people… Gods, they’re barely even armoured… They’re all going to die…

Your mind continues swimming in panic. You scan the crowd of goblins, it’s clear to see that they’re outnumbered. They don’t stand a chance. A singular arrow darts towards you, Minthara swipes it to the side with effortless magical ability. “Blow that gate open! Now!” She commands. The goblins release their warcries. Some, carrying barrels of explosives, rush to the gate. Arrows rain from the sky and puncture as many foes as they can but it’s not enough. Through smoke and floating gunpowder, you can see the destruction of the gate. The grove is compromised. But before Minthara can give further command, you spot silhouettes amongst the wreckage. 

Six silhouettes, all different in stature and weight. A very odd-looking alliance, indeed. Minthara holds her tongue, waiting for them to reveal themselves so as to gauge this new enemy’s abilities. 

Weighted thumps on soil grow faster and louder as two of the silhouettes reveal themselves. A powerful, red tiefling, brandishing a greataxe with what looks to be living fire escaping her chest leaps forward, burning rage in her eyes. Then a skilled, female, githyanki warrior slicing through goblins with no hesitation and shaking off hits like they’re nothing. They make quick work of their foes, pushing the army back.

Behind them, a black-haired half-elf can be seen healing the injured with one hand and casting radiating destruction spells with the other.

Just as they’re beginning to feel overwhelmed by enemies, a ray of devastating lighting scorches the earth, electrocuting all goblins in it’s path. Your eyes follow it to the source, a human in a humble, purple robe, his eyes filled with determination and pride at his own magic.

The scorched goblins begin to twitch and spasm. You flick your gaze back to them, realising that they are dead no longer and are now fighting for the opposite side. By the gate, another human with a darker complexion, noble attire and a rapier in hand stands proudly, leading his new, undead army into battle.

That’s one, two, three, four, five… There were six… Weren’t there?

Minthara snarls and leaps into the centre of battle. Surrounded by these new, mighty enemies, she calls upon Lolth to aid her before attacking each foe with excellent precision and strength. You look around, frantically trying to keep up before realising… This is it. Your chance to escape. Your breath shudders as you slowly back away and once out of Minthara’s field of view, you run.

The makeshift shoes you were given start to rip and come apart beneath you with each desperate collision with the floor. You look back to ensure that you aren’t being followed, then you… Stop? The wind in your lungs is forced out of you as your back hits something solid. But that can’t be, there was nothing there, right? You feel a cold, hard, sharp sensation against your neck, your breath hitches. You try to wriggle free from whatever this is, but something strong holds you in place. In confusion and panic you go to let out a shriek before, yet again, you are stopped. A soft, smooth, cold texture contains the sound within your mouth. “Shh…” Suddenly the force around your mouth becomes opaque: a hand. The sensation on your neck: a dagger. The solid pressed firmly up against your back: A person.

Number six…

“If I move my hand, are you going to scream?” A male voice hums into your ear. You shake your head in response, there are no tears in your eyes, only fury.

You. Were. So. Close.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to ruin such a pretty neck…” His threats are theatrical, but you hear his earnesty and feel his eyes burning into your exposed skin. He allows the dagger to make a small, irritating cut on your neck to emphasise his point. Breathing comfortably would surely deepen the wound and seeing no way out, you give in and douse the fire inside of you, for now. You nod. He slowly removes his hand and you catch your first glimpse of him. His hand is pale and his nails are manicured. There is little hair and through his almost translucent skin, you see hints of dark veins. You feel his breath on your ear, it’s surprisingly warm for someone so cold.

His now free hand grips the plush skin of your arm and he moves the dagger to allow you to breathe as normal, but ensures that the threat remains. He guides you back to the, now quieter, battlefield. Minthara is on her knees, clutching her stomach, blood slipping through the gaps between her fingers. She coughs and gasps, lifting her head to see you, captured again. “T-true… S-soul…” Her words aren’t of sorrow, but of pride that you are still standing. She knows death will soon claim her, but you? You can finish her quest and bring glory to The Absolute. She grins. A greatsword’s blade, coated in thick red, is held beside Minthara’s neck. “Any last words, istik?” The githyanki sneers.

Minthara does not break her eye contact with you. “F-for… The Abso-” The sword traps her words in her throat forever, as it severs her head in one fell swoop. It rolls towards you, her now limp grin of devotion still smeared across her face.

You begin to breathe deeply… Heavily… You can’t breathe… You need air, now. You try to escape your captor’s grasp, you’re going to die, you’re sure of it. “Let her go!” The tiefling’s command frees your body and you feel your legs give out from underneath you. No matter how much air you suck into your lungs, you can only suffocate.

A warm, delicate hand rests on your back and rubs it in firm circles. “Breathe properly now. With me. In… And out…” A gentle, yet guarded voice attempts to guide you back to reality, but it isn’t working. The half-elf shrugs and looks to her companions for assistance, to which the githyanki scoffs and rolls her eyes. You rake your fingers through the soil, desperately trying to ground yourself when - Black. __________________________________________

How long has it been? Is this… Death? No, it feels too familiar. Sleep? It could be. It’s certainly peaceful… But it can’t be, mine doesn’t feel like this anymore. Mine is more… Restless… I haven’t felt like this in… Well, too long anyway…

No… Please don’t go…  Just a little longer… Please… __________________________________________

The world is fuzzy when seeing it through barely open eyes. Green sways above you, sheltering you from sharp lines of yellow light. Your eyes open further. It’s midday, same as before, as though no time has passed. How much time has passed? You begin to sit up to get your bearings. “Woah there soldier, take it easy.” You flinch at the voice and search, eyes wide for danger. It’s the tiefling from earlier. “It’s okay! It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” You huddle yourself into a ball, keeping your eyes on hers and shuffle away. She smiles with such warmth you almost feel tempted to let your guard down, almost. “The name’s Karlach, and you are?”

“What makes you think I’d tell you? Your friend held a dagger to my throat!” You force anger through your fear and surprisingly, Karlach seems to understand. She sighs and nods, rubbing her face. “I know, I’m sorry. I wish there was no need for it, but you have to understand, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Before we can trust you and let you go, we need to know who you are.” You know better than to trust promises of freedom, but then you look around. 

You seem to have found yourself in a humble camp, surrounded by one-person tents, hardly a prison. An unlit campfire stands in the centre and your captors are idly going about their business. All of them you recognise, all except one. A lean, pale elf with white, well kept curls meticulously arranged on his head. He stands, reading a book amongst neighbouring silk cushions that are scattered around the entrance of his tent. There’s even a stool right next to him, but he chose to stand. Weird. Watching him turn the page, you notice his familiar hands. You grit your teeth and furrow your brow. That’s the fucker that caught you.

Flicking your eyes back to Karlach, you can see how desperately she wants you to cooperate. You check your ankles and wrists, there are no restraints. “How long was I out for?” You ask in a dull, numb voice.

“A day.”

You nod, realising how energised you feel, a rare occurrence for you. “And… How?” Although you’re grateful for the rest, the last thing you remember was clawing at the ground, not exactly a bedtime routine. 

“Oh… Ha ha… Well…” She gestures to her head sheepishly, you place your hand on yours and jolt at the sudden pain, a bandage covers a gnarly bump on the right side of your head, then the headache hits you. “Ugh… Gods…” You rub your eyes but doing so only produces stars, you lay back down.

“Yeah, sorry about that too, soldier.” You hear approaching footsteps, but moving to protect yourself right now would be too painful.

“So, she’s awake at last… What now?” Asks a gentle, male voice. You try to peer through the stars to see which companion it is. You see… Purple. This must be the wizard.

“Yes, what now, indeed? Shall I get my tools and see what information I can get out of her?” You recognise this as the familiar voice of the half-elf.

“With all due respect, Shadowheart, I think she’s a bit… Out of it. Maybe adding more pain into the mix isn’t such a good idea.”

“Alright, what do you suggest?” She asks, clearly disappointed and irritated.

“You could start by sparing some magic and healing that wound on her head. She can’t even speak.” Shadowheart sighs and reluctantly casts Cure Wounds, your vision clears and the pain subsides.

Thank the Gods…

Finding your strength, you sit up once again and your eyes meet the wizard’s. His features are soft, kind, though you suppose looks can always be deceiving. “Welcome back. Now, let’s cut to the chase. You don’t trust us, we don’t trust you, that much is clear. But, we can help each other. And I’ll get into the ‘how’ of it all soon enough, but for now, I’ll settle for your name. I’m Gale, of Waterdeep.” He reaches his hand out to shake yours. You inspect it, searching for trickery, then you look at his face. He has a friendly, inviting smile and you sense no ulterior motive. You take his hand and shake it gently. “Tav.”

“Tav! Excellent.” Once you let go, he claps his hands and turns to his companions. “This is Shadowheart, our fierce cleric.” He gestures towards her, she forces a smile but unsuccessfully hides her distaste for the introduction. “And you’ve met Karlach.” She waves at you excitedly, seeming proud of you for opening up, just a little. She emanates friendliness, you can’t help but smile back. “Let’s see… That’s Lae’Zel, our resident githyanki.” He points her out, upon hearing her name, she looks over, sees you and immediately scoffs before returning to her task. “Over here we have Wyll, ‘The Blade of…” 

“The Blade of the Frontiers, at your service.” The one who bent the dead to his will approaches and performs a grand bow. “My lady.” You raise an eyebrow.

Is this guy for real?

You smile and nod politely. You take in his features as he raises his head. Brown skin, facial scars and one eye seemingly made of stone. Intriguing…

“And last but… Eh… not least, Astarion. The stealthiest of the bunch.” He doesn’t look up from his book, he just makes a vague, waving, hand gesture. You raise an eyebrow again, but this time you make no effort to conceal your judgement.

“Yes, I remember.” Just as you’re about to look away, you spot a smirk on his face. The prick.

“So, now that we’re all well acquainted, maybe now you could tell us everything you know about this ‘Absolute’, yes?” Gale looks at you expectantly.

“Hold on, you said we could help each other. What am I getting out of this?” The companions exchange worried glances before Karlach takes over.

“Well that all depends on your answers to our questions, soldier.” She looks at you apologetically.

“Seriously? You want me to give you all this information for the mere chance that you could give me something in return? Yeah, no thanks.” A moment of tension passes.

“We know what’s in your head and we have them too!” The words practically burst out of Karlach’s mouth, to everyone’s disapproval. Gale brings his hands to his head, eyes wide in disbelief at Karlach’s lack of control, Shadowheart essentially slaps her hand into her face, holding it there in disappointment, and Wyll just pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, shaking his head. You get the slight feeling that you weren’t supposed to know that.

“You don’t mean…”

“Yes, that little worm in your skull. We all have one.” Shadowheart admits in defeat.

“How did you…?”

“Minthara, she called you True Soul. That seems to be the name for people like us.” Gale explains. “However, none of us have succumbed to ceremorphosis yet, nor are we under this ‘Absolute’s’ control. We want to understand why. Any information you can give us would be greatly appreciated.” You listen intently, his explanation that only fills your mind with further questions. You ask about ‘ceremorphosis’ and process the definition.

“I’m sorry, what now? You’re-… I’m-… We’re turning into MIND-FLAYERS?!”

“No- well, maybe? We aren’t quite sure. All we know is that our infection has been highly irregular thus far.”

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! Interesting how Minthara left that fucking detail out!

“In any case, we’re searching for a cure. Please, if you know anything, anything at all, we need all the help we can get.” Gale pleads.

“And soldier, you do too.” You look up at Karlach who’s smile alone brings you down from another episode. You take a deep breath.

“A-alright…” You go on to describe your experience in the goblin camp and repeat all the information that Minthara shared with you during your time there. As you reach the point in the story of the ‘interrogation’, you are… selective with the details. Choosing to describe your actions through the eyes of a mere, horrified spectator rather than the confused, active participant you truly were. Astarion’s mouth twitches at your story as he cocks his head to the side. He seems intrigued. Too intrigued. The others listen and nod thoughtfully as you speak.

Once finished, they stand there in silence, processing. You search their faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of what their judgement of you will be. Gale breaks the silence: “Just a moment.” He gathers all companions, including Astarion and Lae’zel around the campfire, just out of earshot from you. You watch as each one has a turn to speak, occasionally glancing at you before returning to the conversation. It’s a passionate discussion between very strong personalities, it’s a wonder how they’ve remained allies for longer than a day. Eventually, you see nods of agreement, some begrudging and some pleased as they all turn and walk towards you.

Gale steps forward and attempts a formal speech pattern: “So… Tav, was it? We… we cannot, in good conscience, leave you to the, er- aforementioned fate. And so, we would like to extend an invitation to accompany us on our journey, as we search for a cure. What do you think?” You think for a moment, feeling all six pairs of eyes on you.

You sigh as you come to the realisation that you don’t have much choice. It’s either this, or ceremorphosis. You nod, yet still feel their unsure gaze. You give in and say the words: “Yes, alright. I’ll join you.”

You feel your companions relax… mostly. Lae’zel isn’t hiding how displeased she is with the arrangement before she leaves to tend to her collection of weaponry. Your stomach growls, no, roars. Loudly. It’s been over twenty-four hours and you haven’t had a single bite to eat. Karlach chuckles “You know what, mate? Me too. Gale, dinner time!” She taps her tummy as she follows Gale to the makeshift food station. Shadowheart leaves to light the campfire and Wyll smiles at you before helping her.

That’s one, two, three, four, five… and six.

Astarion stood, resting his weight on one hip, watching you. You look up at him, making eye contact. The slight warmth you feel towards your newfound companions grows colder once he is in your view. A brief look becomes a fight for dominance, neither party willing to lose. “Can I help you?” Your voice is laced with contempt, yet the only effect you have on him is widening his insufferable grin. He holds you in suspense for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t like me.” His tone is playful, flirty even.

“Hard to. First impressions are everything.” You slide yourself off the stone slab you used as a bed to face him properly, trying to regain control.

“Oh darling, you know I only did that because I had to.” He laughs and tilts his head down, intensifying his gaze, effortlessly. He steals a glance at the small cut on your neck, the corner of his mouth twitches in the thrill of knowing that he put it there. “But enough about the past. You’re one of us now, we should be… Acquainted. Don’t you agree?” You fold your arms and allow him to continue under the weight of your suspicious stare. “Well, I don’t know about you, but the idea of waking up to a dagger lodged in my chest doesn’t sound particularly appealing.”

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” You smirk back at him, unfolding your arms and finding your wide hips before resting on them with your hands. He steps closer and speaks softer.

“No, not scared. I just don’t trust those who withhold the truth.” Your smirk drops and your mind races.

What does he know? How could he know? No, this is stupid, there’s no way…

“Oh don’t worry darling, I would have trusted you even less if you had laid, whatever it is, bare for us all to see. That’s why I voted to let you stay.” You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “And just so you know, I didn’t tell the others.”

“Why not? What loyalty do you have to me?”

“Oh, absolutely none, my dear… But, you never know when an ally might be useful.” He chuckles to himself, tucking his hair behind his pointed ear.

“You’re a smug one, aren’t you?”

“Hmm… Some say smug, some say charming, it’s all the same really when you get what you want. So… Allies?” He leans in, expecting an agreeable reply. You scoff at his audacity before rolling your eyes and giving him what he wants.

“Allies.”

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Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[thechaoticdruid]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts (1)

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav

Plot: Tav and Astarion have been settling in to life in the Underdark, trying their damnedest to find a good lead on the Ring of the Sun Walker when suddenly a distress message from an old friend lands them in a place they certainly did not see coming. An extravagant soiree hosted by a very eccentric stranger!

Content/Warnings: First chapter focuses on Tav and Astarion's life so far. Chubby Tav, Tav uses She/her pronouns, Violence and slight gore, brief nudity, suggestive content, mentions of Astarion's trauma, descriptions of a panic attack, Tav based on my own (human druid) Tav. Possible smut in future chapters. Grammar/spelling mistakes are possible. Ooc moments are possible, slight angst, comfort, fluff.

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The dark cold caverns of the Underdark were definitely not anyone's first vacation destination. They were perilous, full of several bloodthirsty beasts just waiting to tear even the most skilled of adventurers apart.  

“HEY ASSHAT! OVER HERE DUMBASS! LOOK AT MEEEE!” A young human woman shouted, waving her arms around like a complete fool.

She stuck her tongue and blew a raspberry up at a massive figure. A towering green humanoid with multiple limbs and multiple heads, only wearing a loin cloth and what appeared to be a belt made of human skulls. 

The human was short, chubby, dressed in a red cloak embroidered with little wolves on it and druidic armor tucked underneath.  She continued to mock the beast pointing two middle fingers at it. The beast growled and began to charge towards the much smaller human female.

“That's it, dumb fuck! Come to Tav!” The druid smirked, getting into a fighting stance and she looked up above.  A flaming arrow came down fast, hitting the beast in one of its foreheads.

It let out a loud low growl of pain, almost immediately shouting something in its strange native tongue. Tav couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was saying, but she was pretty sure it was far from intelligent.  Tav glanced back towards the origin of the arrow with a smile seeing her ivory haired elven lover perched up upon a high cliff. 

“Excellent aim as always, my Star!” Tav cheered. 

“Hells Teeth Tav! Get out of the way!” Her lover exclaimed. The monster lunged over for Tav, seeming to recover from its wound rather quickly before going in to grab the human female in one of its huge hands, attempting to crush her. 

Tav simply smirked before suddenly changing her shape, taking the form of a large owlbear and sinking her claws into the beast's arm before leaping away, using her wings to glide a good distance between her and the monstrosity.

The elf huffed as he reached back, grabbing for another fire arrow only to realize he had used the last one. Looks like he'd have to improvise.

“Ignis.” He recited the incantation before shooting a firebolt right at the creature’s main face, setting it ablaze and allowing Tav to get in some slashes across its lower body. The beast flailed and screamed, kicking Tav in the face and knocking her down into the ground with powerful force before charging towards the elf's advantage point.

“Shit.” The silver haired male cursed before beginning to make a run for it, only to have the ground crumble beneath him.

“Astarion!” Tav screamed, now returned to her human form, pure horror in her eyes as she saw the giant beast slam its body into the ledge her beloved had been standing on. He let out a shout as he began to fall, so close to hitting the ground before a black blur flew over and took hold of the back of his doublet.  Tav growled in anger before conjuring a thorn covered vine using her magic before lassoing it around the monster’s throat. 

Astarion blinked noticing he hadn't hit the ground, the sound of flapping wings and huffing could be heard above him.

“Ugh ... .Star, you're so heavy!” A little voice said before suddenly Astarion was gently placed on his feet. He looked back to see a black fluffy tressym huffing before slowly landing on the ground, very winded from having to hold up the elf with her tiny body.   

“Darling, where in the hells have you been?” Astarion stared down at the little black tressym as she caught her breath. 

“I tried to go catch that half-elf trader before he got too far! I think he conned us on that sun walker map!” The tressym exclaimed.

“You think?” Astarion rolled his eyes before gesturing to gigantic green humanoid.

“FUCK MEEEEEE!!!!!” Tav screamed as she was yanked up from the ground by the enormous creature as it yanked its neck hard, pulling both Tav and her vine lasso and slinging them around. 

“Tav!” Astarion quickly dashed over as Tav went flying through the air. He swiftly leaped up and caught her before tumbling down with her on top of him. “My darling, are you alright?” He asked, voice full of concern. Tav immediately got up off the elven male seemingly ignoring him. 

“I'm gonna kick some green prick’s ass!” She shouted before running back towards the beast.

Astarion huffed in annoyance, his love could be so difficult at times. It excited him back when they had first met. Her eagerness to rush into danger and slaughter her foes without a second thought truly got him going, but now that he had come to care for her so deeply things were different. He was terrified of anything happening to her. Astarion let out a sigh before drawing his bow and notching an arrow, aiming at the head he had previously been able to set ablaze.  His arrow was able to tear right through the beast, leaving blood to pour from its skull. Its other heads roared in pain as the creature flailed its arms around frantically.

Tav then suddenly remembered something she had hidden in her pack and given the creature’s distraction, now was the perfect opportunity to use it. She quickly pulled out a scroll of fireball before reciting the incantation and firing right at the monster, setting its entire body aflame. The beast twitched and spasmed, crying out in pure agony before eventually falling flat on its back, body burnt to a crisp as the life depleted from its eyes. Tav took a deep breath before running up and kicking what was left of the charred corpse.

“Take that you big green bitch!” She huffed. Astarion wiped some sweat from his brow before letting out a sigh of relief as he watched his lover take out her frustration on the carcass. 

“Goods gods. A dire-troll…” The winged cat exclaimed as she scurried over towards the couple. 

“Oh…So that's what this thing was? I had no idea those were in the Underdark.” Tav blinked before looking over at their feline companion. “Did you have luck spying on that merchant, Maddie?” 

“I believe he was making his way back to the Myconid colony. Considering we were almost killed following this map he gave us I think it's safe to assume we got scammed.” Maddie stated.

“You're right. Nothing out here but a dead end and a dead troll.” Tav sighed, stretching her arms behind her head. 

“I told you I thought he was a rogue. Why didn't you tell me you suspected he was scamming us?” Astarion asked.

“I didn't want to crush your hopes of finding the ring of the sunwalker.” Tav sighed.

“Darling, we were both almost literally crushed today.” Astarion crossed his arms. “Perhaps we should forget about feelings if there's a chance we're walking into certain death, hm?” 

“Sorry….” Tav looked down, hanging her head in shame before feeling Astarion's cool hands cup her face and make her look at him. 

“I'm not angry at you, I just don't want you getting hurt on my behalf, love.” He said before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We will find this magic sun ring in time, but you must be by my side when we do.”  He looked down at her fondly, eyes round and full of love. Tav couldn't help but give in to the smile that was creeping its way across her face as she glanced back up at her love. Maddie then suddenly cleared her throat as she looked up at her humanoid companions.

“I do hate to interrupt this beautiful moment my friends, but there is the matter of the man who conned us out of 1000 gold pieces for that map.” The tressym exclaimed, tapping a paw against the ground.

“Right. That bastard owes us money.” Tav said as she pulled away from her partner. “Hmm…You know Astarion, we could always invite him out for bite ...if you have the appetite, my Star.” 

“Oh my love, you know I simply adore it when you treat me to dinner.” Astarion flicked his tongue over his fangs, a sadistic grin making its way onto his face. “I'm salivating just thinking about it.~” 

“I always make sure to take good care of my man.” Tav boasted with a smug grin, giving her vampiric love a wink. “Come on Maddie, let's go pay this con man a visit.

“Yes, of course Tav.” Maddie said before hopping up onto Tav's shoulder and hitching a ride on her. 

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Once they tracked down the merchant who scammed them, took back their gold and allowed Astarion to have a nice little treat, the trio returned to their current abode to rest up after a tiring day of adventuring in the Underdark.  Tav and Astarion had taken up residence in the old abandoned Arcane Tower after getting assistance repairing it from the Kuo-Toa. Conveniently the fish folk had still believed Tav to be some god of murder and were easily convinced to build her a palace for her and her murderous bride (which was what they referred to Astarion as).

It was less building a palace and more so just doing renovations on the tower to make it more homey as Astarion put it. Once they returned home, Tav went down to the basement with Maddie trailing after her. Since her and her former companions had cured themselves of their tadpoles and defeated a threat to all of Faerûn she'd began to take up some wizard skills, studying the weave and expanding her abilities.

She'd honestly always wanted to be a wizard, but when you grow up in a family full of druids, in a village full of druids you don't exactly have that many options. Tav opened up one of her journals, sketching a little doodle of the dire-troll she fought today before looking through one of the magical tomes Gale had sent to her from Waterdeep. She studied the pages, taking in the different techniques and incantations for fire spells. These definitely would have been hells of a lot more help earlier today. Maddie leapt up on the desk Tav sat at in the basement, stretching out her wings before letting out a yawn and taking a seat next to Tav. 

“Star was asking for you Tav.” The little feline spoke up in her sweet high sounding voice. “He said he patched up the tear in your cloak.” 

“Tell him I said thanks, but I'm busy right now.” Tav muttered, trying to concentrate on reading the current page she was on. 

“He also said something about gagging you and tying you up if you keep ruining the clothes he makes you?” The tressym tilted her head innocently, a bit confused by Astarion's threat.

“Oh well, that's nice.” Tav said, barely paying any attention.  She was too invested in the tome to even hear the noise of the elevator coming down, followed light footsteps moving across the stairs.

“Darling, just what exactly are you doing down here?” Astarion suddenly took a step behind her, causing Tav to jump.

“AH! Hells Astarion!” She said, turning back to see him, crossing his arms. 

“I thought I told that cat to fetch you…” Astarion huffed and glanced over at Maddie with a raised brow.

“I'm a tressym!” Maddie pouted, ears shooting straight back. Astarion ignored her offended demeanor and focused solely on Tav.

“I'm trying to study…You know wizard stuff…” Tav sighed before looking up at her needy vampire boyfriend.  

“And you can't just read this upstairs? With me?” Astarion stepped over to Tav before suddenly planting himself on her lap and snaking his arms around her shoulders. If it wasn't for Tav’s well filled out form he probably would have squished her. The position honestly looked a little funny given he was taller than her.  

“Not when you do stuff like this.” Tav pouted, a blush spreading across her face as he sat on her lap, muscular ass pressed down on her thigh. “I know you don't have much to do when we're here but I need to study. This could be so useful for when we're out there searching for that ring!” Tav gave him a small smile. 

“You already know enough magic as it is, you're a druid for gods sake. I don't see the point in forcing yourself to do this unnecessary work.” Astarion huffed. 

“Please Star this is important to me. Just give me a little longer. Then we can do whatever you want.” Tav hummed, looking back at him with puppy dog eyes. 

“Oh alright. You have twenty minutes. Then you and I are getting a bath.” He smirked before planting a kiss on her cheek and getting up. Tav continued on with her studies before eventually getting up and joining her lover in a hot bath he'd prepared for the two of them. Tav stripped down her armor and undergarments before exposing her thick curvaceous form and getting into the tub beside him. All the stretch marks, creases, lumps and imperfections were completely on show for the vampire to see.

It had honestly taken a long time before she had become confident enough to expose herself in front of him so casually, but she'd come so far.  Not too long ago she'd thought of herself unworthy of having a lover.  Funny how things could change so drastically.  Astarion at times practically worshipped this body she loathed so greatly.

Tav still didn't understand it.

“You know you could probably try finding a hobby, Star. Something besides killing, and me…” Tav hummed a bit as her elven lover washed her messy locks. “You're very good at sewing. Why not try that? The cloak you made for me is gorgeous.” 

“And yet you ripped it.” Astarion rolled his eyes as Tav sat between his legs.

“Technically the troll ripped it.” Tav sassed, before wincing at a slight tug on her hair. 

“Yes well who's fault is that now is it?” Astarion smirked. 

“You fixed it though, didn't you?” Tav grinned, turning back to look at him,“see this is a perfect hobby.”

“You just want me to be your personal seamstress don't you?” Astarion booped Tav's nose playfully.

“Would that be so terrible?” Tav tilted her head.

“Maybe not…I will admit I do rather like dressing you up…. Almost as much as I like undressing you.” He growled in her ear before planting a kiss on her neck. Tav couldn't help but giggle, feeling him wrap his arms around her ribs, pulling her back against his chest before resting his chin on top of her head with a sigh. “This is nice…” He hummed, resting his eyes. Tav let out a peaceful sigh before relaxing against him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peace never truly lasts. Eventually there's always something that comes along to throw one’s world back into chaos.  

Tav and Astarion had gone to bed, all snuggled up in their elegant silky sheets Tav had been able to purchase. She used funds she'd made while writing her popular book series ‘Blood-Mage’ (a ridiculously smutty novel featuring a handsome young sorcerer named Garrett Delarous who ends up forced to team up with Vampire Lord Arian Arcane to save the world or something…).

Tav laid there, bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling while Astarion tranced beside her, arms wrapped around her plush waist as his head rested against her chest.  Usually Astarion’s embrace was enough to keep her anxiety fueled insomnia away but tonight her mind would not still. Too many thoughts ran a muck in her head, never calming down. It was almost maddening. 

Eventually she shut her eyes, trying her damndest to relax and drift away. She did a little exercise where she'd picture herself sleeping in her mind, thinking of the cool feeling of the sheets, the softness of her mattress and the comfort of her lover's arms.  Tav was so, so very close to drifting away, but then the worse happened.

“No! G-Get away!” A voice whimpered out beside her, sending Tav on high alert. Astarion had jerked away from her. “Master please! No more!” 

“Astarion.” Tav sat up and looked over at her panicked love.  She moved quickly to shake him awake, fearful he may hurt himself in his unconscious state with his thrashing.

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” He hissed, fangs barred as he dug his nails into the bed. Astarion was wide awake now, breathing quickly, frantically. His eyes were filled with terror as tears formed in the corners. 

“My love…. It's me….Tav…” Tav said calmly getting off the bed to give him space. “No one is going to hurt you. You're safe.”

“I….I saw him again….” The elf shakily choked out. “He was reciting poetry…as he carved it into my flesh...” Astarion took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure but he still shook like a leaf. “I'll never get rid of that fucking bastard!” 

“Cazador is dead, Astarion. He will never hurt you again.” Tav said calmly. “I will never let anyone hurt you again…” 

“You can't promise that Tav.” Astarion huffed, “he still lives in my head.”  The druid slowly moved towards him, heart aching as she noticed a tear running down his cheek.  

“You're so strong my love. I know you can overcome these demons, but I'm also here when you need me.” Tav said, slowly taking a seat back on the bed. She moved her hand towards him slightly, but not too close, just close enough for him to grab if need be. It took a few more moments before Astarion glanced back over at Tav, slowly intertwining his hand with hers and giving it a squeeze. “If you want to talk about it I will listen.” Tav said. 

“I don't…” Astarion said simply. 

“Well then I won't pry…” Tav gave him a sad smile. Astarion turned towards her before pulling her close and burying his face into her neck, arms slipping around her waist. She shushed him, rubbing circles on his back in a soothing manor. 

Astarion's old master was dead and gone, but he was certainly not forgotten. Tav knew better than most that the scars of the mind were far worse than the scars of the body.  All she could really do now was stay by her lover's side and whisper sweet nothings into his pointed ears.  

Eventually the two gave up on sleep for a bit. Tav had Astarion sit in one of their armchairs adorned in his eccentric silky red night robe as she scampered over to their cooking pot in only a tank and boxers. She grabbed one of the blood bank jars they kept stored away before pouring some into a mug and heating it over the fire just enough so it would appear fresh. She took the mug back over to Astarion once it was ready and gave it to him.  

“Thank you darling. I.. I'm sorry I must have woken you.” He muttered before sipping from his cup. 

“No. I actually haven't been able to sleep myself. My mind just won't settle down I suppose.” Tav hummed. 

“Were you thinking about the drow again?” Astarion asked. 

“Oh no…I..for once it wasn't him…Just a lot on my mind…Nothing important really.” 

“Tav! Astarion!” Suddenly Maddie's small voice called out as she came up the elevator and into their room.  “There is something very important you guys need to see in the basement!!!” The little black tressym flapped her wings in a panic before galloping over to them. The vampire and druid looked at each other before following their furry and feathered friend downstairs before eventually being met with a familiar face. 

Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep…or his projection self anyway. 

“Good evening, I come with an urgent message from Professor Gale of Waterdeep. He is in grave danger and is in dire need of your help.” The projection said.

“What? Can't the wizard take care of himself for one evening!” Astarion let out a frustrated sigh before crossing his arms.

“What happened!? Where's Gale?” Tav asked.

“The details of his predicament have been left enclosed in an envelope on your desk.” 

Tav hummed in confusion before walking over to her desk and tearing the envelope open. She expected a letter or maybe some cryptic message entailing that Gale was being held hostage in some dungeon somewhere, but no, all that stood out was an invitation to a formal extravagant soiree being thrown by some noble in Waterdeep. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Note From TheChaoticDruid: THIS IS THE SURPRISE I'D BEEN TEASING A WHILE BACK! I honestly wanted to do a fic like this ever since I'd seen people asking for a fancy party type of quest in BG3 and I was like yeah.....I want that too! Imma have to do some research for the next bit so don't expect super fast updates, but it will be continued.

Hope you enjoyed! And to all the people who recognize Maddie, you get this cookie 🫴🍪. Y'all are the real ones. 😎

~Druid

[alpydk]

Desperate (RuganxReader)

He has a choke hold on me right now - So here is some hastily written smut (1300 words or so of it...)as a break from all the angst I've made recently - I will say although this is awesome, as all fanfic is, smut is not my go-to writing choice. But I needed this, desperate for it, you might say.

For a few weeks, you’ve been travelling with your party along the Sword Coast in search of a healer for your tadpole problem. A few weeks of dirt, blood, cold washes in the river and hands kept to yourself. As much as you hate to admit it in such low-class terms; you’re horny, desperate to ride someone, but unfortunately picky with your tastes. 

The vampire, Astarion had appeared the obvious choice with his flirty remarks and pristine good looks, but he wasn’t your type. Too pretty, not to mention he couldn’t handle the banter you gave back at him. Typical elf you thought to yourself. Then there was sweet Gale, a good age, good-looking but too much of a romantic, a bit too good for your liking. You ask yourself; why have red wine when there is ale on tap? Gale was more the type to lovingly caress your inner thigh and build up to some gentle foreplay for an age rather than just fuck you like an animal against the wall, the floor, or anywhere you really wanted so he was out of the running. And then there were the others; Wyll was too young, Shadowheart too distant, Karlach on fire. Lae’zel… just no. Desperate but picky…

***

Fucking gnolls and their stupid giggling. Great, now you’ve got blood on you again and the whole area is up in flames. Who in the hells was the genius to start throwing alchemist's fire? Well, at least the beasts have been taken care of. You’ve expected nothing but corpses, empty crates, and maybe the odd trip wire; Rugan is not what you’re expecting to come across. Slightly taller than you, older, weathered from a few too many fights, and most likely a few too many stiff drinks as well; and shit, when he speaks you feel that desperate hunger come back to you full force. You would happily be fucked by him against the wall, the floor, the back of this bloody cave if left alone with him. 

Ah, a Zhentarim. Typical. You’d had run-ins with them back in the city. The word around was that they were trying to take over The Guild; a few gold misplaced and a skirmish or two down by the docks, but it wasn’t your place to get involved. Leave that to Nine-Fingers to deal with. Your job was to simply keep the books in order at the keep, whilst playing both sides to keep your lifestyle comfortable, of course. Well, maybe now this could play to your advantage as well; make a little gold and if you meet up with him again then you could see what would happen. At least now you have something to think of during those lonely nights of tent life. 

You’ve always been one for voices as stupid as the concept sounds and his sticks with you. …Tighter than a Duke’s purse strings… You bite the inside of your lip thinking of other things usually construed as tight. When did your mind become so crude? Why did everyone else have to be here right now? Why can’t you just push him against that wall and have your way with him? You see him looking at you as Gale speaks; maybe he’s thinking the same thing, or maybe he’s recognised you from the keep. What does it all matter though? Desperate…

***

You both plan to make some gold selling the chest he’s transporting. You figure, what harm could it do? You find out soon after though exactly what harm; with the death of the poor lad that was with him, the death of the Zhents that had him tied and beaten to a chair, and an awakening to something you’ve never really thought about before. You beautiful bastard. Gods, what you’d give to keep him tied to that chair, to suck his cock knowing his arms are bound behind him and there’s nothing he can do but let out deep moans from your touch. That fantasy will keep you going for a few nights, that's for sure, and then maybe if you’re lucky that drink he’s promised you could turn into more, a desperate touch-starved reality.  

***

Baldur’s Gate. It’s been a long time having to make do with the odd night with Astarion, with some drow, with your own thoughts to keep you going, but you know you’ll soon be at the Elfsong Tavern and can get that sweet release you’ve been craving. Yeah, the tadpole is still slithering away in your mind, yeah there are all the other problems, like saving the world and a stone lord that had suddenly become your issue to deal with, but none of it matters in comparison to what, who you’ve been craving. Rugan…

He stands at the bar, a pint in hand. Finally, someone with a real taste in alcohol. He recognises you even out of the armour, hopefully out of the clothes later too. Things have gone to shit for him since the day in the caves, but he doesn’t want to talk about it much and you’re grateful after carrying the emotional baggage of your travelling companions. You watch as he downs the last bit of his drink before placing his hand on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for your reaction. You can already feel the warmth in your face, and you want to say it’s the drink but you both know that’s a complete lie. 

You can’t tell who booked the room or even how you’ve both reached this point as you push through a door, hands already exploring one another’s bodies, tongues entwined in a frantic effort to make up for lost time. The door is kicked shut to keep your hands placed on his body and as you make your way to what you hope is the bed, you both leave behind a trail of clothing, a light cotton shirt and leather trousers with ridiculous ties. On any other day, you might tease, pulling at them with your teeth but that will not happen tonight. Tonight, you want him, you need him inside you. 

Desperate longing leads to desperate touches. Your hand is wrapped around his shaft, though it takes little to wind him up. His grabs are as eager as yours as you feel him wrap a strong arm around your leg pulling you in closer, onto him. Did you even make it to the bed? You don’t seem to care as you feel him thrust inside you, deeper than you expected after seeing how tight his trousers were, a pleasant yet welcome surprise. Shit, it’s been so long and you wanted to draw this night out, to have it build up to some enchanted moment and see fireworks but right now, you are in that cave, you are on that floor, you are up against that wall, and you are being given what you have hungered after for so long. By the gods, he is everything and more than you could possibly have ever wanted. 

You hear his breath grow heavy against your neck as he jolts into you mercilessly. You grip him feeling your heart racing and your muscles tightening, wanting to give him everything, wanting this night to last forever but you know it won’t be much longer for either of you. You feel your release building and you try to hold it off, try to think of anything else but the throbbing inside of you and just as you think you’ve regained some control you hear his growled whisper in your ear; Your name spoken from those thirsting lips.   

***

The next morning you wake up alone amongst the creased sheets of the bed you’d both shared. The trail of your clothing leads to what appears to be a sofa and you smile to yourself now knowing the full story of the night. You’ve no idea where he’s gone or even if you’ll see him again but right now you don’t care as your head rests on the pillow and the events of last night flood your brain. That beautiful bastard, Rugan, once again leaving you desperate…