#my shadowheart bruised her like she meant it

[marshmallow-bg3]

[forest-meadow]

The Aftermath

Summary: Astarion walks in on you waiting for Shadowheart to come heal you after you've been attacked.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

TW: mentions of being attacked, attempted rape, blood, injuries, swearing, anger

Word Count: 1.5K

You hadn’t meant to show him. In fact, you intended not to for as long as possible. You hadn’t even realized he had entered the room as you peeled off your blood soaked shirt, grimacing as some of the dried blood stuck and pulled at a few of your injuries. You had already called for Shadowheart for help with this as this was beyond your skill set and would likely take more than a simple healing potion. Deep cuts and purpling bruises darkened your skin. A particular movement had you gasping in pain. You were just thinking how lucky you were that no one else in your party was at the Elf Song just yet when you heard an animalistic growl behind you.

You dropped your shirt and spun on your heel, reaching for the knife at your back, then relaxed, “Oh. It’s just you.”

Astarion had seen you naked countless times, and this time you were only half naked. But his eyes were darkened just the same.

“Who did this to you?” he growled, and you realized his eyes weren’t darkened with hunger, but with pure, unbridled rage.

You felt unease creep up your spine at his anger. It was never an emotion you knew what to do with, either yours or others. Usually yours would be dealt with in the heat of battle, fueling your drive to destroy the enemy. Others, on the other hand, were much more volatile. Especially Astarion.

“Darling. I need to know who or what did this to you so I can go rip their throats out this instant,” Astarion said lowly.

You held your hands up to him, holding in a wince when your injuries smarted, but he still caught it and growled again. “Star, I’ll be alright. Shadowheart is already on her way-”

“Who?” was all he said, still waiting for an answer.

“It doesn’t matter-” you started

“Doesn’t matter?!” he shouted, “How can you say that when you're practically bleeding out on the floor?! It ‘doesn’t matter’?!”

“Because they’re dead! It was him or me and I certainly wasn’t going to let it be me!” you shouted over him, and then winced at how much the shouting moved you.

“What do you mean- ‘him or me’?” Astarion’s rage suddenly melted into concern as he realized the possibility that your injuries might be more than physical, “He didn’t try to- did he?”

“What else could he have been doing?” you muttered bitterly.

“Oh, dearest,” he breathed, “I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

“There’s no way you could have been. I was out getting you a surprise. I made sure the others were distracting you so it was just me out and about and he took advantage of my being alone,” you explained.

He took a step towards you, then hesitated, “My darling, I-” he stopped, not knowing how to finish his own sentence, speechless for once in his life.

“Yeah. I know.”

The door to the room opened again as Shadowheart rushed in, “Gods! Are you alright, Y/N? What the hells happened?”

You chewed your lip nervously, “I was attacked.”

“As in, attacked? Or just attacked?” she asked.

You nodded your head slightly to the first one.

“Gods, okay. Let’s get you cleaned up. Astarion, you can either help or leave.” Shadowheart immediately took charge of the situation, “If you’re going to help, grab some clean towels and rags.”

Astarion stayed where he was, staring at you, clearly in shock.

“Astarion!” Shadowheart snapped.

He started and blinked at her, “What?”

“Either get clean towels and help or leave and get the drink you clearly need,” she ordered.

He looked to you.

“It’s alright if you need to go, love. I understand,” you said.

“What do you need?” he asked, still looking at you.

You pulled in a slow breath and finally looked him in the eyes again, “I need you here. Please.”

He nodded once, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work following Shadowheart’s instructions as she barked them out.

A knock came at the door and it cracked open, “Is it alright if we come in? We’re all a bit worried,” Karlach’s voice came through the crack in the door.

Shadowheart looked to you and you shook your head.

“Not just yet,” she called to the door, “We’ll come out when we’re done and ready.”

“Alright. You alright, soldier?”

“I’ll be fine, Karlach,” you tried to reassure the others, but knew it failed as soon as your voice cracked on the word “fine”.

You could sense the worry in your large friend grow, but the door clicked gently shut anyway.

Astarion was resolutely following Shadowheart’s every instruction, touching you as infrequently as possible. You understood his hesitance, but it still stung, and not in the same way your injuries did.

Shadowheart cleaned your wounds as best she could, apologizing under her breath when you would inhale sharply at a particularly nasty part, and set to work muttering a few healing spells after she was satisfied anything that wouldn’t be healed today wouldn’t get infected. When she was done, she stood up and grabbed the towels and rags, dumping them in a corner and going to wash the blood off her hands in the basin nearby.

“Do you need anything else?” She asked, “I can stay with you as long as you need me to.”

You looked over at Astarion. He was trying his best not to look like someone had kicked Scratch in the ribs right in front of him, you could tell, but failing miserably.

“I think we’ll be okay. Might be a little longer before we come down and join you, though,” you said.

She nodded, “Understood. If you need anything-”

“You’ll be second to know,” you agreed with a small nod towards Astarion.

She gave a slight smile, a curt nod, and took her leave.

Before the door even latched, you threw yourself at Astarion, wrapping yourself around him the way a small frightened child would their parent, and clutched at him for dear life.

“Precious, you’re shaking,” he said softly, gently but firmly wrapping his arms around you in return.

You were grateful for the sturdiness of your lover in that moment.

“What do you need, my love?” he asked in that same soft tone.

You let out a choked sob and crumpled into him, your legs losing their strength.

“Oh, darling,” he carefully picked you up and carried you to the bed the two of you shared. 

He sat on the mattress with his back against the wall and let you situate yourself in his lap as he gently ran his fingers through the tangled mess that was your hair.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, “I’m right here.”

All you could do was weep in his arms, the reality of what had happened to you hitting you all at once, like a charging owl bear. Astarion held you until you had cried yourself out, rocking you gently back and forth. It was so soothing. When all you had left were hiccups and sniffles, he pulled away a little to get a look at your face. He gently reached up and wiped away what remained of your tears and leaned down to press a firm kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, pet. But I am ready to listen when you are ready to talk,” he promised.

You nodded meekly and moved off his lap, “I need to change clothes.”

“Of course. Would you like me to turn towards the wall?” he asked.

You found yourself surprised by him once again. Since dealing with Cazador, it was like he felt he was allowed to be kind again. You weren’t complaining, but it was certainly different.

“Would you mind?” you asked.

“Not at all, darling,” he promptly turned to face the rather boring wall.

With Astarion’s back toward you, you felt yourself relax minutely. You searched for a clean shirt and pulled it over your head before removing your blood soaked trousers and replacing them with clean ones. You then walked to the vanity and worked out the tangles Astarion had missed with his finger combing and splashed some water on your face to get rid of the tear stains. Feeling presentable once more and a little more like yourself, you turned back to face him, only to find him dutifully staring at the wall.

“You can turn around now,” you said softly.

“Are you dressed?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m dressed.”

Astarion glanced over his shoulder at you, as if confirming to himself that you were, indeed, decent before he turned around and leaned back against the wall once more, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrugged as you move to sit beside him, leaving a small space between the two of you, but laying your hand in the space with your palm upwards, inviting him to take it in his own, “Pretty much told you all there is to know.”

“I see. Would you like to join the others down stairs? Or I could go and fetch them?” he asked.

You considered it a moment, then answered, “Could we just sit here for a little while? I’d like to enjoy the quiet a moment.”

“Of course, my love.”

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 24: Can You Turn Back to the Light?

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 5.5K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

As you and Astarion descend the winding stone staircase, the smell of fresh bread draws you toward the kitchen, but the moment you step through the doorway, it’s not breakfast but three pairs of very amused eyes that greet you. Shadowheart snickers into her tea, but Hecat rises from her chair, a dramatic grin spreading over her face as she starts clapping, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

“Well, well,” she smirks, drawing out each word with exaggerated admiration. “Bravo, Kamena. You’ve clearly raised the bar for evening entertainment.”

Gale averts his gaze, face flushed, before he looks up at you with an apologetic yet amused smile. “I must say,” he begins, tilting his head thoughtfully, “I’ve never felt so assured that someone arrived home safely. An inspired way to announce your presence.”

You meet Gale’s grin with one of your own and bow with a theatrical sweep of your arm. “Always a pleasure, Gale. We wouldn’t want you lying awake wondering if we got lost in the night.”

Astarion quirks an eyebrow and adds with a smirk, “We do try to be considerate, don’t we, my dear? Nothing says ‘safe and sound’ like an overture of pure passion.”

You slide into the seat next to Shadowheart. Before you can pick up your fork, Shadowheart's hand darts out, her fingers brushing over the marks dotting your neck. She leans in, squinting as if examining a rare relic, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Oh dear.” Her lips twitching into a grin as she nudges one of the bruises. “Astarion, honestly—have you no restraint? Careless of you to leave such a mess,” she jeers.

Astarion feigns an indignant gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “Careless? Shadowheart, my dear, I was merely caught in a... whirlwind of enthusiasm.” He glances sideways at you, a grin breaking across his face. “Besides, you were hardly innocent in all this,” he accuses. “Tell them, darling, who truly started all that… enthusiasm?”

You stifle a laugh, lifting an eyebrow. “Oh, I seem to remember someone initiating this particular ‘whirlwind’,” you quip, leaning back in your chair. “But if you’d like to blame me for your lack of control, go right ahead.”

Hecat claps her hands together, clearly delighted. “Listen to you two—like an old married couple, bickering over breakfast!” She gives you both a look that’s part amusement, part genuine affection.

You settle into your chair, grabbing a piece of bread with a flourish, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. A few months ago, the thought of this conversation would have had you squirming, but now you’re a different person—or maybe you’re simply shedding the skin of the person you once were. There’s a freedom here, a sense of comfort among friends who know every sharp edge and flaw.

Shadowheart raises her teacup. “Here’s to a memorable morning.”

Gale sips his tea, watching the two of you with that knowing glint in his eye. “So, I take it you managed to get Astarion’s siblings to your house safely?”

You nod, keeping your voice even. “We did. Though,” you glance at Astarion, who narrows his eyes with a grumble, “someone has his doubts about how they’ll leave the place in one piece.”

Astarion sniffs, crossing his arms. “Wreck my furniture, and I’ll have them crafting replacements with their godsdamned fangs,” he mutters.

Shadowheart leans forward, her tone suddenly sobering. “The vampire lord—whoever they are—is out there. We need to find them, and fast.”

You nod, already feeling the tension coil in your chest. “I know. We’ve been working through what we know, but we need to dive deeper, turn over every stone. Whatever they’re planning, we’re running out of time to figure it out.”

Astarion’s hand rests lightly on yours, a silent reminder he’s in this with you, for better or worse. You look at him, then back at the others, determination steeling in your voice. “Most vampire lords have their followers, don’t they? Thralls, like those lackeys Cazador kept in his mansion—if they’re planning something big, they’ll need help.”

Astarion nods slowly, his expression turning serious. “That’s true. A vampire lord needs hands to handle daylight tasks and find... rarer supplies. If this one is as powerful as we suspect, they’re bound to have loyal thralls by the dozen.” His gaze sharpens, and a dark edge seeps into his tone. “They always flock to the shadows, like vermin.”

“Then it’s time we start wading into the underbelly of Waterdeep,” you say. “The black markets, the taverns for sell-swords and shadowy types.”

Gale leans back in his chair, fingers drumming thoughtfully on the table. “Hecat and I can take one end of the city—check in with my contacts, feel out anything... unusual.” He glances over at Hecat, who nods, her sharp eyes already gleaming with the thrill of the hunt.

You exchange a look with Astarion and Shadowheart, feeling the silent agreement ripple between you. “We’ll sweep through the darker quarters, places you wouldn’t find on a map.”

Shadowheart’s gaze sharpens as she leans forward. “It’s a start. We will need to take care and remain vigilant. If Aldous crosses our path again, we’ll need to be ready.”

Her words settle like stones in your chest, and a surge of anger blazes up, fierce and unrestrained. Memories sear through your mind, visions that refuse to dull: Aldous’s blade stabbing into Astarion’s shoulder, the vicious gleam in his eye as he twisted the knife. You remember the jarring scrape of Astarion’s boots as Aldous wrenched him backward, their bodies entangled as they tumbled over the edge of the Arcane Tower.

Your heart hammers, almost painful in its urgency. In your mind’s eye, you see it as vividly as if you were reliving it. Astarion, sprawled and deathly still, his body battered and unmoving. For a moment, he had looked like a corpse. No movement, no breath, only the shock of blood staining his ivory skin. Aldous’s laughter echoed mockingly, knowing he had stolen something precious from you.

That could have been it, you think, a horrid twist of fear lancing through your stomach. He could have been gone. It’s a feeling that’s haunted you since, curling into your chest and anchoring there, clawing at the edges of your every moment with him. The idea of losing him, of holding his lifeless body—no, I can’t let that happen.

I won’t.

Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles white. “The next time Aldous shows his face, I’m going to fucking incinerate him until not even a wisp remains.”

Astarion’s gaze flickers over you, a subtle gleam of approval and shared ire, but also a hint of worry you weren’t expecting to find in the depths of his crimson eyes.

Hecat stands. “Let’s hope the bastard makes it easy. A vampire lord, a murderous spawn—this city’s certainly growing on me.”

You take a breath. “Astarion, Shadowheart, and I will start tonight. We can meet here in the mornings to discuss anything we’ve found.”

You sit by Astarion, your mind half-focused on the page in front of you, though every few moments your gaze drifts to him. Shadowheart approaches and leans casually over your shoulder.

“Fancy a trip into town?” She asks as if reluctant to disturb the cozy silence. “I need to gather a few supplies while we have some daylight to keep the leeches at bay, and I could use some company.”

Astarion gives Shadowheart a mockingly offended look, his lips curling into a grin that’s equal parts teasing and indignant. "Leeches?" he repeats, drawing out the word as though it's the most scandalous accusation he’s ever heard. "Honestly, Shadowheart, I prefer the term ‘elegantly cursed connoisseur of blood,’ but I suppose leeches have their charm if you enjoy something slimy and without a shred of sophistication."

Shadowheart rolls her eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Fine, I’ll remember to use your preferred title next time, Your Grace.”

You can't help the small smile that sneaks onto your face, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. The sun is high, and you know she’s right—it’s as safe as Waterdeep gets. Still, the thought of leaving Astarion’s side leaves a knot in your stomach. After everything that happened, you can hardly bear the thought of not being near him, like a noose pulling tighter each time you think of that horrible fall.

Astarion catches your hesitation and laughs softly, a velvet sound that pulls your attention back to him. “Go on, darling,” he says, brushing his fingers over your arm.

His touch lingers a moment longer, a silent reassurance before he releases you, leaving your skin feeling oddly cool where his fingers once were. You let out a reluctant sigh, but you stand, giving him one last look before following Shadowheart.

The manor looms behind you as you step into the bright sunlight, and Shadowheart stifles a laugh. Her magic whispers through the air, brushing over your neck and shoulders like an invisible veil. You give her a quizzical look.

“Hardly proper to go into town like that,” she teases, eyeing the marks on your skin with an arched brow. She reaches to sweep a stray lock of hair over a particularly stubborn bite mark on your neck, her eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ll scare the merchants half to death.”

You snort, smoothing the folds of your coat, and step beside her onto the cobblestone streets of Waterdeep. The sounds of the city pulse around you, lively and familiar, a strange contrast to the tumult inside your chest.

As you walk, Shadowheart watches you out of the corner of her eye. “You’ve been… different. Not in a bad way, just… quieter.”

The market hums with vendors and patrons alike, oblivious to the turmoil in your chest. Shadowheart gives you a searching look, her gaze unwavering even as the lively crowd flows around you both.

"Astarion told me that I’m hurting him. I know I’ve kept him at arm’s length, and he’s seen through it. I just—" you pause, weaving between a pair of boisterous children, "I don’t know how to stop."

“It’s understandable, you know,” she says finally, her voice carrying a softness that surprises you. “After all he’s put you through—leaving like that, disappearing without a word... Trust is fragile, especially with something so delicate.” Her words are careful, measured, as though she’s testing the boundaries of how far she can go. “I don’t think it’s wrong to protect yourself, Kamena.” She pauses, choosing her words with care. “I think you have to ask yourself if this self-preservation is costing you more than the risk of trusting him again.”

A pit forms in your stomach as her words sink in. You glance away, watching a group of children dart past, laughing as they chase each other. “What if I can’t handle it?” you say, almost to yourself. “What if he does it again? I keep telling myself it’s better to hold back, to not give everything. To keep something for myself, so he can’t… break me.”

Shadowheart’s face softens, and she places a hand on your shoulder, grounding you with her steady presence. “Kamena, sometimes strength isn’t in holding back. Sometimes,” she says, a flicker of her own past hurts surfacing in her expression, “it’s in allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Trusting again, even when you’re afraid.”

You swallow, her words piercing through the armour you've built so carefully around your heart. “But it feels safer this way. Like, if I keep him at a distance, then whatever happens, I’ll be prepared.”

A small, sad smile tugs at her lips. “Safer, maybe, but is it what you want? I don’t think Astarion wants perfection, Kamena. I think he wants you—all of you.”

You shake your head slightly, feeling the weight of your own doubts. “And what if he leaves again? What if one day he decides I’m not worth it?”

“That’s the risk with love, isn’t it?” Shadowheart says gently. She reaches out, pulling a stray lock of your hair back, her eyes brimming with understanding. “But that’s the thing about trust. You can’t just keep the parts that feel safe. You either take the whole risk, the rawness, the unknown, or you’ll be haunted by what it could have been.”

The streets of Waterdeep are humming with life as you and Shadowheart make your rounds and pick up scrolls and potions and browse through a couple of shops for anything that might assist you in your endeavours. The conversation takes on a lighter tone for some time and flows easily, though Shadowheart never misses the chance to tease you about waking the entire manor up with your late-night carnal pursuits.

Sunlight glints off cobblestones, casting fractured reflections that dance across the shadows of the alleyways. People move past in a blur of conversation and laughter, but your mind is miles away.

You pause, something heavy settling in your chest. “Shadowheart,” you begin, your voice quieter now, careful.

She slows beside you, sensing the shift in the air, and glances over. “What is it?”

You take a breath, words tumbling in your mind but refusing to come out. Finally, you just let it spill. “Astarion said something before... before he fell off the tower,” you murmur, the words more fragile than you want them to be. “He said he would have liked to marry me in this life.”

Shadowheart’s eyes flick to you, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, her lips quirk into a knowing smile, a touch of sympathy behind the edges. She doesn’t say anything right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel like an eternity.

You feel your heartbeat quicken, your gaze turning to the side, looking anywhere but at her. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since, but... I haven’t brought it up. He hasn’t said anything about it again, and part of me wonders if he even meant it.”

There’s a pang in your chest, the same one that’s been nagging at you for days now. You’re scared—scared of what that admission means, scared of how much you want it, how much you need him to want it, too. But every time you try to voice it, the words catch in your throat, tangled up in the fear of being wrong, of opening a door that doesn’t lead to what you’re hoping for.

Shadowheart watches you closely, her gaze softening. “You’ve been afraid to ask him about it, haven’t you?”

You nod, your throat tight. "Yeah... afraid it might have been a passing remark when he thought his demise was all but assured, one he didn’t mean, or that he might regret it.”

She steps a little closer, her hand taking yours in a rare moment of warmth. “Astarion is many things, but he’s not one to say things he doesn’t mean. At least not to you.”

“You really think so?”

Shadowheart smiles. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. How his words always seem to soften when they’re meant for you.”

It replays in your mind, “I would have liked to marry you in this life, but I will find you in the next, thiramin.”

The words are like shards of broken glass lodged under your skin, too deep to remove but impossible to ignore. It scares you—how much you want to hear him say something about it, anything at all. Even a flippant joke, some casual dismissal, would be better than nothing.

But what if what he says isn’t what you hope for? What if he didn’t mean it, or worse, what if he did and now he’s changed his mind because you can’t let him close? The uncertainty makes your heart ache with a longing you’ve never known how to handle.

A few words shouldn’t hold this kind of power over me.

And yet, they do. Because the truth is, you’ve spent so long keeping Astarion at arm’s length, afraid of what might happen if you let yourself need him. Afraid of how completely he could ruin you if he ever left for good. You wrap yourself in that familiar armour of detachment, hoping it will keep you safe even though you know deep down it won’t. Because, Gods, you want more, and the yearning is a wound that never quite heals.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, too lost in your own desolate thoughts. You shake your head and try to bring your attention back to the present. “Please don’t mention this to him, or anyone else for that matter. Not until I know what it all means.”

Shadowheart nods, miming a zipper across her lips and a slight flick of her fingers like she’s throwing away an imaginary key. “Anytime. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself, Kamena.”

You hate that you don’t know how to close the distance, how to let him past the barriers you’ve built so carefully. It’s a sad, quiet kind of fear that makes you restless. For now, you pretend it doesn’t hurt, because pretending is easier than facing the chance that you might never hear those words from him again.

Astarion sits on the edge of the bed, mending his armour with quick, nimble fingers. Each stitch is precise, a testament to centuries of needing to fix his own gear. He hums under his breath, pausing only when Kamena walks into the room.

She carries herself with a lightness he’s missed seeing in her, a trace of laughter still lingering in her eyes. He can’t help but smile, setting down his work and leaning back on his hands. “Well, well,” he drawls, a teasing edge colouring his voice, “someone looks positively radiant. Should I be jealous of your shopping adventure?”

Kamena rolls her eyes, pulling off her cloak and tossing it over a chair. “We got everything we needed, but Shadowheart wouldn’t stop teasing me. I’m quite sure she’s made it her life’s mission to try and make me blush at every possible opportunity.”

Astarion arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I’d wager she has enough ammunition to keep you on your toes for weeks after our performance.” He stands up, moving closer to her, delight swirling in his crimson eyes. “Though I’m almost disappointed, I missed the spectacle. There’s nothing quite as endearing as seeing you flustered. Honestly, I’m starting to feel like I deserve some compensation for missing all this amusement.”

Kamena laughs, the sound rolling through the room like warm, ringing bells. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

He chuckles, his mood buoyed by her good humour. It’s moments like these, fleeting but precious, that make the madness of their world feel distant. “Oh, I’ll hold you to that. In the meantime,” he gestures at his half-mended armour, “I’ll just have to endure this torturous task alone. Unless you’re feeling particularly charitable?”

Kamena surprises him by stepping forward, grabbing the needle with an exaggerated flourish. “Fine,” she declares, the playful mischief in her eyes matching his own. “If you need charity so desperately, I’ll help. How hard can mending clothes be?”

Astarion stares at her in mock horror, his lips parting as if she’d just suggested something catastrophic. “Oh no!” he exclaims, lifting his hands as if to ward off an impending disaster. “Put that needle down, my love, before we both regret it.”

She narrows her eyes, fully aware of her lack of skill but leaning into the joke. “What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe a few crooked stitches? A bit of charm added to your otherwise perfect attire?”

He holds up his hands, palms out, as if coaxing someone to back away from a ledge. “Now, now,” he says in a calming tone, though his voice brims with mirth. “Let’s think this through, shall we? That’s precious leather you’re holding, and it’s been through enough trauma already. Imagine the tragedy, the uneven stitches, the frayed threads, the affront to fashion everywhere.”

Kamena bites back a laugh, attempting to appear indignant. “I think I could manage a simple mend,” she insists, though her smile gives her away. She knows she’s terrible at it.

Astarion takes a slow step forward, as if approaching a wild animal he must handle with care. “Easy now,” he teases, eyes gleaming. “Hand over the needle, sweetheart. No one has to get hurt.”

“You’re hopeless,” she giggles affectionately, but she doesn’t relinquish the needle, still holding it like a threat.

“And you,” he replies, “are a godsdamned menace.”

He winks at her, his heart feeling unexpectedly light. It’s absurd, really, how a moment like this—frivolous and small—can feel like an anchor in the storm of everything else they face.

Kamena raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing more devilish by the second. She angles the needle dangerously close to the fine leather. Her eyes hold a wicked gleam, as if the flames of her ancestors are dancing just below the surface.

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare,” he warns, his voice smooth and rich with faux horror.

“Are you sure about that?” She taunts, her voice like velvet laced with mirth. “I mean, I’m rather unpredictable, as you know.”

“I think I know exactly how unpredictable you are,” he counters, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m also faster than you think.”

He shifts his weight, ready to act. For a moment, time stretches taut, like the string of a bow pulled back to its limit. Kamena holds the needle poised over his armour. Astarion feels his phantom pulse quicken, not out of fear for his clothes—well, maybe a bit for his clothes—but because of the thrill of the game they’re playing.

“You think you’re fast enough?” Kamena goads. The needle’s point barely hovers over the supple leather, and her grin is wide, daring.

Astarion’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “Fast enough to stop you and make you regret ever threatening this poor, innocent garment.” He moves, swift as a shadow, fingers darting out to gently but firmly wrap around her wrist before she can poke the armour.

Kamena lets out a gasp, mock outrage spilling from her lips. “Cheater,” she accuses, but her laughter betrays her.

“Hardly,” he retorts, loosening his grip. “I’m merely protecting my one true love: impeccable fashion.”

Kamena’s giggle bubbles up like a spring as she allows him to wrest the needle from her grip. He expertly rescues his armour from her playful grasp, setting it aside as though he’s saving a small, fragile creature from certain doom. He turns back to her, eyes gleaming, and with one swift motion, he tugs her into his embrace.

“Now this,” he murmurs, a smirk curving his lips, “is the sort of behaviour I would expect from a very naughty girl.” His voice drips with honeyed mischief, teasingly accusatory, but his touch is gentle, arms wrapping around her.

He draws her close, so close that he can feel the beat of her heart against his chest, steady and wild, like the thrumming wings of a moth drawn to a flame.

Kamena tilts her head up, her eyes bright with mirth, and her lips part in a playful pout. “Me? Naughty?” she protests, her tone full of feigned innocence. “I was only trying to help, you know. You could use some assistance now and then.”

Astarion lets out a low laugh, his breath ghosting over her skin. “Help? Darling, if that’s what you call help, I fear for the well-being of my entire wardrobe.” He presses a soft kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.

“But,” he adds, his voice dipping into a tender, almost reverent tone, “I do appreciate your very dangerous brand of assistance. It keeps me on my toes—and I do enjoy the challenge.”

His thumb brushes gently across her cheek, a touch so light it feels like starlight gliding over the water’s surface.

“Naughty girls get spanked, don’t they?” She quips in a honeyed, a blend of teasing confidence and something more—something dangerously inviting.

Astarion feels his own smirk widen, utterly captivated by the change in her. He’s noticed this shift, this semi-new boldness that has crept into her lately. She’s always had a fire, never truly timid, but this is different. It feels like a resurgence of the woman she was before he shattered her heart. The guilt still settles into his bones like ice, but seeing her like this, thaws it, if just a little.

He tightens his grip on her waist, leaning in close, his voice a silky murmur. “Indeed they do,” he whispers, savouring each word. “Though I’d argue that punishment should fit the crime.” His lips curve, and he lets the idea hang between them, savouring the tension that blossoms there. “And you, my dear, are racking up quite the list of misdeeds.”

His gaze slips down to her mouth, lingering there, a predator relishing the nearness of his prey. “From endangering my precious armour to distracting me so deliciously… I think it’s only fair you receive the full measure of your consequence.” He trails his fingers slowly down her back, each touch leaving a shiver in its wake.

Kamena’s grin only grows, her eyes sparking with the challenge. He delights in this game, in the push and pull of their flirtation. It’s intoxicating, the way she dances on the edge of boldness, and he has no intention of letting her slip away from this dance.

“Tell me,” he purrs, tilting his head with feigned innocence, “just how many spankings do you think a girl as naughty as you deserves?” His thumb brushes across her lower lip, and the gesture is both gentle and possessive—a lover’s caress and a warning wrapped into one.

Kamena arches a brow, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, and Astarion feels his hunger for her flare, a fire he can’t contain. Her defiance, her allure, the way she teases and tempts—it pulls him in, like a sailor drawn to the song of a siren, knowing the danger but too entranced to care.

Astarion’s breath catches, his chest rising with a sudden, greedy inhale as Kamena drifts toward the bed. The soft, summery fabric of her dress dances around her thighs, shifting like a wisp of cloud caught in a golden sunset, and he can’t help but follow the hypnotic sway of her hips. She pauses, bending over the edge of the bed with a deliberate casualness. Her gaze finds his over her shoulder, eyes glinting with a wicked spark, a dare that ignites the heat between them.

“How many do you think I deserve?” she asks, her voice smooth as silk yet tinged with a simmering edge. Her smile is pure devilry, the kind that beckons trouble.

Her question, that taunting glint in her eyes, sends a thrill coursing through his veins. Astarion swallows, his throat suddenly dry. It’s exhilarating the way she plays with him, each gesture calculated yet achingly natural. He steps toward her, each footfall a whisper against the floor. His eyes roam appreciatively over her form, lingering on the elegant curve of her back. The air is thick, like the moments before a storm, and he relishes the way it makes his skin prickle, the way anticipation coils tightly in his gut.

“Oh, my love,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. “You’re asking me to measure your sins? Why, that could take all night.” He plants his hands on the bed beside her, leaning over until his lips hover just above her ear. “But if I must choose… I would say you deserve enough to remember just how tempting you are.”

He lets his words hang, knowing full well the effect they’ll have. His fingers brush the bare skin of her arms, light as drifting snowflakes, and he savours the way her body tenses and then relaxes, yielding to his touch. Kamena shifts slightly, pressing back against him with a sultry challenge. The smile she gives him is pure fire, and he feels himself slipping further into that blaze, willingly burning up in her heat.

“You’re quite confident, aren’t you?” She teases, her voice a melody wrapped in temptation, sweet and lethal. “But are you quick enough to follow through?”

Astarion’s gaze darkens, and his smile curves with a kind of predatory delight. He trails his fingers over Kamena’s back, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her dress. “Careful, darling,” he purrs. “You’re tempting a monster.”

Kamena looks over her shoulder, eyes gleaming, utterly unafraid, and smirks. “That’s the idea.”

Astarion’s laugh is low and sinful as he places a cool hand on her lower back, letting the anticipation hang between them like the last moments before lightning strikes. His other hand comes down in a swift, playful slap, the sound echoing through the room, mingling with Kamena’s delighted gasp.

“Was that to your liking?” he teases. He brushes a strand of hair from her neck, trailing his fingers along the sensitive spot there, his fangs glinting in the light. “Or should I try again?”

Kamena laughs, low and inviting, and he swears he can feel the room spin with her audacity. Her laughter is a melody he wants to sink into, a song that fills the empty, cold places he doesn’t like to think about. For now, he’s content to let the moment stretch, to revel in the way she’s chosen to be here, with him, even with everything between them.

“Is that really all you've got?” she taunts. Her lips curl into a devious smile, goading him further, daring him to up the ante. “I've felt gusts of wind with more bite. Honestly, you hit with the strength of a child.”

He can’t help but laugh, rich and dripping with challenge. “Oh, is that how it is?” he drawls, his voice smooth as dark velvet, curling around the edges of her taunt. “Careful, love. You’re playing a dangerous game, and I’ve been known to be terribly competitive.”

Kamena shifts, glancing over her shoulder with eyes sparkling like jewels under moonlight. The defiance there is dazzling, tempting him like the edge of a blade whispering for blood. “I’ve yet to see any evidence of that.”

Astarion hums, his gaze raking over her, tracing the way her dress clings to her curves. “If it’s a demonstration you desire, I would be delighted to oblige.”

Without warning, his hand comes down again, this time harder. Kamena jolts, a shiver running up her spine, but she only laughs breathlessly. He marvels at her—his unbeating heart feels like it might thrum to life just for her.

“Better?” he asks in a seductive timbre.

His fingers trace slow, lazy circles against the small of her back, and he waits, poised and hungry, for whatever challenge she might throw back his way.

"Is that the best you’ve got?" she taunts. “Come on, Aerasumé, try again. Harder this time—make it fucking count.”

Astarion’s lips curl into a slow, devilish grin, a predator’s delight sparking in his crimson eyes. “Oh, you’re just begging for it now, aren’t you?”

Kamena’s challenge lingers—an open invitation he’s more than willing to accept. With renewed vigour, he raises his hand, delivering a sharp smack. A low moan of his name escapes her, and he trails his fingers over the spot he struck. The warmth of her skin blooms beneath his cool hand, like fire spreading over marble.

"Look at you, precious thing. So eager to challenge me. You should know by now—I always rise to the occasion."

He leans in, lips brushing against the nape of her neck, tasting the desire radiating from her. Her breath comes out in short, heated bursts, and he relishes every second of it, every whisper of his name and plea that stirs his own longing.

Her head falls forward when his fingers course over the fabric of her panties, already saturated with her desire. A drawn-out groan of appreciation hums in his throat as he deftly pulls the material aside and glides his fingers up and down her slick lips, parting her torturously slowly.

A knock on the door cuts through his enthralment, and Shadowheart’s voice follows, dry and impatient. “It’s time to go. Stop rolling around like lovesick teenagers and get moving.”

Kamena curses under her breath, the kind of low, sultry expletive that’s more alluring than frustrated. Astarion can’t help the chuckle that escapes him, even if the timing is infuriatingly inconvenient. “Well," he drawls, "it seems your punishment will have to be... postponed."

She calls out to Shadowheart, "We’ll be right down!" before turning back to him. Her kiss is swift but fierce, a promise wrapped in passion, leaving his lips tingling. “I’ll hold you to that. Until later then?”

With that, she slips away and starts changing into something more suitable for the gritty, shadow-choked underbelly of the city.

Astarion watches Kamena from the corner of his eye as she moves around the room. What will I do if she never truly trusts me? The thought slithers into his mind like poison he can’t quite shake. He knows her reasons, knows the way he broke her heart before, how he left her with wounds she might never fully heal from. The uncertainty digs into him, a sharp ache he carries quietly. It feels like a cruel joke, really: to finally be free and yet still feel tethered, unable to be the anchor she can cling to without reservation.

She is trying, but he wonders if he’s strong enough to accept it if she cannot find her way back to trust, to live with this half-trust if it means she’ll stay by his side for centuries to come. After all, he endured centuries of horror under Cazador. Compared to that, shouldn’t he be able to tolerate this? If I survived being his favourite puppet, he thinks bitterly, surely I can survive not being wholly trusted.

But it’s not the same, and he knows it. This isn’t about mere survival. It’s about yearning—yearning to be the one she confides in without hesitation, the one who holds her heart as securely as she’s managed to grip his. He hides the pain behind a charming smile, a facade he’s perfected over centuries. But inside, it hurts. It hurts to wonder if she will ever see him as more than a shadow of the man who broke her heart, and it terrifies him to think that maybe, no matter how much he loves her, no matter how much he tries, he’ll never be enough to cross the chasm of his own making.

Still, he tries. Gods, he tries, and he’ll keep trying, even if it means pretending the pain doesn’t matter, because for now, having her close, even with the space between them, is better than the alternative.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - I promise we are going to progress the plot soon, but I got side tracked.

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕪 (𝕚 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦) ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Astarion x gn!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - T, just fluff, we're getting slightly sappy in this one

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Ketheric Thorm defeated, Isobel and Aylin reunited, all of this and more are worth celebrating over. and Aylin makes sure that everyone knows that tonight you're drinking to victory, to goodness and love triumphing. so when everyone returns to Last Light Inn, you realize this is a good chance to show Astarion that he matters to you, even if he's not the biggest fan of poetry.

➺ 𝕨𝕠��𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,421

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: happy valentine's day and happy reading, with much love from me to you all <3

written for Baldur's Date challenge on AO3

As you stood there, drenched in blood and bruised, wounded even, you watched Aylin embrace Isobel with love, you watched them kiss. And you felt Astarion’s hand in yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t look at him because you didn’t need to. You knew what he was thinking by this simple touch alone. A touch like so many others that you two shared so far, touches meant to express things when others are watching, when saying words is not the time or the place.

Touches…

His cold hand in yours, slightly slippery from blood but still needed. Astarion’s thumb brushed the side of your hand and you squeezed his fingers in turn. The scene unfolding in front of you and your party most likely filled almost everyone with warmth.

What it’s like to be reunited with your lover after so long? And after going through so much? Your heart ached at the thought of losing Astarion like this. Just as you have found him, to lose him so profoundly. You squeezed his fingers harder, desperate to feel his presence, to assure yourself it was not a dream, and got a squeeze in return.

No, he was here, he was not going anywhere. You hoped it will be like this forever.

“My friends!” Aylin suddenly announced, interrupting your thoughts before they started spiraling. “Me and my beloved, finally reunited! We need to celebrate! Celebrate victory. Celebrate evil defeated. Celebrate love!” aasimar’s voice boomed through the hall of Moonrise Towers, making everyone present listen.

“Yes. Let’s go back to Last Light Inn. We all deserve a happy moment.” Isobel chimed in and her words were greeted with cheers.

So now that you look around the Inn and see everyone sharing drinks, chatting, laughing even, you realize how easy it is to forget the most important thing – you all survived. You lived. When so many didn’t. This is something truly worth celebrating.

Earlier you and Astarion found two stools somehow unoccupied while the tiefling children serve drinks from behind the counters. Alfira is playing a melody you don’t recognize and Wyll is trying to teach Lae’zel to dance which doesn’t seem to go very well, judging from expression on her face and Wyll’s sweaty forehead. To the right you see Jaheira being absolutely bombarded with questions by Karlach while Halsin is nodding his head patiently, pouring some beer for the three of them. In the small nook just to the right of the main room, you catch a glimpse of Gale, goblet in hand, petting His Majesty and speaking to the cat, but he’s too far and the chatter is too loud for you to hear what he’s murmuring to the feline. When you scan the room once more you finally notice Shadowheart talking to Art Cullagh and you have a suspicion she’s trying to make him share his experiences in Shadowfell.

At least everyone looks to be happy, you think to yourself with a smile.

“Look at them.” you suddenly hear Astarion speak to your right and you look at him. You both managed to clean up more or less after the battle with Ketheric Thorm, but you still notice some streaks of blood in your partner’s hair. You will have to help him wash it out later.

“Look at who exactly?” you tilt your head inquisitively and Astarion’s eyes meet yours for a brief moment before they return onto the crowd.

“All of them.” he gestures with his free hand because in the other he’s holding a metal cup of wine, same as you.

“And what I’m supposed to be seeing?” you look at the people. A mix of tieflings, your companions, newly met friends and allies. What are you missing?

“They are happy.” Astarion says and you look back at him, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Shouldn’t they be?” you ask and vampire looks at you, giving you a smirk.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say, darling.” he pauses to drink from his cup and leans a little closer to you. “We made this possible. You made this possible.” Astarion says and you press your lips into a thin line before you answer.

“No. It wasn’t just me. We all did it. As a team. And don’t forget, you’re part of that team.” you smile now, drinking your wine as well and Astarion leans back, eyebrow lifted.

“Maybe so. But who would’ve bothered to save these… these poor souls if not for you and your big heart.” he comments, making you roll your eyes. Of course he has to say something like that, as if not wanting to leave a trail of bodies in your wake is somehow a cardinal sin.

Ever since he told you he has feelings for you, ever since you both agreed to give this relationship a try, Astarion’s been acting as if you’re nice just to everyone. As if he’s not special, as if your desire to be with him is just a passing fancy. And for a while you didn’t know how to make him see the truth – that you do have feelings for him. True and genuine feelings. But soon you realized that you will just have to be patient with him. And show him that you want him because of who he is and not because you supposedly like everyone you meet.

Maybe today is another chance to show him just how serious you are about him.

“I just don’t like the smell of corpses.” you reply, making Astarion smile.

“Then what are you doing with me?” he jabs back and your face flushes.

Generally he would argue with anyone who told him he smells in any other way than pleasant but recently he started to joke about himself and only in your presence. Seeing him open up, become more comfortable with you, it warms your heart. But you’re not going to let this distract you.

“Oh shut up, you smell just fine. When you bathe.” you give him a pointed look and Astarion gasps in mock-offense, his fingers pressed against his chest as if you have insulted him beyond reason.

“Darling, I’m hurt. I try to bathe at least every ten-day.”

You laugh loudly and Astarion’s expression softens. He successfully made you laugh and he knows he will never tire from making you laugh and making you happy, if he can.

“Shut up.” you giggle when your laughter lessens and he nods his head gracefully. Then you clear your throat. You were never good at romantic gestures but you have to at least try. “Do you mind if we go for a walk? I feel like I could use some fresh air.”

“As if any air is fresh in these cursed lands, but alright.” Astarion looks at you curiously, like he’s trying to pry into your mind and detect if something is bothering you.

“Oh you know what I mean.” you slip off your stool and put away the cup.

Astarion follows your lead, echoing your movements and when for a moment your eyes meet his, you nod and start walking out of the Inn.

Nobody seems to be paying attention that you and the vampire are excusing yourselves from the main celebration. You just notice two things before you exit the building: Gale now has His Majesty sleeping in his cross-legged lap and Lae’zel is teaching Wyll how to stab someone. You deduct this from how she’s holding a dagger and twisting it in the air.

“They surely are having fun.” Astarion murmurs and you pause for a moment to see Karlach putting her arm around Halsin’s shoulders, trying to do same to Jaheira, only for the older woman to lean back with her hands raised in defense. But there’s smiles on their faces, all three of them.

You smile too but walk out. Outside there’s Harpers celebrating. Bex and Danis are holding hands and whispering to each other. Dammon is talking to Quartermaster Talli. In short – everyone is happy, friendly and maybe just a little bit intoxicated because Mattis somehow found an entire basement room filled with quite nicely aged wine.

With Astarion walking by your side, you take a left and down the path towards the lake. Towards the rocky plateau where you fought for Halsin, for Thaniel, for the town consumed by Shadow Curse. You don’t notice a curious look Astarion is giving you because you’re getting more anxious with every step. You have something for him and you have no idea if he will like it or not.

But once on the plateau you sit down, hanging your feet from the edge, over the dark water that seems to carry absolutely no life. At least not yet and not so soon. Astarion pauses, he’s not fond of sitting on just plain ground but he still does it, taking a spot on your left, close enough that your hands on the rocky surface almost touch.

For a silent moment you look in front of you. There’s not much to be seen but it’s strangely calm. You both can hear muffled sound of song coming from the Inn, and laughter in the front yard of it, but here, in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

Finally you gather your courage.

“Astarion, can I say something?” you begin and vampire looks at you, his crimson eyes seem even deeper shade of red in this light.

“You’re not going to tell me you’re leaving me, are you?” Astarion jokes but you are sure you hear a note of nervousness in his chuckle. You shake your head and place your palm over his hand, making Astarion look down for a second.

“No, not at all. It’s actually the opposite.” you swallow dryly. Why are you so damned nervous? You have feelings for this man. He has feelings for you in return. So why can’t you just come out with it.

Astarion is patient as he watches you, he easily realizes that you’re struggling with something and he gives you time. Then, after a moment longer you realize you can’t stall anymore.

With your other hand you reach under your leather west and find the folded paper you’ve been carrying with you for several days now. You look down at it once it’s out the hiding spot and Astarion also looks at it.

“What is that?” he asks curiously rather than cautiously and you clear your throat again, then rise your eyes to vampire’s face.

“It’s something I wrote, for you.” you say and another long moment passes while Astarion studies your eyes.

“Can I… see it?” he finally says and you pause, surprised, then suddenly laugh. You didn’t realize you haven’t even given him the damn thing yet.

“Oh yes, yes of course. Here.” you offer him the paper and he has to remove his hand from under your palm to unfold it.

You put your hands in your lap and look down at the water. You don’t want to see his expression while he reads the contents. You feel embarrassed and you don’t want to see his expression if he hates it, in case he does hate it.

“A poem?” you hear Astarion ask softly and you nod, refusing to look at him.

Silence as he reads the words you so painstakingly chose to write for him. To show him in yet another way just how much you care about him.

The poem, that you don’t even think is very good but you’ve put your whole heart into it.

More silence, it seems like eternity is passing while Astarion is reading the words that you have put a piece of your own heart in.

Then, suddenly, you feel his cold fingers under your chin, turning your face to him and when your eyes meet Astarion’s you see, to your surprise, that they are misty with emotion. He’s smiling.

“You wrote this, truly? For me?” he asks in a voice barely above a whisper and you blush harder but give him a small nod. “It’s beautiful. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever read.” Astarion adds and leans in, pressing his lips against yours firmly.

You close your eyes, the world stops around you two and your heart is beating fast in your chest.

He liked it.

The taste of his lips, the closeness of his body, his fingertips still under your chin. You love him so much it’s like your heart could burst just from fullness alone. It’s almost too much. Almost.

When Astarion’s lips part from yours you meet his gaze, see his genuine smile.

“I never knew you had an artistic side.” he comments and you smile now too. You are both obviously feeling slightly awkward about this. You know why – neither of you are very good at showing love, or receiving it, for that matter. But you’re trying your best, both of you.

“Well, truth to be told, I surprised even myself. So I suppose it’s your fault.” you tease him now and Astarion’s fingers leave your chin. He glances down at the poem and then folds it, tucking it inside his shirt, right against his skin and your heart skips a beat.

“Truly.” Astarion sounds like he’s questioning your guilt placement but in no way he is serious. “Well, darling. If I’m to blame then I take full responsibility.” he smiles now, all smug and confident, and you chuckle.

“Good. Otherwise I would have to take it back.” you reach towards his chest and he catches your fingers immediately, giving them a soft squeeze.

“Never. It’s mine now. And I will forever carry it with me.” Astarion says with the same smile but there’s an edge of seriousness in his tone, making you smile back at him.

“How romantic.” you tease and Astarion leans to your face again.

“I’m not the one writing poems, love.” he whispers, making you blush and you open your mouth to respond but he uses this chance to silence you with a kiss.

Once more you smile, this time against his lips the moment your eyes close and you feel Astarion smile too. Then his hand finds yours again and you move it, turning it palm-up, feeling his fingers thread with yours.

From the softness of his lips against your lips, to his fingers firmly yet gently holding your fingers… You love him. And you see him. With all his perfect imperfections. You see him.

And you will never lose the sight of him as long as you’re alive.

[smolgloves]

Fairytales

[Masterlist] chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Summary: Freya gets help from a unique person

Tw: Mentions of death, grief, mishandling of a tiny, trafficking mention, and dehumanizing language

There were stories about beings as tiny as a borrower that Auntie Ara would tell, beings that lived in the feywilds where they could fly and use their magic to their heart's content, only venturing out to Faerun to cause mischief. It always seemed like a fairytale but Auntie insisted she was telling the truth; hells, even her father claimed the stories were true but she never believed them. That was until she was staring at a pixie who stood right before her.

The first thing Freya noticed was the curious look that the pixie had. Her silver eyes reminded her of a tranquil lake that reflected the moon's soft glow, a major contrast to her hair, which exhibited wild green dreadlocks that just brushed over her shoulders. Freya had heard this was a style meant to mimic gorgons but she had once heard Astarion and Shadowheart snicker to themselves once, claiming the look resembled a rat's nest.

As the pixie inched closer, Freya could see a comforting light radiating from her powder blue skin. Her skirt was like wilted rose petals, the color had been drained from time, Freya wondered if she had been stuck in the shadow cursed lands for some time now.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Oh, you just fell from the sky while I was relaxing by the lake; you're lucky I was there, otherwise you would have gone splat!" She giggled.

“You were just ‘hanging out’ by the lake, in these lands?”

“Why not? The shadow-curse doesn't affect me.” Despite her casual tone, a smirk formed upon her lips. “Unlike you, I don't need a shoddy ring to travel around here.”

Freya ignored the insult when she was reminded of the ring, her hands immediately began patting her hips, lifting up the brown shirt to only find a deep bruise wrapped around her waist. “What happened to the ring?”

“I threw it into the lake.”

“What?!” The aching pain in Freya's body was ignored as she jumped up to her feet. “I needed that!”

The pixie just rolled her silver eyes. “You wouldn't last a minute with that rusty excuse for jewelry, it barely had magic left in it.”

“It was better than nothing!” Freya snapped back, staring back at the pixies smug face that rivaled Astarion's only fueled her anger more. “Go get it, so I can find my group!”

“Group?” She bounced over to Freya with wide eyes. “There are more borrowers in the shadow cursed lands?”

“They're not borrowers, they're larger beings.” Freya huffed out.

“I thought your kind hid from the big ones?” The pixie stated. “How'd that come about?”

“It's a long story.”

That smile on her face only brightened. “You know, I know a place that they could be at. If you want, I could help you.”

Stories of pixies warn about making deals with them, to say Freya was suspicious was an understatement. “Why help me?”

“Call it an apology for throwing that ring in the lake. Besides, I'm curious about your group, perhaps you can tell me about them while we travel.”

“Alright, fine.” Freya could tell this pixie was hiding something, the last thing she wanted was a fey going near her friends, but what choice did she have. Right now, she would just keep her guard up and hope she can part ways with this fairy before she could do something.

“Great! We just need to get across the lake.” She yanked her by the arm and rushed towards the burrow’s exit before stopping. “By the way, what's your name?”

“Freya.”

“I'm Lilia, now stay close to me!”

~~~

There was probably no fairy tale in the world to prepare Freya how bloody annoying Lilia would be! She buzzed around her head like a mosquito; if it wasn't for her light, she would have attempted to swat her away! Why did she insist on flying?

“So let me get this straight,” Lilia hovered in front of the borrower, looking at her instead of keeping her guard up. “You're traveling with a bunch of big ones but they all have mind flayer parasites in them?”

“All but one.”

Lilia plopped down on the ground, giggling as she spoke. “Are you worried they'll turn and eat you?”

“At this point, no.” Freya replied as she continued to march past the pixie.

For the first time since meeting her, Lilia did not giggle like a schoolgirl, but instead let out a heavy sigh. “You do know that conversations aren't supposed to be so one sided?”

Stopping in her tracks, Freya whirled over to Lilia. “No offense, but I’m not very forthcoming to random fey that are living in cursed lands.”

Instead of lashing back, Lilia trotted over with a smirk on her face and a hushed tone in her voice. “Oh, that's what it is, you think I'm going to do something with your friends, gonna lead them to their dooms?” She threw back her head with a cackle. “Trust me, I have no intentions on dealing with soon-to-be thralls!”

“Good.” Was all Freya could say as she kept walking; the familiar sound of buzzing came behind her, Lilia was at her side in a flash.

“So tell me why a borrower and big ones are traversing through the shadowlands?”

Freya pinched the bridge of her nose; there was going to be no end to her questions. “They think they'll find a cure at Moonrise towers.”

The flutter of her wings took an immediate halt. “Moonrise?”

Freya studied the shocked expression on the pixie’s face. “Is there a problem with that?”

“Just that Moonrise is heavily guarded by the curse.” Lilia stated. “They would need more than magic and torches to get there.”

“All the more reason to get back to them.”

~~~~

“Here we are!” Lilia exclaimed.

A soft glow radiated from a quaint little inn, swallowing up the surrounding area, time had faded the brick building, yet it still stood tall amidst the world around it. As they entered the area, Freya felt the lingering curse slip away, it was like coming up for air after diving into water. They made their way down a rocky path, taking in the tranquil setting. That was until the sounds of sobs came shuffling their way.

Despite her travels with the larger beings, the borrower's instincts did not die easily; every nerve stood on end when the tremors shook the ground.

“Oh, Danis!” A woman's voice cried out.

Instead of sharing her fear, Lilia glanced over her relaxed shoulder to Freya. “One of yours?”

Absolutely not! Freya almost snapped out, but her words were replaced with actions, quickly shoving the pixie into a nearby bush as the woman wandered over.

Ducking into the Foliage, Freya was met with the wide eyed stare of Lilia. “By Titania's grace, what was-!” Was all she could get out before Freya practically slapped her hand over her mouth. She could feel her lip curl against her palm, as if she wanted to bite her but thankfully decided against it after Freya pulled her closer.

Her breath was still as the woman sobbed for this Danis, those steel eyes locked onto her, while her face was buried in her palms, Freya could make out black horns protruding out of her lightly colored hair. A tiefling, but something seemed familiar about her. She wouldn't have been one of the refugees would she? It didn't matter, she wasn't part of the group, she couldn't know about Freya.

Eventually, the crying woman wandered off; with the knot in her stomach becoming undone, Freya let out a sigh. Her shoulders relaxing, she was safe, for now.

Gossamer wings flicked against Freya's arm in an attempt to burst free, she glanced over to meet the glare of the pixie she still had locked in the most awkward hug of all the realms. With a sheepish grin, Freya loosened her grip, letting the pissed off fae break away.

“What was that about?”

“She wasn't the tiefling I know, trust me.”

“But maybe she could have helped you.” The look of pure disbelief plastered on her face.

Freya had to suppress a scoff that threatened to slip out of her mouth. “Look, if I don't know a larger being, I don't make myself known. Besides, that woman seemed to be dealing with her own problems, better to leave her be.”

Lilia's eyebrow raised up like Freya's reason was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. Her mouth opened ready to argue until the tremors returned.

“Are you sure we should steal from Bex?” A child asked.

“Yeah Mol, she seems very upset.”

“Don't tell me you two are going soft!” Mol snapped. “Now’s the perfect time to strike while she cries over her lover.”

Okay, now that voice sounded really familiar. Freya stalked over to the edge of the bush to get a better look at the youthful voices. She saw three tiefling kids: A nervous one who bore a brown cap; a curly haired boy; and a little girl who had a bandage over her eye leading the pack.

“I know those kids!” Freya breathed out.

The pixie scampered over to Freya's sighed, a smile etched on her face. “Really?!”

“Well, not personally, but I know they were refugees that Tav helped out.” Her mind flooded with all sorts of scenarios, if the refugees were here then Freya can breathe a little easier knowing she isn't walking into a trap. Hope finally began to pump through her veins, if the refugees made it to this point then surely the others would stop here! Maybe they're already here!

“So if your friends helped them out they must be good.” Excitement laced Lilia's voice.

“Good enough to not be a major threat at least.” Freya corrected.

“Then you should ask them for help!”

“I don't think-!” Freya’s words were cut off with a hard shove to the back, thrusting her out of the safety of the bush and at the feet of the tiefling kids!

“What's this?” Mol snatched Freya up before she could scramble to her feet, keeping her arms pinned in a loose fist. No amount of squirming and fighting was going to get Freya out.

“What is that?” Asked the curly haired tiefling.

“It's one of them borrowers!” A wicked gleam caught Mol's eye. “Word says they're worth a few coin.”

“You can't!” Despite the futile attempt, Freya kept trying to break free. “I need to-!”

A red thumb pressed into the borrower's face, sealing off her protests. “Save the sob story for someone who cares, blondie.” She turned to her friends with a smirk. “We need to get back to Mattis, someone will buy a borrower here.”

As the children headed back to the building, Freya let out muffled screams that were a mix between calling out for help and cursing at the dimwitted pixie who got her into this mess!

[omgkalyppso]

for the ask game, etoile and karlach? :O

Karlach and Shadowheart expressed 0 interest in Étoile.

And with Shadowheart I feel like it made sense because she can be so guarded and both in the beginning and especially by the end she and Étoile had so many similarities that it made sense to me that this would not be romantically attractive to either of them, lmao.

But with Karlach! I was surprised that Étoile was just not her type.

Mind you, after looking at the prompt "Send me an OC + an alternate love interest for them and I’ll tell you what I think of the idea" and realizing that I don't need to think of a way to make it work, I can just straight up say that they aren't interested in each other.

Without changing the circumstances between them, or headcanoning various aspects of Karlach's character, they work best (and excellently) as friends.

She's monogamous, she worries she's missing out on elements of life including parenthood, she's a living heater, etc. My voluntarily childless polyam paladin of Auril would clash in relationship matters with Karlach a lot.

But as friends there's a version of their adventures where (au au headcanons now, whatever) the Icy Crystal from the Mourning Frost isn't enough on its own to cool the hellfire of Karlach's internal engine and Étoile and Karlach retreat into northern Faerûn where, in Auril's element and frigid tundras, Karlach's temperature is regulated inside and out, and she can live almost-normally out of doors.

Other au stuff would be enemies-to-friends where they clash with Étoile's adventuring and Karlach's, um, bruising, and I think it would be someone else in Étoile's main party who calls out to stop a killing blow, whether for information or for mercy or because the mission is in the city and was meant to be non-lethal blows only. Still, she's a fraction of their age and a hot-head even without her engine, so she snarls and goads and rages at being spared, and she laughs and she compliments her opponents and she stays tight-lipped on any information they want because her information is all she has now, not her dignity in defeat, not her job after this. She's spirited out of one life into another where she's conscripted into the Adventurer's Guild with promises of money and shelter, and with a ranking guildmember's assumption that she'll help them with what she knows because loyalty can be bought: even if Karlach's didn't have a literal price tag on it, it could be earned in friendship and the crucible of combat. Karlach is given difficult quests to usher this along, and she is predictable, giving the guild what they wanted when it feels like home, and once she has more to lose.

Within the constraints of 'true canon,' Étoile is a bad friend. They let Gale down, and they fail Karlach spectacularly. They are too much a coward, too selfish, and too distracted by their own goals to put up their life and their soul as collateral and follow Karlach into Avernus.

In my headcanons for 'what actually happens' where Karlach is able to stay on the Material Plane because Étoile is willing to destroy a relic of a past life of theirs and a (heavily implied) gift from their god, they're pretty intrinsically bound.

[optiwashere]

Asheera and Shadowheart touching 35?

Thank you for sending this one in, anon! Always happy to see it.

---

Touching 35 (Kissing their bruises and scars)~ who doesn't love Act 3 emotional hurt/comfort?

First to the marks on her knuckles, the ones from a shield crushed against her hand in the heart of battle. Shadowheart's hands marked by the House of Grief, strong but not able to hold onto anything. Not tonight, not in the bluish light of twilight outside the city.

Sitting on hard earth, Shadowheart refused herself even the comfort of the pillows she always carried with her tent and supplies. Asheera said nothing. She simply sat next to her by the fire.

"Come here," Asheera whispered, pressing her lips to bruised knuckles. "It's over."

"Isn't it just?"

She couldn't bear to even be within the city walls. While the others relaxed in rooms in the Elfsong, they camped out on the outskirts of Rivington. Just like a few months beforehand on a mountain pass with the same tree boughs overhead. Just like old times, before Shadowheart had known her parents still lived.

"Please," Asheera begged. She didn't pull on Shadowheart, instead waited. Held her hand in both of hers. "Come here."

"To let them go like that, isn't it a victory for Shar? The greatest one of all?"

Asheera found the marks where the Fidelians' necrotic touches seared black marks on Shadowheart's arm that held the Spear of Night. Reaching for her own magic, laying on hands with another touch, Asheera pressed kisses to each of the marks winding up Shadowheart's arm.

She needed no reminders of them, not on her body. That was not for them to touch ever again.

"If we had another way, we would have done it," Asheera said, "and Shar gave only two options."

Shadowheart pushed herself closer, enveloping herself in Asheera's body. Physically so small in comparison. "And if I chose the wrong one?"

"Then—"

"Never mind it." Shadowheart closed her eyes and leaned her head back against Asheera's chest. She sighed. "I can't sit here and pretend I don't hold my heart in hand. Fragile and pathetic."

Asheera wrapped her arms around her instinctively. "And you think I'd call you that?"

"Not with words, no. A look. Perhaps not today, or even in a year's time. A decade or two." Shadowheart looked up at her, eyes wet with something that she blinked away rapidly. "You'll notice. Eventually."

She spoke so matter-of-factly. It was clear to Asheera that Shadowheart thought she hid the pain in her words well. As if this was how things should be and how the world was meant to be laid before her, and nothing and nobody could convince her otherwise.

As if all worth had been stripped away.

Asheera lifted Shadowheart and turned her so that they stared one another in the eyes. Legs wrapped around her waist, Shadowheart bringing herself closer automatically. Her arms slipped under Asheera's but she refused to look up.

"We don't have to talk about that, not tonight," Asheera said, leaning forward to press a kiss to Shadowheart's forehead. She rested her cheek there, wanting to be closer but unable. "You will be at peace. One day. And I will be there to watch with a smile."

"Of course you say that now."

"Ask me again tomorrow and next year then." Asheera drew back, glad to at least see Shadowheart meeting her gaze. "That decade or two will be more than that, much more than that. I've already seen enough to know you are strong. Stronger than you allow yourself to believe."

"Simple to say, isn't it? When you're not the one who had to make that choice," Shadowheart bit back, her face scrunching up in invisible pain as she did so. She shook her head.

"It's true."

"And I still shouldn't have said that."

"You say what you feel, I can't expect perfection from you."

"Oh no? I would imagine paladins know the noble, proper way to suffer. I'll seek perfection in my prayers, so that I can be the good little penitent one." Shadowheart chuckled humorlessly, closing her eyes. She groaned in disgust. "Why am I even speaking? Every word is another grave I dig myself."

Asheera meant to lean down to press a kiss to her lips, but Shadowheart shifted and Asheera instead met the scar on her cheek. The one running up to her nose.

Their hold on one another tightened. White hair drifted free of its usual braid, no more strain or struggle.

"I need you to know that I want to know your fears and worries," Asheera said, "and that I won't abandon you because you feel. You are worthy of sharing your pain with others, and I hope you'll let me carry some of that burden with you."

Shadowheart didn't answer, but she didn't move either. Together they sat like that as the fire before them died into embers. Hours passed as Asheera stroked her hair and waited for a response, no matter how long it would take.

When Shadowheart's breathing evened out into the comfort of sleep, face nestled in her chest, she knew it would be some time before she would hear an answer.

To wait was a simple task.

[mirabai0821]

Blood and Honey WIP CH 358/2

Pairings: Tav x Halsin / Tav x Astarion Warnings: Oh hey, more angst Words: 631 Summary: Halsin rescues Thaniel, but Tav breaks a rule. And though Halsin and Astarion are bitter rivals, unlike one another in every way, the only thing they can agree on is kicking off in Tav's ass when she does something incredibly dangerous. But it does not go the way they expect.

Tav barely had a moment to collect her breath before Astarion collapsed on her like a dying star.

“How very gods damn dare you!” He seized her by the shoulders, grip so hard it bruised, but his eyes held none of the fury of his voice, only fear.

“Astarion,” Tav sighed. “Can we give it a rest, it’s over. Everything’s fine.”

“No, everything is not fucking fine! Do you have any idea what you just put m—us through with your little stunt?” “C’mon Asty,” Karlach intervened, unsteady on her feet as her last healing potion worked its way through her veins. “No harm, no foul.”

“No! Don’t let a happy outcome overshadow what just happened!”

“You’re overreacting, Astarion,” Shadowheart said.

“I am not.”

“He is not.”

Two voices echoed. 

Astarion and Halsin.

The malignant shadows had dispersed as though banished by sunrise even though the land remained wreathed in darkness. But with its spirit returned, something in the air shifted, lightened. The first whispers of hope scented the breeze.

A miracle, Halsin thought, cradling Thaniel in his arms. But ice cold dread lingered where hope should have bloomed. Seeing Tav on the far side of the portal dredged up a fear that could not be calmed by Thaniel’s peaceful, sleeping face.

Fear that quickly morphed into anger. For the first time ever, he felt kinship with Astarion. He knew exactly what the younger elf felt, knew the exact shape and form and taste of his fury. It bubbled up the back of his throat, tasting of metal and bile.

“Halsin?” Tav reached for him but he shrugged away. 

“I told you to remain here,” he growled through clenched jaw and gritted teeth. 

“I only wanted to…”

“How much help could you have done dead!” Astarion screamed, uncaring of the fey child’s slumber.

“That’s not fair!” Karlach said. 

“No, no,” Astarion countered. “The tadpole in my head, you head, her head, Tav’s head, all our fucking heads – ursine company excluded of course – That’s!! Not fair.”

Tav rose to her full height, tail twitching angrily. “What would you have had me do? Let him die.”

“Yes!” Halsin and Astarion’s voices echoed again and this time they could not ignore it. They exchanged a look, both bewildered yet comforted to find themselves on the same side.

“N-no,” she said, voice wavering from steel to straw in a single syllable. “You don’t…” She looked between the two, lips quivering, eyes watering. The words were there on her tongue but she couldn't say them, she was afraid to say them like this. Tav took a shuddering breath, grateful that Shadowheart and Karlach were there to collect the shattered pieces of herself she knew she was about to leave behind.

“You don’t…You don’t get to pretend to care about me then ignore me. That’s what’s not fair.”

Astarion’s mouth flew open, a retort ready but nothing came, and his mouth shut again with an audible click. Halsin’s face merely burned with embarrassment, his fury melting away to leave behind shame. 

“You both have made it pretty clear that…” Tav stopped again, courage faltering, before it abandoned her wholly. 

But she didn’t care. 

“You’ve both made it pretty clear that I’m not who you want and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. Made my peace with it. But I don’t understand why…why that also meant that I had to lose you both as friends too.”

“Despite that,” she continued. “I can’t…won’t …stop caring.”

“So there,” she finished.

“Well damn,” Shadowheart whistled. 

“Hell yeah!” Karlach agreed. “C’mon soldier, let’s get you something warm and boozy, you look like you took a bath with a cheese grater.”

Tav smiled, slinging one arm over the barbarian’s shoulder while Shadowheart took up her other. 

The women left the men behind in stunned silence.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Chapter VIII : A Fine Night for Stars

Paring: Astarion x female!mc

Rating: M (18+)

Spice: Slow Burn

Ferelith grunted as Shadowheart touched her bruised ribs. The gash was still oozing blood now and then, even through the bandages. “Stop squirming and I might be able to heal you properly!” “For fuck’s sake, give me a bottle of wine!” She wretched as Shadowheart tried cleaning the blood from the wound again. It was a miracle she had made it out of the grove without any of the druids noticing. Either they did not care for her enough to give her the slightest bit of attention or they cared for Nettie even less. Regardless, Gale was able to hoist her up the stairs, through the camp, and up the hill without drawing any attention. Once they made it to the portal they were able to travel risk free back to camp. Where Gale dropped her at Shadowheart’s feet. Leaving the party to their squabble match. “Alcohol will thin your blood. Just lay still.” “I’m laying still. You’re just pressing on my ribs too hard.”

Finishing reading on Ao3 or just finish reading it here.

“Don’t you dare,” Shadowheart gave Gale a warning glance as he came over with a bottle of wine.

“Give me the bottle or you’ll wake up inside the rotting carcass of a cow with syphilis.”

“Oh… I rather like this,” Astarion grinned.

“She’s not normally like this?” Wyll asked next to him at the fire.

“Depends what day it is,” he replied honestly.

Ferelith lifted a free hand up into the air while the other covered her exposed breast. She didn’t care who put the bottle in it, just as long as it made its way there. The cork was already off, much to her favor, and she tipped it upward. With her distracted, Shadowheart went to work cleaning the rest of the wound. The pain sung an aggressive song through her chest but she ignored it and listened to the pounding of fermented grapes pouring into her throat.

“Fucking… hells,” Ferelith heaved as Shadowheart finally began to heal the wound.

“You’re such a child,” Shadowheart shook her head with a smile.

S he answered by turning the bottle upright once more. Her body took in the warmth radiating from the cleric’s hands and her wound was sealed shut. It would stop the bleeding and lessen the bruising, but it wouldn’t force the bones to mend properly. That would take time.

“Let’s get you upright,” she slid the sleeve of Ferelith’s tunic up her shoulder.

She extended her hands and helped the elf onto her feet. She swayed a bit, but refused to let go of the bottle. Shadowheart steadied her.

“You aren’t allowed to go anywhere alone anymore.”

“Now, now. Let’s not take away what little privileges I have left,” Ferelith warned her. “But… thank you. For the healing. And the bandages.”

“You’re welcome,” Shadowheart looked at her bandaged chest. “Now get some rest.”

“Indeed,” she winked. “After… a few more glasses of wine,” she muttered afterward as she walked away.

“Perhaps it will give us a moment to chat,” Astarion appeared before her with an empty wine glass in his hand.

He took the bottle from her, poured the contents into the glass, and then handed it back.

“You sound serious. Must be important,” she teased.

“It’s about what I found in the grove.”

“Oh?” Ferelith’s interest peaked with her eyebrows. “What did you find in the grove?”

A starion reached into his pocket pulling out a piece of folded paper.

“A letter do our dear Kagha. It seems she was meant to meet someone somewhere near the swamp. There’s a stash mentioned.”

“Interesting,” she took the note and tucked it into her tunic against her chest.

“And there’s also this,” he pulled out a scroll.

Ferelith stared at it. It looked far to old with too many symbols on it to be any sort of note.

“Did you steal the Rite of Thorns?” she looked at him.

“I did.”

“Well… then I hope whoever forgot their lines isn’t punished too severely. Most of them likely have it memorized. Still…” she took the scroll into her hands. “It’s interesting that it was so easy to take. Do you think the idol would be as easy?”

“Not likely,” Astarion laughed. “But I’m willing to let my share of the take motivate me.”

“I’ll think about it,” she tapped him on the shoulder with the scroll before she strolled away.

Ferelith’s tent was on the other side of Gale’s. It was closest to the river and to where the items for bathing were kept. Before heading to her cot she paused, noting Wyll’s curious stare. Perhaps it was curiosity. Or perhaps it was the wine. But something reminded her of the cambion that lingered in his thoughts. And she wondered if Wyll had also witnessed something similar in her own.

“Salutations,” he grinned, but she could see the hint of hesitation.

“Good evening,” she responded. “I wanted to apologize for my vulgar display.”

“No need,” he waved his hands. “I understand how uncomfortable healing can be.”

“Still, I thought we might get better acquainted. I don’t think we were properly introduced earlier. My name is-”

“Ferelith, yes. It was brief. But I believe I caught your name.”

“Blade of the Frontiers,” she held out her free hand, and he grasped it gently.

“Living legend, in the flesh,” he boasted with a gentle shake. “Slayer of specters. Killer of kobolds. The pride of Baldur’s Gate.”

“So they say,” she took a drink.

“Ah, so you’ve heard the stories?”

“I have,” her smile grew. “The wonderful tales that they are.”

“All true, I might add. Won’t be long before they’re telling new tales. Mind flayers, flying ships, dragon attacks- the legend grows!”

“Mind flayers and dragons are quite the stretch from kobolds. I assume you have an idea of how to handle this, then?”

“There’s an old saying I just made up,” he tossed his hand carelessly. “To fell a dragon, you must chop off its head.”

“I see,” she nodded slowly. “So... you have no idea.”

“Hold on,” he held up the same hand. “These goblins are organized. It’s no hamhead pulling the strings. We slither through their camp and off their leaders, quick as crickets.”

“Take out the ones pulling the strings and the puppets have no one to follow. Not a bad plan, but I never imagined goblins would be the type to fall in line. Are you sure they’re as organized as you say?”

“Positive,” he sounded firm. “I’ve learned at least that much while defending the camp.”

“You said you were waiting for Halsin,” she stated. “Why risk your life for the tieflings?”

“Did you see those kids back at the grove? They should be chasing frogs, climbing trees. Not training for battles they can’t win. Those people look at me and they see a hero. Imagine how bad they’d feel if they were wrong.”

“It is an unfortunate situation.”

“I disagree,” he said firmly. “Fortune has brought us to their aid.”

“What a heroic way to put it,” she chuckled with sarcasm and took a loud sip of her wine.

“I agree,” he said in all seriousness, eyeing her as her eyes flicked up at him over her glass. “You look like you have something to ask me.”

“Ah, yes,” she lowered the glass. “Your eye. It’s a bit… unusual.”

With that she leaned forward and was completely aware of the space she invaded.

“Now, now” he held up a hand to keep her at bay. “I always save the best stories for my closest friends and my cruelest enemies. Get to be one of those, and I’ll spill the whole jug.”

Her posture softened and relaxed backward, but the intensity of her gaze never left.

“You get that, right? Spill the whole jug? Ugh- guess I’ll toss that one into the heap.”

Ferelith had never been called a fool. The one time she had the person that spoke the word left with a very distinct red mark the shape of a hand on his face. She knew what the eye was. And playing coy wasn’t doing him any favors.

“It looks like a sending stone,” she said plainly.

Wyll threw himself into a fit of laughter. “A what now? Goodness, but it’s just a bit of rock- nothing so special, I assure you.”

He had just met the woman. But he had already caught that she was far too cunning to outsmart. He held his smile as long as he could as her eyes narrowed on him. He knew that she knew. And she would hold his secret… for now.

“If you say so, love,” she smiled knowingly.

It sounded far more sinister than it should. She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and with her glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, she made her way back to her camp. He lowered his brow, glaring at her back as if he were about to see antlers sprout from her head. She was not the only holding on to someone else’s secret. He had just a glimpse of the claws that clutched her shoulders. It was quiet. But it was there. He wondered if the others knew the extent of her patron.

Back in her tent, Ferelith gripped her glass so hard she was afraid it might break. Damned idiot. He could have helped her. He could have used the tadpole and called out to her patron. She knew he had seen him. But he was too self righteous, too good for all the pact nonsense. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need him. She just… needed to find a way to reconnect. The worm… it must be blocking their connection somehow. Ferelith reached across her cot, grabbing a journal that held notes of the runes from the book that bound them. She began to write down her assumptions and possible solutions. There had to be a way to use this telepathic power…

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Astarion leaned back on his elbows, his eyes scanning the sky above. Now that they had settled in quite nicely in their camp, he felt as though he was enjoying it more than he thought. Ferelith was right… the night was never dark. Not unless clouds covered the sky. But most nights were filled with stars. And it made his late escapades a bit more romantic. Just as the thought of Ferelith occurred, he heard her footsteps from the river approaching. She had one of her blankets wrapped around her shoulders. And she seemed to be tearing apart a few pieces of bread. As she grew closer he could hear her humming.

“Feeling sentimental?”

“I can’t get comfortable with these bandages so tight.”

He could hear the slurring in her words. She definitely drank the entire bottle.

“Stargazing, are we?” she asked, tilting her head upward.

His eyes couldn’t help but linger to her face. The light from the fire reflected off her jaw and he could see the highlight of her cheekbones. And every feature of her very long and very delicate neck. She was so small and fragile. But that dwarf she covered in books had a very broken neck. That power inside her must be quite the advantage to make up for her lack of strength. He shuddered at the idea of what else she was capable of causing her to look back him. He held her gaze for a moment before turning his head back up.

"It's quite a sight. That stars, I mean,” he clarified with quick glance. "I could take or leave your chin."

There was a hint of a smile. There it was. There was the fruits of his labor. Or at least, the wine’s labor.

“Yes. They are. You look like you’ve made yourself quite comfortable.”

“I suppose I have,” he shifted a bit. “I can see the stars from Baldur’s Gate, of course. But… not with such clarity. It got me thinking. Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring when we arrive at this gith creche.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain it will be that soon,” Ferelith sighed. “We haven’t any idea of where it’s located… or if we can trust the information. Or the gith.”

“You don’t think the druid camp would be more promising, do you?” he seemed hesitant to ask.

“Normally, I’d be the last person to ask druids for help, but…” she shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure the answers we seek are in the hands of the gith. They’re… not known for compassion. Not that I trust druids, either. I just…”

The pause lingered in the air.

“I don’t like not knowing,” she lowered her arms and faced him.

“We’ll find answers,” he sat up. “The question is, will we find out how to bring the worm under control? And if so, will this little adventure of ours be over?”

“Likely,” she lifted a brow casually.

“Pity,” he frowned. “A great pity.”

“You sound so disappoint,” she crossed her arms. “As if you’ll actually miss me.”

“Ha!” Astarion laughed out loud before pushing himself onto his feet. “Why not? You’ve been to the Hells and back. Survived the crash! Survived everything that’s followed. I’m not easily impressed by people, but you’re strong that I gave you credit for.”

Ferelith’s smile had not faded. And he could feel her eyes studying him.

“That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that,” she said. “I’m just a survivor. Like you.”

“Yes,” he touched his chest in a heartfelt gesture. “We’re more similar than I thought.”

“So it seems,” she nodded in agreement. “Perhaps we’ll have more opportunities to explore how much we have in common.”

H e could see her flushed cheeks, now. She was a flirty little lush.

Astarion chuckled. “ A delicious thought, but…”

“But, what?” Ferelith’s eyes flared. “Am I not impressive?”

Oh. No. She was toying with him.

“Aha,” he let a breath slip. “Aren’t you just?”

“What is it your waiting for, Astarion?”

Perhaps the cat and mouse game they had been playing these last few days were moving things along quicker than he thought. She liked the back and forth. Liked the teasing. Liked the arguing. This was going to be easy. But… it was too easy. He took a step toward her and she rose her chin as he approached. Her lips parted slightly as they stared at one another. She was… dangerous.

“The right moment.”

H e finally said. Ferelith’s brows rose at the answer. The smile lowered. And she closed her mouth. With a small nod, she crossed her arms. She leaned forward her eye lids fluttering as she looked at his mouth.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “Make it count.”

T hen she left him, her shoulder grazing his as she walked back to her tent.

Fuck…

Fuck.

Fuck.

[sharransepulchre]

If Shadowheart was truly one thing, it was measured. Calculating. Even in moments like these, where she had only just crossed the line into lightly tipsy, she was impeccable with her abilities. Everything was intentional, even in her current state - how she climbs into Katya's lap, bottle of wine in hand, and she gives her lover the most devious smirk. Eyes that ever dance with a dark curiosity, swirling like the vintage within its glass prison.

❝ i understand that my libido can be difficult to keep pace with . ❞ The priestess dismissively states, straddling the werewolf's lap with a spread of her thighs - and her eyes twinkle. Unaffected by the poke to her pinkened cheek. ❝ you can tell me no if you ' re not up for the challenge . . . now drink this - but do not swallow . ❞ She murmurs her demand, bringing the rim of it back to those attractive lips, and she pours it in when she knows Katya will relinquish this control, if only for a moment. Slowly, the vintage pours in to fill her mouth - until Shadowheart was pleased with the amount. She drew it back, her eyes swirling with arousal, and she reached up towards that twisting horn with her free hand, eagerly dragging her in for a bruising kiss. Her lips crushed against the lycan's and she formed a tight seal between their lips, before coaxing her mouth open with a prodding tongue and drank the wine straight from her lips. Slowly, her throat bobs with each drink of the sweet red, until she breaks away with a panting breath, and her tongue dances across her lover's lower lip to efficiently clean up the wine left behind.

❝ mhh . . . delicious . ❞ It was impossible to tell if she meant the wine, or her lover... But knowing her, it was very intentionally ambiguous, even though she had absolutely meant Katya. ❝ i can ' t help myself around you . . . because of how you make me feel . ❞ She whispered, swirling the red of the glass again, before bringing it to her lips, allowing her tongue to skirt the rim in a suggestive manner. Then, she takes a drink. ❝ and . . . how i want you to make me feel . ❞ She cocked a fine eyebrow up with her slight smirk, her eyes fluttering slightly as she gazed upon the glorious tiefling. Her tiefling.

❝ hmm , and whoever said that it was joke ? it is a serious condition and no laughing matter , katya . ❞ She retorts, still smiling broadly, as she bypasses the flap of the tent, disappearing inside of it. By the time that the alpha lycanthrope made her way into their shared tent, Shadowheart somehow already had the entirety of her tunic unlaced, hanging off of her slim, slender body. A perfectly raunchy lacy undergarment adorns pale skin, just barely covering soft pink nipples with the skinniest of straps. The lingerie was black, a perfect contrast with her supple flesh, lightly blushing along her chest and the tips of her pointed ears. Upon the table is an open bottle of wine - an invitation.

The shove was lovely - she oh so did enjoy riling her lover up so. Gentle, tender touches that were very subtly intentional. And with the lace, oh - she knew exactly what sort of reaction that would bring. She hums as the cleric falls back into the bedroll, her eyes glimmering mischievously, and she leans up slightly to trace a finger along the side of the bottle.

❝ me , an animal ? ❞ She scoffs with mock indignation - waiting for Katya to join her. She pats the spot next to her firmly, inviting her to take her rightful place by the cleric's side. ❝ have you seen the way you feast upon me ? if anything , i would claim that you are the real animal here . . . now come here , lover . ❞

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

A bit from the BG3 fic; trying to make a different kind of deal with the devil >.>  Tagging @oxygenforthewicked and @kirkwalls-dumbest as well as anyone who sees this! (if u do and want me to tag u in the future, let me know)

...

Everyone’s stares were fixed on her, waiting for Zyn to say something.

The light from the flickering firelight had an ominously red cast, only highlighting the crimson skin of the cambion before them, his wings half-spread.  Definitely a better look than the human guise he’d shown originally.  Now, Zynatheri was an idiot.  That was a fact tried, tested, and true.  But was she enough of an idiot to make a deal with a devil?

No, definitely not.

He’d been stupid enough to choose her to be the one he spoke to, which meant he’d observed their merry party and found her to be the weak link.  Which she was.  But to think she’d be that weak?  A little stupid.

“I’m afraid I’m not looking for your help,” she said apologetically, flashing a feral little smile.  “I do not want to give up my soul.”  She saw Wyll’s sigh of relief out of the corner of her vision and felt vaguely insulted.

“Why cling to something you don’t even value?  You can’t really expect me to believe you’ll finally choose a side, after so many years sitting on the fence?”  Raphael smiled when her expression froze.  Damn it, she hadn’t expected him to know about that.  “If you gave your soul to me…neither of them would get it.  And you’d finally win.”

Zyn laughed, dropping her head with a slow nod.  “You’re good, you’re very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Still must be be a no, I fear, but you’re very good.  Counterpoint, though.  I have a proposition for you.”

“Do you?”  Raphael asked, taloned fingers stroking his jaw.  “Do tell.  I’m intrigued.”

“We skip all the business of tadpoles and souls for now.  Where’s the fun if I just give you things?”

“Stop her,” she faintly heard Shadowheart hiss.  Of course Shadowheart had already figured out where Zyn was going with this.

Smirking, she hurried up before someone managed to interrupt her.  “I would love to enjoy your charmingly alluring company in a more private setting.  So why don’t we start in bed, and we see where things g-”

Lae’zel loomed up from behind and slammed a gauntleted hand across her mouth, hard enough to bruise, and Zyn gave a yelp of pain and surprise.  Squalling behind the hard metal, she found herself being lifted off her feet, painfully.  Zyn knew she was short, but this was rude!

“This is undignified!” she shrieked, muffled.

Astarion patted her on the head as she struggled in Lae’zel’s grip, condescendingly.  He just looked amused, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips.  “Sorry about that, can’t do a thing with her.  Though, if you are...”

Shadowheart kicked him in the back of the knee, and Astarion buckled with a yelp.

He turned on her, voice loud and vicious.  “I wasn’t going to proposition him like her!  Do you mind?!”

“It certainly sounded as if you were!”

As they descended into bickering, Zyn thought she saw a flash of exhausted irritation on the cambion’s face.  Behind Lae’zel’s gauntlet, she smirked.  Ah, a victory.

Served him right.

[kunstpause-archive]

New Chapter - The Hunter And The Prey

The Hunter And The Prey - Chapter 3 | Read on Ao3

Just in time for the end of the year. Hope you all have a lovely new year’s. ❤

___

When she shook her head, sending her hair flying as she got the water out of her ears, Kara heard a noise from the near shore. Standing waist-deep in the middle of the stream, she looked over her shoulder to find Astarion watching her with unveiled interest.

“Enjoying the view?” Kara said with an amused grin before she drew her still dripping hair over her shoulder. A small chuckle left Astarion as he leaned against a large rock formation, blatantly letting his eyes wander.

“That you even have to ask that, darling.” He shook his head slightly, exaggerating a sigh. “Let me ask you in turn, how could I not?”

Kara felt a hint of goosebumps running over her skin that had nothing to do with the cold water and everything with the way his eyes kept roaming over her body. This thing between them was still new. Fragile and unpredictable. But if Kara had to guess, she would assume she’d never get tired of just how much his openly displayed desire for her made her heart beat faster. She felt his eyes linger on her now once again smooth and mostly unblemished back.

“Shadowheart healed my injuries,” she explained the absence of the cuts and bruises she had collected earlier that day.

Astarion let out a dramatic sigh. “Pity!” he murmured. “I found them rather fetching.”

A tingle of excitement went through her as she remembered just how intrigued he had been earlier. Feeling daring, all of a sudden, she poured some more water over her shoulders, making a show of running her hands over her own skin.

“I could always invite you to help me make new ones.”

She could see how her blatant tease only fuelled the heat in his look, but Astarion didn’t move a muscle; he just kept fixing her with the same burning gaze.

“Tempting!” he said, slowly licking his lips. Kara could see a faint hint of teeth in his smile as his expression darkened. “After your little display earlier, I am eager to believe that you might enjoy that just as much as I would.”

Kara’s stomach leaped at his words, a warm sensation of growing desire spreading through her as she swallowed at his rather direct answer and the as of yet confusing way it made her feel. Quickly, she covered said confusion with a wide grin as she gestured around her. “I was about to say come over here and find out, but…”

At that, Astarion let out a carefree laugh. “Devious little minx. You want me to prove to you just how much I want you by making me cross running water?” There was genuine amusement behind his words, but Kara sensed something else as well. A barely disguised weariness he didn’t quite manage to hide.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said firmly, not leaving any doubt about having meant her earlier words as nothing but a joke. “The water thing, I mean,” she added to explain.

From what little she knew about Astarion so far, she was certain she did not want to give him the wrong impression when it came to certain things. Especially something like putting him through pain for her amusement. The thought alone woke unbidden images of home, sending a shiver of disgust through her. But to her relief, Astarion seemed to relax at her answer, his eyes back to watching her every move. A small smile spread over Kara’s lips as she turned around fully and slowly continued to wash.

“But if you still have enough patience to wait until I finish my bath,” she said with a teasing note, “I might just save you the trouble.”

Another chuckle rang from the shore across the water, and the earlier heat was clearly visible on Astarion’s face again as he let his eyes wander over her exposed breasts.

“By all means, I have all night, and I am certainly not opposed to watching you running your hands all over your naked skin.” There was a low rumble in his voice, conveying his appreciation just as obvious as his eyes did. “Why, I can scarcely think of any better kind of entertainment.”

Read the rest on Ao3

[lockewrites]

Our Own Entertainment

Astarion x F!OC || NSFW (Not actual smut, but very suggestive foreplay) || 2338 words AO3 & FF

Aurella and Astarion struggle to keep themselves entertained during a rather boring party. 

The campsite was bustling with tieflings, singing and dancing, party already in full swing before Aurella and the rest of them arrived. Zevlor stood at the entrance, greeting them as they approached. 

“I hope you’ll pardon them,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “They meant to wait for you all. But it’s been some time since they’ve had cause to celebrate.”

A sudden burst of laughter sounded near the fire, and Zevlor smiled, even as Aurella walked past him with little acknowledgement. 

“I’m glad to see they haven’t forgotten how,” she heard him say to Serilda. 

Aurella headed for her tent, eager to strip off her pack and armor and change into clothes she inexplicably stumbled on when visiting the tieflings the first time. She wore a deep red, linen shirt that was slightly too large; it hung loose around her chest, but she shrugged and tucked it into her waistband.

Returning to the party, her gaze fell to a pile of crates that the tieflings seemed to gravitate toward. She waded through the mass of already inebriated people and reached the boxes, smiling at the bottles upon bottles of what had to be alcohol. Without a second thought, she grabbed a few bottles; she’d need them if Volo’s singing wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

Bottles in tow, Aurella climbed onto the rocks near the center of camp and settled down on the cold surface, giving herself a good view of the party’s going-ons. Serilda was no longer near Zevlor, in fact, Serilda was nowhere to be found. It didn’t surprise Aurella; her sister didn’t seem the type to appreciate the chaos of drunks or fun in general. With a long swig, and a sour grimace afterward, Aurella simply watched. Her lip curled with every sip, the vinegar-tasting wine disturbing her senses, but drink enough, and she knew she’d no longer taste it. 

The children ran around, occasionally bumping into a staggering adult, some of the others danced to Volo’s ‘song’ and others ignored him entirely, playing games that involved drinking if they lost and drinking if they won. Lae’zel was chatting with Wyll, and the way he leaned toward her made it seem like he was quite interested; Gale shared his thoughts and likely unwelcome history lessons with two of the tieflings, one carried a lute; and Shadowheart was probably still standing near her tent behind Aurella, keeping to herself. And it seemed someone had a mind to keep her company; the scuffing of boots on rock and a soft grunt sounded behind her shortly before kicking aside her empty bottles.

“Well,” Astarion’s soft voice said, now beside her, “this is rather boring.” He sat next to her, his armor also gone and replaced with a dark tunic.

“Just sitting here?” she asked. “Or the party in general.”

“Both.”

“To be fair,” she said, interrupting herself with a drink, “I’m only here until I get drunk enough to cause issues.”

He chuckled. “Do you really need to be drunk for that?”

She shook her head. “No. But it provides me an excuse for when Serilda inevitably scolds me.” 

“She certainly seems the sort.” He took one of her bottles and pulled out the cork before taking a drink.

Aurella could feel his eyes on her, and just as she glanced at him, he turned away.

“You know,” he said in between sips, his tone growing contemplative, “I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I’d be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I’m here…” He took another drink and scowled, his lip curling just enough to crinkle his nose. “I hate it. This is awful.”

She laughed. “I completely agree. Though, slaughtering the goblins was fun.”

“True,” he replied with a smile. “That was fun.”

“I’m sure there’s more fun to be had. Relax and try to enjoy yourself.” 

“Enjoy myself?” he remarked, his sneer returning. “There’s a worm in my brain, I’m surrounded by idiots, and all I’ve got to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar. All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips a moment. “Vampires are strong, right?”

His brow raised, and there was a look of amused intrigue at the question. “Of course, darling. Why do you ask?”

“Can you throw this high into the air?” She handed him one of the full bottles of wine. “Somewhere over Volo’s head.” 

Astarion hesitated but eventually stood, eyeing Volo before looking at the empty air above him and launching the bottle just as requested. 

While still sitting, Aurella lifted her hand and pulled it back, a red light emanating from her palm for just a moment before she thrust it forward, releasing a blast of magic. It caught the bottom of the bottle, bursting the glass and pouring wine all over Volo and his closest audience members.

They shrieked and shouted at the pair who simply let out barks of laughter.

“Oh, sometimes it’s the simplest of things,” Astarion said.

Aurella continued laughing, ignoring the angry words being screamed at them. One of the men hurled a bottle at Aurella, she stopped laughing just in time to see Astarion’s hand reach in front of her and catch it. She violently flinched and lost her balance.

“Shit!”

Unable to catch herself on anything, she slipped off the rock and landed with a hard grunt between the stone and a log. She rubbed the back of her head and groaned as she sat up.

Astarion stood on the other side of the log, laughing hysterically. “That was quite the entertainment!” he said. 

“Which part?” she asked, still rubbing her back. “Drenching Volo or me falling?”

“Oh, take your pick.”

“Arse.”

He laughed again and offered his hand; she took it, the cold of his skin still jarring to her. Now on her feet, she brushed off her backside and pulled a twig out of her hair.

“I had meant to tell you earlier, my dear,” he began, voice taking a low, husky tone as he straightened her shirt and let his fingers linger, “that red certainly suits you.” 

His fingers drifted up her sternum and to her neck, pushing aside her blonde hair and leaving a trail of cold; he stopped where two puncture wounds marred her skin, barely brushing over them before pulling his hand away. She suppressed a shiver and caught herself from leaning for his absent touch, instead plastering a smirk on her lips; the pain of her fall was entirely forgotten.

“You know,” he began, returning her grin, “rather than throw yourself off any more rocks, we could always amuse ourselves in other ways.”

“Are you going to throw yourself off a rock next?” she asked, crossing her arms. “That’d be rather amusing.”

He rolled his eyes. “There are far better ways to wind up bloodied and bruised,” he replied. “Just you and me. Getting a little closer, so to speak.”

She sucked in her lip, appearing to contemplate her answer. “Maybe,” she finally said. “If you say ‘please.’”

His brow furrowed, but the smile remained. “What?”

Tilting her head, Aurella said, “I fell off a boulder, and you laughed at me. My ego’s hurt. I could use a little begging.”

The smirk softened, and his eyes widened as his eyebrows reached up toward his hairline. “Please.” His hungry grin immediately returned.

She leaned her body toward him, ignoring the heat building in her cheeks; her hand reached out and hovered just over his waistband, taunting him a bit before jabbing his stomach with her finger.

"Okay." Her eyes crinkled at the corners as he shook his head.

"Cheeky little pup." He pulled away from her. "Let's wait until things quiet down."

"All right."

"Now, how to kill time?" he muttered, looking past Aurella.

She turned toward the mass of tieflings. "I don't know about you," she said, "but there's an interesting game of cards going on over there, and I see a few coins on the table. I wouldn't mind winning some gold from drunkards." She glanced back at him. "Or horny vampires."

"I suppose there are worse ways to waste my time," he decided. "And just so you know, I cheat."

“So do I.”

The pair was side-eyed as they approached, Aurella’s stunt still fresh in their minds, but at the dropping of their coin purses on the table, the tieflings welcomed them. They were dealt in, and it didn’t take long for the two to settle into a routine of counting cards and stowing aces; the tieflings were too far into their drinks to notice, but Astarion and Aurella watched each other, tutting whenever they caught the other. 

How much time had passed, Aurella wasn’t sure, but things had quieted, most of the tieflings were in bed or making their way there. Astarion had wandered off during their last hand, claiming to need some air. After a few more rounds, she dumped her winnings into her coin purse and disappeared into her tent. She waited, anticipation building with each torch being blown out and each body shuffling into a bedroll. 

When silence finally fell, she left her tent and tiptoed around the scattered sleepers, following the general direction she’d seen Astarion take. She walked out of the clearing and found herself surrounded by trees and a chill the open area lacked, but she saw no sign of the vampire. Continuing forward, she took careful steps over the roots and around the tree trunks; she had no doubt he knew she was there, and he was simply toying with her. 

Just as she considered turning back, a hand snaked around her waist, and a cold pair of lips whispered in her ear.

“I’ve been waiting,” he purred. He pulled her flush against him and brushed his lips against her neck. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

Aurella placed her hand on the one resting on her waist. “I wouldn’t say you have me just yet.” Her stomach flipped as he chuckled against her skin, one of his fangs just barely grazing her.

“Don’t I?” he asked. “You’re here. And… I don’t think you want to talk.” He turned her around to face him, hand now pushing into her back, keeping their lower halves pressed together. “I think you want to be known,” he said, dipping a finger under her chin and keeping her fixated on him. “To be tasted.”

She smirked despite the color pooling in her face. “And what do you want?”

“What do any of us want?” he replied, his lips matching her own taunting. “Pleasure.” His thumb gently pushed her head to the side as he leaned down and kissed her neck, rougher than before. “Yours. Mine.” He spoke between breaths. “Our collective ecstasy.”

He pulled away from her, his eyes searching her face. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, quickly falling back into his perfect grin. “To lose yourself in me?”

The red of his eyes seemed brighter, more threatening, nearly every inch of her being screaming at her to flee, but all she felt was curiosity and a burning desire to give herself to him. She had no snarky retort, no witty remark. She simply breathed a soft, “Yes.”

“I thought so.”

His lips claimed hers as he grabbed either side of her waist and lifted her, guiding her legs around his torso. With a few steps forward, he balanced her against a tree as their mouths and tongues fought for dominance; he tasted of turned wine, the campfire’s smoke, and metallic threats. The bark of the tree dug into her skin through her top as he pushed against her, leaving no room between them. His hands ran down her torso and began pulling at her shirt, untucking it from her waistband. 

Before he could slip under, Aurella reached back and gave a hard push against the tree, knocking them off-balance. They toppled backward, Astarion landing under her with a grunt, Aurella still straddling him.

He looked up at her, brow raised in confusion and then interest as she grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head, leaving her torso completely exposed. He sat up, digging into her waist for leverage, and pressed a cold kiss between her breasts before traveling upward to her throat.

Just as he pulled away to look at her, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, kissing him again as she gathered her hair with her other hand and pulled it over one of her shoulders. They paused for breath, and she took the opportunity to bare her neck to him, the invitation obvious. His words had promised pleasure, but he could offer pain in equal measure and, in that moment, it was just the same to her.

The vampire’s eyes widened, pupils dilating further as his tongue flitted over his lips. He kissed her again and wrapped her in an embrace as he pulled them both back to the ground. In one fluid motion, without breaking the kiss, he rolled them over and braced himself on top of her; his mouth wandered from hers, lining her jaw then dipping below to her neck, kissing where he’d bitten her before.

Her fingers brushed against his ribs and moved up his side, reaching for his back; she felt something raised through his shirt, but he twisted slightly and grabbed her wrist, pinning it to the ground above her head just as his other wrapped around her neck.

She reached for his hand with hers, digging her nails into his skin, but she didn’t attempt to pull him away, rather she held him in place and forced him to grip her tighter.

After one last kiss to her neck, his fangs reopened his previous bite; the sharp pain quickly subsided to euphoria, and she let out a pleasured moan as he took his fill and she readied for her own.