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vixstarria · 1 year ago

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Mark me as yours

This takes place immediately after and is interlinked with 'Missionary with the lights off' but from Astarion's rather than Tav's POV - check it out if you haven't already, the fics complement each other.

Soft sassy Astarion, F!Tav, Gale, minor appearances by other origin characters, Astarion POV

Fluff, humour, banter, pining, non-explicit sexual references

A day in camp in the life of Astarion. Features brooding, sewing, doing laundry, being dramatic, engaging in improper use of archmage of Waterdeep, reading erotica, and more!

Approx. 2,000 words

AO3

You frowned at the stuffed bear you held in your hands, weighing up your desire to showcase your skills against the absurdity of the task at hand.

The whole thing was coming apart and needed to be washed and restuffed if you were to do this properly. What was inside, anyway? Fur..? You supposed you could go hunt something furry. Or maybe save yourself the time and just give Scratch a quick partial shave, he wouldn’t mind – the mutt lying at your feet was stupid enough to like you. To prefer you over anyone else, in fact.

You reached down to give him a fond, absentminded pet.

And then there was the matter of not letting it burn to a crisp the moment Karlach touched it.

“Is there a flame ward enchantment on this..? Can you reapply it?” you asked Gale, who was nearby at his usual spot by the fire, concocting something edible for the rest of your group.

“There is and I sure can,” he replied.

Great. You had gotten yourself into a group project with the wizard to rescue a teddy bear.

“Don’t tell me this is what Wyll was so concerned about earlier...” Tav had finally made it out of your tent and sat down next to you, looking somewhat less disheveled than how you’d left her.

“The bag of holding finally tore. Naturally I was the only one competent enough to fix it.”

You gestured with your thumb towards a towering pile of assorted crap that Wyll and Lae’zel were still sifting through: Lae’zel inspecting and setting aside any weapons and armour she deemed worth keeping, and Wyll sorting through an array of scrolls and potions no one was ever going to use, or would forget were in your possession if the need for them ever did arise.

“Darling, this is your fault, you know,” you added. “Must you pick up everything?”

“Karlach made me do it. Also I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am prudence and sensibility personified,” she said.

“You’re uh... You’re also bleeding,” Gale said, pointing at her neck.

A trail of blood had started running down from the puncture wounds, which must have reopened.

Shit.

Before you could reason yourself out of it, your instincts kicked in and you pressed your mouth against her neck, licking the blood off. By the gods, she actually leaned into you as you did that, not away. You glimpsed a guilty, sheepish smile she threw at Gale, as you pulled away.

“Idiot... Here, apply pressure, I’ll get the amulet,” you said.

“I’m the idiot?! You’re the one who ran off to resolve a sewing emergency, like a good little seamstress, before sorting me out!”

You strode over to your tent, in part to grab the amulet of Silvanus, in part to discreetly tuck away the erection that had immediately started developing as soon as you tasted her blood.

Hells, am I 239 or 15? you thought, annoyed with yourself.

“An amulet? I was wondering why you’d stopped visiting me in the mornings...” you heard from Shadowheart.

“We have a system,” Tav replied.

“Clearly,” laughed Shadowheart.

A scene from the night sprung up in your mind as you went about your day:

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, half lying on you, her nose buried in your neck.

It was... nice. Really nice. And you didn’t think this bizarre scenario would ever happen again.

And yet, pleasant as it was, she still felt too far. You needed to feel her closer. Perhaps you were being greedy, but after all these years, why should you get anything less than exactly what you wanted?

Carefully, very carefully lest she stir awake and leave, you rolled over onto your side, holding her against you.

She was still asleep. Good...

You cautiously slipped lower and lower until your head was at her chest, delicately wrapping your arms around her torso.

Then she stirred.

Shit.

Without waking, she sighed, drawing you into a tight embrace, clutching you against her chest, complete with throwing a leg over your hips to pull you even closer.

You finally relaxed, your arms wrapped around her waist.

Perfect...

She felt so warm... She smelled of comfort.

You could indulge in this for the night. You would wake up before she did anyway.

You drifted away, lulled by the beating of her heart.

You didn’t have any nightmares that night.

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you heard Karlach somewhere in the distance.

You cringed at the juvenile term. Still, you were curious how she would answer.

“He’s on laundry duty,” she responded. “Just us gals today.”

“So your idea of doing washing is to pawn everything off to me,” said Gale.

“Vampires and running water, remember,” you said. “Also you don’t look like you’re exerting an awfully large amount of effort yourself... Although I must admit, this is ingenious.” A little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

Gale sat at a riverbank at a deeper section of the river. Some sheets and clothing were being tossed and spun in a small bubbling whirlpool within the water, together with foaming slivers of soap.

“Surely few archmages possess such finesse and creativity?” you continued.

Gale sighed and motioned for you to throw your bundle in as well, expanding the whirlpool.

“Just toss your shirt in too, it's splattered with blood,” Gale added wearily.

Her scent lingered on it. The last thing you wanted was to wash it off.

You pulled the shirt over your head and hurled it into the whirlpool.

“Not Tav’s creative nailwork, I presume..?” Gale asked with a wince, looking at your back.

“Nope” was all you said, as you pulled a book out from your pocket, making yourself comfortable on the bank. To his credit, the wizard did not probe further.

‘Mark me as yours’

Those words had been echoing in your mind over and over all day.

It couldn’t have meant anything.

A little expression of some vampire fetishism finally poking through – you shouldn’t have expected any different from her, she did offer you her blood consistently, not even asking for anything in return.

Still, you’d felt like something inside you might burst from your desire and thrill when you heard those words.

And then everything that followed after...

You had actually lost yourself for a short while. Not dissociated and detached. Lost yourself. In bliss. In the scent of her skin, in the sounds of her need for you, in the sensation of her blood merging with yours and flowing through your veins.

And now she was walking around somewhere, with telltale bitemarks on her neck for all the world to see. Scandalous...

No, it couldn’t have meant anything.

‘Mark me as yours’

Still... What a pleasant little fantasy...

‘Yours’

“You’ve been smiling at that page for ten minutes straight now,” Gale’s voice snapped you out of your musings.

“It’s my favourite page,” you retorted.

“What’s it about?” he asked snidely after a short pause.

“I have no idea,” you confessed, begrudgingly, snapping the book shut. If the wizard knew what was best for him, he would abstain from any further comments.

“She’s quite fond of you,” Gale said sombrely after another pause.

“Is this about to turn into one of those ‘You break her heart – I'll break your face’ talks?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Oh gods no,” Gale laughed. "No, I would go straight to incineration... You just strike me as the type that needs to have the obvious spelled out for them.”

“I am not entering this type of discourse with someone who’s presently washing my spend off my bed sheets,” you said, laying back and shutting your eyes, to bask in the sun. No answer followed.

Not even a minute had passed when a shadow fell over you.

Odd, you thought. There hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky.

You opened your eyes to see a giant water bubble hovering a few meters above you. Was that... a bedsheet floating in the middle..?

Worth it, you thought just as the undulating bubble spilt and crashed over you.

You coughed and spat, trying to untangle yourself from the sheet, as the unleashed torrent nearly swept you off the bank. And yet, above all else, you found yourself curious.

The water had no longer been running as part of the river, true, but given its sheer volume and the velocity at which it hit you, it should have hurt more than merely your pride.

You made it to the edge of the bank, and cautiously dipped a finger in.

Nothing...

You proceeded to submerge your hand, then your entire forearm, to your elbow.

Nothing.

Of all things... Why this? Why not your reflection? Why not the blood craving? Oh well. Beggars, choosers...

You were laughing.

“This tadpole,” you turned and shouted at Gale, unabashedly stripping yourself of your pants, as Gale turned away, muttering something about going blind, “is the best thing that’s happened to me in centuries!”

The best? Maybe second best? It had some tight competition, but you supposed nothing would have been possible without it, so it reigned supreme.

You leaped into the river, diving and letting the gentle current carry you downstream for a while.

You knew what you would be doing later that evening with her.

“What have you got there?”

She slid onto your lap like a cat that refused to take ‘no’ for an answer as it sought attention. You had been idling away your time by your tent, with some pulp you had picked up earlier. The rest of the group had been drinking and roasting something at the campfire.

“Trash. Disappointingly boring trash, this time,” you answered.

“No pulsating flesh tunnels in this one?”

“Alas... There were not one but two mentions of ‘velvet-wrapped steel’ however, and plenty of ‘sword-sheathing’.”

“To the hilt?”

“Is there any other way?”

“Wouldn’t want to sheathe it only partially, I suppose...” she mused. “Come join us. We found some half-decent wine. And you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

“Spare me, I’ve had enough of Gale’s lectures and Wyll’s tales for the day. And besides, ugh, all those chewing noises!” You made a gagging sound.

None of them want me there.

“Oh don’t be such a delicate princess,” she rolled her eyes. “How’s this: it’s our joint meal time. It would be rude and completely unfair to exclude anyone. You should sit down with everyone, bite down on my wrist and make a great deal of slurping.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Delightful. Simply delightful.

“It will be funny!”

“I fear you might be the only one laughing, darling.”

That is hilarious, I can just imagine Gale squealing or getting sick.

“Is there anyone else you’d care to make laugh?” she asked with a slight upturn of her lips.

Not in the least.

“I could die again knowing I have accomplished something if I ever make Lae’zel laugh. But perish the thought – I am perfectly happy right here with my literature.”

“Well, if you don’t want to join the group, perhaps I will stay and you can...” She snatched the book from your hands and tossed it aside, leaning in and bringing her lips up to your ear. “...Release your kraken in my field of rose petals,” she purred in a sultry voice.

“Stop,” you choked back a snicker.

“Get tangled up in my beef curtains?” she continued with the same tone.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Sink your meat shaft in my cream tart!” she persevered.

“By the gods, woman, I am never having sex with your again.”

“Suckle the nectar from my weeping core!”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go, anything is better than this.” You got up, pushing her off your lap.

“Taste my forbidden, oozing fruit, Astarion!” she cried out from the ground behind you as you covered your ears and shouted “LALALALA”, making your way towards the campfire.

You would endure the prattle of your companions.

Then you would take her for a moonlit swim in the river.

Then you would see if she might spend the whole night in your arms again.

Perhaps she could sleep in your shirt and leave her scent on it again – it was foolish to sleep completely in the nude out in the wild after all, what if there were intruders?

Everything was going according to plan, you reminded yourself.

~~~~~

Next in series - Down by the river

Series master list

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

Also @spacebarbarianweird - you haven't asked for a tag but sounded interested

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x reader #astarion POV #gale dekarios #bloodweave more like beefwave #archmage of waterdeep as a washing machine #the narrator may be somewhat unreliable #reflections on author's own inventory management

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yns-world · 2 months ago

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Fight Club Characters As Your Fans

Pairing: Fight Club Characters x Actor!GN!Reader

Context: You are a newly-debuted actor rising in the charts, you have several films to your name and you just starred in the release of a sports film. In this imagine, the Fight Club characters are your fans.

Warnings: mentions of stalking, obsession, death, slight nsfw

Jack Moore (The Narrator)

His life was dim for months--he’s been running on autopilot before he saw one of your earlier films. This was a darker film, dealing with the psyche of an unstable person. To land that role during your debut season was astounding, but your performance even more so.

Jack was sucked in from the moment you entered the screen. He found comfort in your character and rewatched that film multiple times that same week he discovered it.

Of course, by the time he finds your other films, that’s all he’ll watch.

Day and night, from sunup till sundown he’ll stay glued to his couch, his eyes never once leaving your figure.

When he isn’t watching you, he’s at work constantly replaying images of you in his mind. He has this little pretend-play in his mind where he works hard at his job so that he could make you proud when he comes back home.

You definitely didn’t help his insomnia. It got worse over time--Jack refused to sleep when he could feign a parasocial relationship with you on the screen.

As the promos for your new sports film were circulating, that was around the same time he discovered you. He was obsessively looking up and gathering all the promotional merch--the massive posters of the film, the solo shots of you in athletic wear, even going so far as buying the unrealistically-priced athletic clothes you sponsored. Why? It’s not like he even works out, or has any penchant to. But it made him happy.

Jack’s obsession took no time to spiral into something dangerous for him and his health--beyond the insomnia, it was clear that he was unable to tell the difference between an actor and a character.

And he was utterly ruined when he heard rumors that you were possibly dating the hunk of a co-star from your latest movie. Regardless of the hundreds of dollars he had spent collecting anything and everything related to you--in that single moment, he felt a seething betrayal plunge right into his chest.

His airways closed up, his chest tightened, he thought he was having a heart attack. He genuinely thought he was going to die.

At that moment, he knew that he had to stay away from articles in order to protect his own (in)sanity. He couldn’t afford another scare like that again.

He’d most likely never show his face at one of your meet-up events, but he’d definitely buy out all the merch and autographs you have to offer just to hoard them in his room.

Finally, when your highly-anticipated film hits the theatres, Jack had already bought his ticket for the first possible viewing and liked to imagine that he was on a date with you.

Despite Jack’s unsound infatuation with you, nobody knows a single thing about it. He doesn’t utter a word about you, your upcoming film, nothing. When his coworkers mention your new film as light conversation, he brushes off the topic and they think nothing of it.

When he gets home, he’ll have a near-panic attack--he knows you’re an up-and-coming actor, both stunning and talented, but to be recognized in public by people who don��t even love you the way he loves you is blasphemous.

Jack is infatuated with you in the way he believes that you are his and he is yours--it's exhausting to live in a world that doesn’t see this truth.

Tyler Durden

Tyler is less obsessive--at least, at the start.

Upon stumbling on one of your films, he thought it was mediocre and only stayed because he thought you were hot.

Definitely rubbed one out to you in that movie

He’ll rummage through your discography here and there when he’s bored when he wants to get off

As he goes through your movies and you progress into deeper, darker films, he begins to appreciate your sentiments and performances.

Unlike Jack who is more obsessed with the characters and their personalities, Tyler is more inclined to get a taste of who you truly are. Where do your morals lie? How does your brain work? What is your outlook on this damned world?

He’ll scour every inch of this planet to find interviews--published or not--search for articles, and even hunt down obscure internet posts of yours from when you were a teen to add to his ever-growing profile.

When he learns that you are more of an anarchist and nihilist than the industry would like to let on, he becomes a devout follower.

Tyler is not one to fall into the materialistic and idolistic ways of Hollywood, but he knows that there is a distinct message that you are able to bring to the world if done properly.

Maybe you are actually trying to send a message to the world, or maybe it’s Tyler’s own delusion--regardless, Tyler has found his Messiah.

With the release of your new film, it’s easy for Tyler to find and track your movements. There is always a shadow behind you--in the bushes, across the street, hidden in the flashing crowd--and you can hire as much security as you want, but you’ll never be rid of it unless it wants to leave you.

This haunting presence will mess with your mind, ruin your sleep schedule and therefore delay production--Tyler’s very existence around you will be the first domino to fall--The Beginning of The End of Hollywood.

It’ll be up to you whether you work with him willingly or not--you will either meet a devastating death as a “young, budding actor” who “did not deserve to die”, or you and Tyler will burn down an industry, damn either of your lives or names.

Marla Singer

Marla first meets you behind a window glass for a TV shop. Your latest sports movie playing on all the box televisions--your body moving in sync across all screens, your lips mouthing words that were rendered silent.

A smirk wound itself on her lips as she exhaled smoke. You were cute.

After that initial encounter, your presence was plastered all over billboards and advertisements.

Marla would rather die than ever admit it but when she goes grocery shopping shoplifting, she sneaks one of the magazines by the register into her coat before leaving.

Once she gets home, she falls back on her bed and flips open the latest edition of this magazine--you posing on the front page, with the words “Behind the Screen: A Look into Y/N L/N’s Life!” boldened.

With a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth, Marla flips through the pages and actually finds herself engrossed with you.

She’s the calmest of the three when it comes to this, and she’s also most likely to actually get a real, genuine interaction with you.

One day, a few weeks after the release of your film, she’ll be walking around the city aimlessly and shoulder-checking a stranger that was speed-walking and not paying any sort of attention.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole!” Marla yells, as was her knee-jerk reaction, but immediately felt the blood drain from her face as the stranger turned around.

“I’m sorry.” The stranger spoke, finally stopping and taking a good look back at Marla.

Fuck. Marla thought, her mouth agape.

“N-no, I’m sorry. I’ve had such an insane week, I-” Marla rushed to undo her wrongs but the stranger just smiled and laughed, patting her shoulder in good faith.

“It’s completely fine. I get it. I’d curse me out too.” The stranger outstretched their hand for Marla to take.

“I’m Y/N. It’s been a while since I’ve been back to this city.”

Marla hesitantly took your hand, still in a shell-shock but conscious enough to respond.

“Marla. She paused before fumbling around in her coat pocket for her pack of Marlboros. "Want a smoke?” That was Marla’s best attempt at a conversation with a stranger/flirting in general. Luckily for her, you gladly accept.

The days when you aren’t flying around for film shoots, you’re back in the city and smoking a late-night cigarette with Marla as she fills you in on the tragedy that is this wretched town. She’s the one part of your life that isn’t controlled or connected to the industry, and you’ll credit her with saving your sanity--to which she’ll throw you a dirty look and call you insane.

She doesn’t want you to know just how much you mean to her--another gut reaction and defense mechanism from her. She puts up a front for everyone in her life, but around you she can just be a person--stupid, idiotic, addicted, flawed, but ultimately, a human being.

Over time though, the two of you will peel away your masks and fraudulent identities around each other.

Who knows, maybe she’ll even introduce you to your two biggest fanboys if you’re so inclined.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

i’m open to fight club requests!!! send in what you wish <3

my inbox and messages are always open :P

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