#without much thought given to what astarion could give back

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

Broke: Shipping Wyllstarion for the sole purpose of giving Astarion a fairytale prince to heal his trauma

Woke: Shipping Wyllstarion because they can help the other relearn what was lost: Astarion, how to be emotionally vulnerable again, how to trust. Wyll, how to demand something for yourself, how to indulge without the looming concern of duty, for once.

[storiumemporium]

Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

[justporo]

Rooted within each other

The two of you shared tender glances, loving touches and slight laughs as you imagined what it could be like: to truly be with each other. All the while though neither of you dared to speak what was on both of your minds.

This pleasant back and forth went on for seemingly an eternity until both of your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, hair dripping and messily falling into your faces, skin glowing feverhot.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 3

Author's Note: It's time for dessert and thereby the hopefully sweet and overly emotional conclusion to this smut fic. Partly inspired by this post here by @brain-rot-central and another by @davenswitcher

Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, porn with feelings, vaginal sex, creampie, slight religious imagery, aftercare, Astarion speaking Elvish, lol Wordcount: 3,1k

Astarion’s words gently waved the oncoming dreams and rest away. You slowly blinked your eyes open laying on his chest and cuddled up even closer to him. There was no way you could tell when you had last felt this at peace.

“What?” you asked sheepishly as you had to fight to keep your eyes open. Post-orgasm haze and the way Astarion’s hand on your back had slowly caressed you close to slumber were making it difficult for you to grasp onto his meaning.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” Astarion muttered again. The words tumbled out of his mouth a little too quick - as if they had to be pushed out before they got lost elsewhere.

“Please,” he added. Which made you frown even more than the way he had spoken before.

Your arms still felt wobbly from the sex before but you pushed up with a bit of struggle to be able to look into the vampire’s eyes.

His hand on your back dropped slightly but stayed there a bit helplessly as you observed Astarion with some concern on your face. Red eyes were already wide and surprisingly vulnerable but while you just looked at him for several heartbeats they began flitting around nervously, tongue darting out to wet his lips and he cleared his throat as if the words had left an unpleasant, dry feeling behind.

Suddenly the fact that you were both completely naked and had just been deeply entwined felt like nothing anymore. In an instance Astarion second-guessed everything. Despite the physical closeness he suddenly feared you being far away. Just like it had been with so many others. Nothing but a transaction at best.

Astarion almost wished he could take back his words as you kept staring at him without saying anything. He’d been pushing his luck already he felt like. You had already been so generous with him.

That was exactly it though: he felt like he owed you. But not in the way he thought before, in that way he had dealt with way too often over the past couple of centuries. He had meant his words: he wanted to take care of you in turn after you had given him so much: blood, safety - and now so much tender and honest affection, he could feel his undead heart in his chest clench just looking at you. He hadn’t felt like this in centuries. Maybe he had never quite felt like this before.

And he just wanted to give you something in return. Not with an ulterior motive behind it. Solely because he wanted to see you smile at him. So you would laugh at one of his stupid jokes again, so you would whisper his name again when you came shivering in his arms and there was nothing and no one else on your mind.

Solely because Astarion  found - he liked you; in lack of better words (or lack of courage to use them, yet).

But the longer the silence drew out between you, insecurity took the better of him. He should have just kept quiet and enjoyed the serene silence with you in his arms.

Astarion was just about to wave off his request when you finally spoke.

“You know, Astarion,” you began and the vampire’s chest clenched, anxious for your next words “you don’t owe me anything in return.”

You cocked your head to one side, strands of your hair falling over your shoulder. Your fingers wandered lightly over Astarion’s chest.

He was immediately lost for words.

Out of everything that was not the reaction he would have anticipated. Immediately this felt wrong. There always was a price to be paid, a debt to be claimed some time - right?

You saw his sceptic thoughts on his face almost as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. The time, and especially the nights spent together, when Astarion had sometimes allowed you to take a peek behind his tightly worn armour, had made you good at reading him.

And you knew that he wouldn’t deal well with a rejection - even if it was entirely out of pure motives. Not right now. So you opted for something that you thought might be even better - for both of you.

“How about-,” you started and placed your hand on Astarion’s chest firmly - right over where his heart must be. He immediately covered it with his own as he cautiously waited for your reply.

The way his crimson gaze glinted despite there being barely any light made you almost forget what you were trying to say. Three little words once more almost pushed themselves to the front, almost tumbling from your mouth.

Whatever this was that had seemingly manifested between the two of you this night, you hoped it wasn’t only a temporary spell. You hoped it would stay. Because the way Astarion stared up at you, eyes so open and his thumb tenderly brushing over your hand on his chest gave you a whole new desire to overcome all of these hardships that had been thrown your way. For him. And for you. Maybe even together.

“How about we take care of each other? Make it equal,” you proposed and immediately bit your lip after the words had left your tongue.

Astarion’s eyebrows lifted as your words surprised him once more. But a genuine, happy smile spread over his face rather quickly.

“I think I would like that, my dear,” Astarion replied and you felt how his remaining hand on your back slid over it as he nudged you to lean down to him.

He didn’t want to waste another precious moment with words if his lips could be otherwise occupied with kissing you. You leaned into him with a huge grin at how eager the rogue had suddenly become.

But when your open mouth met his and he kissed you like a starving man while your arms wrapped around his neck you quickly got lost in the moment. Never had he kissed you like this: his tongue slipped into your mouth, toyed with yours while his head turned to get more of this, of you. His free hand lifted to the nape of your neck, gently pulling you in closer while he dragged you right on top of him.

You sighed into his mouth as your body squished against his, your heart beginning to beat faster again as your naked body slid along his. Your softer curves fit perfectly with the harder lines of his body as you melted together - made for each other.

Astarion’s kiss was so greedy and hungry and giving and offering at the same time. Your hands wandered to his face, cupping it, thumbs wandering over his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, trying to really feel him. So you would remember this forever.

He moaned so softly it was barely perceptible when your fingers touched his sensitive elven ears. Your hands dug into his lush, white curls, fingertips dragging along Astarion’s scalp.

Simultaneously, the urge to feel you, everywhere and all around him became almost unbearable for Astarion.

Desire for each other grew quickly within you, generously laced with feelings reaching much deeper. Depths the two of you had barely scratched the surface off.

With roguish quickness Astarion grabbed you and flipped you over, immediately climbing on top of you, leaning on his elbows above you, holding himself there for a moment to take in the sight of you.

You gasped at the sudden change of position. Without hesitation you moved your hand to his face again as you drank him in much the same: a few curls were falling into his face in some disarray, lips parted and swollen from kissing, red eyes molten.

You were awestruck.

And much the same was true for Astarion. The way you stared up at him, one arm stretched out to him lovingly, your eyes so wide and yearning and full with nothing but love and wonder and that delightful full body flush turning your cheeks the most pleasant shade of pink.

He almost made confessions of love right then and there as he kept gazing upon you and knew he was a changed man. But before he felt he said something foolish that might ruin it all he busied his mouth again by pressing it to your neck.

The vampire held your head up much more tenderly than in the beginning of the night. Again feeling your quickening pulse under his lips and his fangs only an inch away from where they had been buried in your neck not so long ago, right when this night and everything had started.

He breathed in your intoxicating scent and kept kissing and caressing your delicate skin, leaving a wet, sloppy trail where he pressed his lips and tongue to you. Occasionally he suckled at your skin, leaving slight marks.

He just wanted to make you his, if only temporarily so.

You felt your own lust rear its head again inside of you as Astarion kept mouthing down your throat and his hands were once more roaming your body: cupping your breasts, redrawing the lines of your ribs, squeezing your butt as you wrapped your legs around his slender hips and arched towards his body.

Gasps from each of you filled the night air but neither of you spoke as your hands explored his body as well. Your hands wandered over his shoulders, his arms, felt the muscles tense up under your touch.

You didn’t even stop at the gruesome ridges on his back. With flat hands you stroked over them at an even pace while Astarion slightly shivered under your touch but didn’t withdraw. He just kept seeking the comfort in your touch and your body as you held him in your embrace.

Neither of you had any intention of stopping anytime soon as you kept exploring each other’s bodies unlike you had done before. You simply wanted to truly see and feel each other - not a layer between you.

In between Astarion lifted his head up again, locked eyes up with you while your touch wandered over his tortured back. You didn’t stop. He didn’t want you to you realised as you locked eyes with him.

You saw him, accepted him with everything that came along with him.

And Astarion felt seen, truly, maybe for the first time in his life.

What followed then was messy and sloppy as your limbs tangled even more, hands, mouths and eyes solely focused on each other. It wasn't practised or neat, not an act. It was raw and tender and loving and passionate. And more than anything: it was honest and real.

You dragged your bodies along each other as you felt your core throbbing with lust and Astarion’s hardened length kept rubbing against your heated skin.

The two of you kept writhing against each other, desire rising agonisingly slow as you took your time. The flames had been high all night but now they lazily rose higher until the embers were glowing white and hot beneath.

For all you cared, this could well go on forever. You wouldn't have minded staying in this limbo of lust and love - maybe forever.

Lazily you went through all sorts of different caresses and new positions to press yourself against each other: you on top, dragging your core along his cock, Astarion diving between your legs to pleasure you with his mouth until you almost already fell for him again, kneeling in front of each other as your hands each stroked each other's most sensitive parts, rolling around in the small space of Astarion's tent until you had gotten lost even in the tiny bit of room you had there.

You drew out this small piece of heaven for each other for as long as you could while keeping the other just right off that edge so you could let yourself fall down together when you chose to do so later on.

The two of you shared tender glances, loving touches and slight laughs as you imagined what it could be like: to truly be with each other. All the while though neither of you dared to speak what was on both of your minds.

This pleasant back and forth went on for seemingly an eternity until both of your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, hair dripping and messily falling into your faces, skin glowing feverhot.

You were sitting on his lap, Astarion kneeling on his bedroll, both arms wrapped around you to hold you close to him. His hard and weeping cock was pressed pleasantly between your hot bodies as you were kissing again. Your time much better spent with your mouth on each other but with words you couldn’t be sure you might regret come the next morning. Your arms were holding onto his face as you kissed him messily, rocking back and forth, heads leaning and gasps and moans passed between each other. 

Astarion’s hands were grabbing onto your thighs like a drowning man would a lifeline - and that was pretty much what he felt like with you. He’d been drowning, already dead inside. But then you came along, offering him another shot at something he’d long thought forgotten.

Then you broke the kiss, cradling his face in your hands as he looked upon you as if you were a deity finally descended from the heavens to answer all of his prayers.

His white curls were falling into his face, dripping with sweat as he breathed heavily, eyes so full of yearning it made your chest clench. This was probably the most vulnerable you had ever seen him. And you wished to cradle his heart just as gently as you did his face.

“Do you even have an idea,” Astarion whispered as he gazed upon you with wonder in his eyes and began to lift you by your thighs until your entrance was lined up with the head of his cock “how much I want you?”

You could merely hold onto him and feel your pulse race even faster as you anticipated being one with him once more.

With his words he slowly but firmly pulled you down on him. He immediately bottomed out, leaving you only to let your head fall back and groan his name as you got to experience the pleasure of Astarion filling you for the second time this night.

The vampire began to engage a gentle rhythm, more rocking than thrusting for now. But heat was quickly rising even higher now that you finally felt him inside of you again, your walls already clenching around him in desperation to feel, to have more. The way you wrapped your arms around him was just as desperate: trying to be as close and joint with him as possible.

“I have an inkling,” you breathed and heard Astarion softly chuckle in response, feeling the soft vibration echo through your wrapped up bodies.

You kept moving with a tenderness that was at odds with how you had indulged each other before. But it seemed this night was made out of differences and shifting them.

Astarion began to fuck you gently. You rocked your hips in rhythm with his slow but forceful movements, each of you savouring every moment.

It became rougher and faster and harder as you went - the air filled with nothing but gasps and moans. No more room or breath for sweet nothings or words of affection that merely danced around the real thing.

Your breaths become rugged as you felt yourself rocked to the core, orgasm fast approaching as Astarion kept thrusting into you - the sounds he made just as desperate as yours. Different feelings within you became nearly overwhelming as you skyrocketed towards the end of this road.

Your head fell back with a mewl as you felt you were only moments away from completely unravelling for the vampire. And you already knew your only wish was  to keep doing this again and again and again - until maybe someday you would have nothing left to give, but the vampire finally would feel loved.

As your head lolled back Astarion wrapped his arms even closer around you as he kept speeding up the pace and he was making you come undone. He felt lost in you - but pleasantly. The way his chest swelled as he gazed upon you, saw drops of sweat run down your already glistening, exposed throat and he heard his name on your lips like the sweetest promise.

In a final effort he bowed you on his lap while his cock plunged in and out of you and you felt the edges of your existence fray.

“Come for me, darling,” Astarion murmured with a voice barely above a whisper, hands on your spine and neck, bowing you to him further as he willed you over the edge. His mouth licked and suckled on the space in between your breasts, feeling your fluttering heartbeat and he sensed and heard you comply to his request - positively falling for him but only to be caught by him.

Astarion felt you clench down around him, his own demise only a blink or two away. But he needed to watch you, see the utter bliss on your face as you fell without hesitating.

And when he knew you were completely lost in the magic of moment he finally couldn’t resist anymore. As he fell himself, dick inside of you twitching and spilling himself inside of you, Astarion heaved a breath against your trembling chest, words barely distinguishable as he mumbled them: whispering them in hopes you wouldn’t hear and understand but with the desperate wish to put them out there to give them some reality.

“Ai Armiel Telere Maenen Hir!*” Elvish words dancing over your glistening skin, Astarion’s breath between your breasts making you shiver without you knowing why.

The words kept ringing in his own ears as he held your trembling form afterwards. More sweet words, touches and glances were exchanged as you snuggled up with each other in the aftermath. Meanwhile each of your yearning grew almost unbearable.

And as you lay there in his arms Astarion made a realisation and a decision: he couldn’t go on like this anymore. Either his earlier words became real and so the thing that had formed between the two of you - or he would perish.

Tomorrow, he vowed to himself, tomorrow he would tell you.

For now he was too lost in how your head was resting on his chest, low light and shadows painting your face lovingly - and Astarion couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight to behold for the rest of his immortal life.

(*You hold my heart forever)

~~~

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[bekaroth-reads]

Baldur’s Gate’s 3 Characters x Reader/Tav Misunderstanding

[This is basically the situation of, “As my partner-“ “Wait, we’re partners?!” Might add more characters later. Proof read but quickly. Sorry if there are mistakes]

Astarion- The two of you were planning out a way to get into a tomb that had some sort of artifact that Astarion insisted was important. “Important,” was, in fact, the only thing that he was using to describe it. This was something that was causing the most problems as you didn’t want to go through the danger of it all for something that might have been nothing more than entertainment for him. When you tried to ask him to give you more details, he snidely scolded, “Listen, as your partner-“

“I’m your partner?!” You interrupt before he could say more.

Immediately, he covered his mouth and his cheeks with his hand, embarrassment flooding in after what he had just said as he turned away. While he could usually recover from almost anything, this struck the line of being too intimate for him to handle. In fact, you were both so flustered and embarrassed from the whole thing that you had to push the planning of everything for the excursion at least a week out. It’s hard to plan adventures when you can’t even look the other person in the eye.

Gale- He thought that you were overworking yourself; and, if Gale Dekarios of all people thought someone was overworking, then it was pretty bad. Then again, you were important to him, so he was also inclined to mother-hen over everything you did. When he thought the time was right, he pulled you aside to gently scold, “I know this is very important. But, as your partner, I must insist-“

“We’re partners?!” You exclaim.

He felt awful as he sees this as him trying to force you into a relationship that you might not have wanted. And, given his history with Mystra, it makes him feel like he has taken on her role, and it makes him nauseous. You will need to take some time to get him to understand it was simply a misunderstanding and that you do want to have a relationship with him.

Raphael- He insisted on taking you to find, “better,” clothing. When you got over the initial insult of the indication that your current choice in clothes was bad, you questioned why he was so adamant on doing so.

“Because, I am a public figure. I cannot have my partner-“ He started to explain before you interrupted,

“I’m your partner?!”

This seemed to entertained him to no end. “Why of course, Little Mouse. Hurry along now.” He hummed as he gave you a tap on the nose before ushering your stunned self out the door.

Haarlep- The two of you finally had an evening to yourselves. They were sitting on the end of your bed in a soft nightshirt, reading a book. It wasn’t even that they were expressly interested in the book, but between all of the scheming with Raphael and succubus work, they couldn’t remember the last time that they had the chance to do something so simple as reading. They gave a contented sigh as they lied back, their horns bumping against your legs where you were sitting farther up on the bed. Without much thought, they sighed, “I am so glad that you are mine.”

“Wait! Are we… partners? Actual partners?” You question in surprise.

They put down their book and turned themselves to lie on their stomach so that they could look at you with gleaming eyes, your reaction seemingly tickling them.

“Well, of course! I’m never this relaxed with anyone but you.” They sat up a bit and motioned to what they had on. “I mean- just look at me! I even put clothes on for you! That’s not something that happens everyday, my sweet.”

Gortash- To say things were tense would be an understatement. Enver Gortash and you had tried to kill each other about a month ago, and you were both nearly successful. It had taken you these past three weeks to heal, and the whole time the both of you were sure the other was going to try to sweep in at any moment and finish the job. Or, you were, and it didn’t take too much imagination to see his situation as the same. You were both in a similar state when your respective parties had broken up your fight.

Now you found out that you would have to work with him publicly for a time. It wasn’t something that you were looking forward to, but it was necessary to get answers for certain things and create opportunities for your team. You were in the hall that this party was being held at; it was nothing fancy, no dancing, no meal- just a simple gathering for some of the upper class to speak with each other and perhaps have a few drinks. You were beyond surprised when Gortash connected eyes with you and instead of an angry or begrudging response, he greeted you with one of the brightest smiles you had ever seen on the man.

“There they are now! The person of the hour!” He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. There were some compliments and coos of how darling you both looked together, and how you must have been a great match. Soon after the group walked away to give you two a few moments of privacy.

“You said that we were a couple?” You whisper-yelled at him.

“Of course. Because we are.” He whispered back as he leaned closer to purr into your ear, “We did almost kill each other after all.” Gortash gave you a peck on the cheek before moving you both to mingle with the other little groups of people around the room.

[danse--macabre]

unpopular astarion headcanons r.e. mirrors and reflections:

while I love the memes around this, I don't think, unless you had a particularly charismatic tav/durge, the whole party would draw him / contribute to some kind of spell where he could see his reflection. Obviously there's room for difference given how many routes your playthrough can take, but generally: he's not universally loved in the same way Karlach is, he's not the heart of the party, he's mostly clinging to the edge of it (and that's fine!)

I think showing him his reflection would impact him deeply and therefore if it is done at the wrong time/place, he'd actually resent the person who did it. this is because you're making him appear vulnerable.

e.g. if the venue is too public, if the others could see, he'd dislike the fact that others can see a moment of vulnerability

alternatively: if your approval with astarion is too low, he'd automatically distrust it / question your motives. this is someone who simply does not believe that people will be kind unprompted to strangers (because doing so violates his worldview and in some ways makes his abuse feel crueller -- if no one cares, there's a logic to what happened to him, at least)

the more permanent the method, the more effort put in, the more likely he is to have mixed/negative feelings towards it. a sketch is a kindness, but not one that requires a great sacrifice or planning - it's easy to dismiss as a fleeting gesture (while he will keep it, obviously, to look at, because he's not that willing to believe his own bullshit).

in contrast, if a permanent method of showing his reflection was given - e.g. a charmed mirror that casts a spell - I think astarion, with a high approval PC, would feel on some level obligated to pay that 'debt' back. astarion strikes me as someone who distrusts thoughtful, non-flippant gifts because again, he's used to transactional relationships.

I also think it might strike at an insecurity: the knowledge that astarion lacks autonomy/independence to deal with his own issues by himself, and, with some bitterness, is dependent on the PC to help him. if you give astarion an enchanted mirror, he, on some level, feels he is dependent on your magic and your supply of magical items to gain access to an element of his humanity. that doesn't entirely sit comfortably with him.

the "best" way to deal with this? let astarion figure out how to handle this himself. for example: gifting him a 'mirror image' spell scroll or something similar. give him time to study the scroll and he'll find a way to cast that spell himself. mechanically, astarion isn't a wizard, but narratively, his default class is arcane trickster, he has access to magic, I don't think it is really that much of a stretch to believe he could achieve that. in general, I think handing astarion the tools to achieve his own goals by himself will be more appreciated than handing that to him on a plate.

however! counterargument to consider: it may be more valuable in the long run to confront astarion's fear of dependence and the sense of reliance that exists particularly in a tav run, where you the PC have 'saved' him without needing to be saved in return. he needs to realise that the PC isn't expecting anything in return for friendship/romance.

either way, i think showing astarion his reflection is going to be more fraught than one might expect - a generous gift, obviously, he will take (he's been poor and starving enough not to turn it down), but there might be some tension beneath any show of gratitude your receive (or he might feign disinterest, if approval/trust is low enough!)

[tragedybunny]

A Lovely Night - Astarion x F!Reader - TW: Mentions of past suicide attempts

Just an idea that came to me that I had to write. I promise next thing up is one of the requests that was waiting for awhile.

You and Astarion share a quiet night at camp and end up getting to know a lot more about each other and your relationship.

“Astarion, honestly,” you scold, fussing with one tent pole. “You’re making this difficult on purpose.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, my Dear,” he smirks, and moves suddenly, the half-finished tent collapsing on itself. It’s just a little game to maximize his time with you. The longer you two work at this, the less chance the others have to steal you away. 

“Gods, I’m going to sharpen one of these into a nice, pointy stake.” Your threat is undercut by a poorly concealed smile.

“Oh, what a cruel thing to say.” He widens his eyes at you, all feigned hurt. 

“That’s it, set it up yourself!” Throwing your hands up, you start to walk away, when he catches you, arms around your waist, pulling you in. 

“Fine, fine, I apologize,” little kisses pepper your neck as you squirm, still playing at a show of indignation, and start to giggle. 

“Let me go, you vile beast,” you’ve twisted until you face him, and he brushes his lips against yours. 

Words die away, and you rest your forehead against his, arms looping around his neck. Another soft kiss and the two of you have forgotten the tent entirely. 

Someone groans intentionally loud enough for you both to hear and the two of you dissolve into laughter. Astarion lets you go. The two of you really should make sure you have some place to sleep tonight anyway.

When the tent is finally up, you settle next to each other by the fire. Gale’s cooking again, which Astarion finds preferable. Sometimes when unoccupied, he stares at you like a parched man at a cool stream. Reaching for your hand, his fingers brush the scar on your wrist. At first, he hadn't noticed it existed, his mind divorcing itself from his body when he was intimate with you. Later he'd found it, when he was trying to study and memorize every bit of you while denying the ever-growing place in his heart that you occupied. 

You hadn't told him about what led to it, and he hadn’t known how to ask. Tonight you jerk back as though burnt when his touch finds it, and he wants to be hurt. But you've given him space and patience, he could at least do the same for you. 

So he hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you close until your head rests on his shoulder as you both stare at the crackling fire. "Favorite season," he asks. It's a little game the two of you invented, learning otherwise small details about each other. You knew the larger parts of his past, Cazador and all, and he knew the broad swathes of yours. You left home because you disagreed with your parents, he'd started to figure you for a noble before you'd all but admitted it, and you were a Warlock who couldn't say much beyond that. But the tiny details of you, those you could be free with. 

"Spring, it feels full of second chances and rebirth." You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. 

"Summer," that's the rule, you both have to answer, "it's the only time the night feels alive, even if it is short." 

A sympathetic noise and you kiss his cheek. "A pet that's not a dog or cat?"

"Rabbits," he answers without hesitation. 

"Really?" 

"They make a rather compliant food supply in a pinch."

"Astarion!" You try to sound scandalized, like you didn't know you were in a relationship with a vampire. Playfully, you swat at his shoulder. "Pets are not for eating." 

Scratch gives him a look from across the fire, the mutt never far from your side. "I thought we weren't judging each other," he scolds with a smile. "Your turn."

“What could I trust you with? Maybe something more appropriate like a raven,” you snicker, and he rolls his eyes knowing you can see him. “Oooh, maybe a bat.” 

“Are you making fun of me? You know, if we had anything like that, the neighbors would figure me out for sure, and then there’d be a mob after me. Is that what you want?” 

“Well I can’t trust you not to eat the rabbits it would seem, so what am I supposed to do,” the last word is squeezed out between giggles. Gods, it’s amazing to hear you laugh, even if it is at his expense. 

“Fine, no eating any pets. I promise,” he uses the same honeyed tone from the first days of knowing you, stifling his own laughter. It’s absurd, and wondrous, it almost feels like you're talking about real possibilities of some future beyond all this. 

“What about chickens? What if we had a farm with a bunch of chickens. Would I have to chase you out of the hen house like a fox?” 

“Madame, I’m highly insulted, you would think so low of me. Also, birds are harder to catch than you would think.” Arms crossed, he pouts. 

“You poor thing,” you kiss his temple, “I’m sorry for offending you.” Settling back down, you sigh wistfully. "That would be nice, wouldn't it? A little farm, the middle of nowhere, after we deal with everything."

"If that would make you happy. I'll refrain from any untoward curiosity about your chickens." Not that he ever expects you would really want that with him, you'll come to your senses after all this. 

"Deal. Seal it with a kiss?" He barely gets the agreement out and your lips are on his, gentle at first, waiting for his lead to something more fervent. Lips part, he invades your mouth, the noise you make music to him. A small step, a moment of desire that doesn't send him hurtling back into the abyss. 

"Dinner is done, if you two can tear yourselves apart for a few minutes," Gale practically scolds from across the fire.  

You pull away, blushing, another musical laugh echoing around him. “We can continue this later.” Reluctantly, he surrenders you to dinner, and the conversations the others pull you into. 

After what seems like an eternity, the two of you are finally alone again, the dying fire casting a soft light through the walls of the tent. In the flickering shadows, he watches as you begin to strip, casting the day away as you toss your garments to the side. The sight of you unclothed no longer sparks anxiety, now just a casual expression of your comfort around him. He drinks you in, alluring and unguarded. You are, admittedly, very pretty, but there's something beyond that. It’s that heart of yours, full of kindness, even for someone like him. 

"Why do you always have to play the hero?" He'd accosted you once after yet another noble deed.

"I can't just look away when I could've done something. This is a choice I make every day Astarion. To try to do what's right." You tapped his nose lightly with a finger, and he glared at you. "Even when it comes to you, my dear bloodsucker."

Somehow that was even more amazing to him. Kindness and goodness didn't just come to you, you fought to be that person. He suspected it was against a past that had tried to teach you the opposite.

You reach for the loose nightshirt you'd pulled from your pack. "Leave it off, please." Pausing, you give him a questioning look. "I just want to feel you tonight." 

The way your eyes softened at that made his still heart tremble. "Alright, Love."

After you settled among the blankets, he lays down in your arms, back pressed to your chest, your arms wrapping around him. He knows the touch of his skin brings a chill to yours, but that’s what the generous pile of blankets is for, so he pulls them over the both of you, trapping the warmth of you. 

"This is nice," you say, kissing his neck and shoulders until he feels the tension in his muscles giving way, and he relaxes in your embrace. 

Inhaling, his nostrils are filled with the scent of you. It's the most wondrous thing, and somehow it clings to everything now that you share a bed; blankets, pillows, even his clothes. He's surrounded by you all the time, and even more amazing, he smells himself on you, tangible proof you’re really his. His in the way that you gave yourself to him, just as he was yours. 

Something still feels unsettled in him though, a curiosity, no a concern, from earlier. “Can I touch it?” He blurts without thinking. 

Feeling you stiffen behind him, he curses, you’d had such a lovely evening, and now he’d ruined it. An arm unwraps from him, and you hold it where his fingers could find it. “Go ahead.” 

Two fingers caress it, running along your wrist, deep, straight, no jagged edges. A sharp blade and no hesitation, did they find you before it was too late, or was magic needed to bring you back? A cry tries to tug its way out of his throat, but he clamps his lips shut. There was almost a world without you, a world where you weren’t there to find him on that beach. The thought presses down, threatening to strangle him, and he tries to blink away tears. But he can feel your pulse thrumming under that scar, you’re here, you survived, and you found him. “If anyone ever makes you feel like this again, I’ll tear their throat out.” He knows you can’t say the why or when of it, but he’ll be damned if it ever happens again. 

“Hmm,” you don’t elaborate, but let him keep on with the small circles he’s now rubbing on your wrist. 

“What?” It was probably a stupid notion, look how far you’d brought this group, whatever your past, you didn’t need protection anymore. 

“It’s just different, thinking about someone trying to protect me.” 

“I do try…” Not that you could tell, apparently. 

Your arm shifts back, and before he can be anxious, it finds its previous spot, encircling his chest. Lips bury themselves in his curls and back down along his neck again. “I know. I meant, I don’t know, emotionally.” You huff, and he finds one of your hands to squeeze. “If I was happy never mattered much before.” 

“Well, it matters now.” There’s a deluge of emotion threatening in your words behind a dam that barely holds it back. That’s not for tonight though, or any night soon, he knows you have to finish this fight first. But when he can, when you’re ready, he’ll be there, repayment for the way you hold his heart with a delicate touch. 

“I think I’m starting to realize that.” Another kiss, this one on his ear, making him shiver. “I love you, Astarion.” 

“I love you too. Just…please don’t ever forget that.” It’s all gone entirely too serious. “Withers doesn’t need any more of our gold.” 

Behind him, you make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, your face is wet where you press it into his shoulder. “Just whine at him, it seems to work well enough on the rest of us.” 

You pull him tight against you, and for this moment, everything is perfect and wonderful and lovely. Tag List:

@micropoe10 @spacebarbarianweird@writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21 @tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin @bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?

Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.

Prompt: hiding face in neck

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.

Word Count: 1.8K

The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here.  It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next. 

You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.  

As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him.  You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world. 

In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you. 

No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one. 

You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.

Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you.  Astarion could be very considerate at times. 

You paused your hands, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, was I playing too loud?” 

“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”

You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony. 

The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.  

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings. 

“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”

���Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?” 

You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done. 

You scooted over to allow him room. 

He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs. 

You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?” 

“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”

You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by. 

“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest. 

He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords. 

A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence. 

“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased. 

He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”

You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”

“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested. 

“That would require me knowing how.” 

“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh. 

“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”

“Really?” 

You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”

You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.  

He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” 

“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.” 

You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.

“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.” 

“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.” 

“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.” 

He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”

“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.” 

“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.” 

He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at. 

“Astarion–”

“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”  

He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him. 

“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”

Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt. 

The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone. 

You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either. 

Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”

A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck. 

“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.” 

How could anyone say no to such a request? 

Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep. 

You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay. 

[avocado-writing]

Hi, I really like the way you write BG3 party members! I had a thought for a while and wanted to request the main party with a Revenant!Tav? Imagine all the angst that comes with Tav only seeking vengeance on their killer, knowing that their time is limited (revenants have only 1 year to enact their revenge). Or maybe the companions try to find a way of making them 'alive' again, if you want a happy ending? I just think it has a lot of potential and want to know your thoughts!

this one is a bit angsty, so reader beware

My beautiful boy Astarion understands the need for revenge, and is committed to helping you get it if you help him kill Cazador. The two of you stay up late at night to discuss tactics, how you will enact your brutality upon the people who deserve it… but then Astarion realises that you do not talk about what comes after, like he does when he considers a life without his abuser. He does a little research and finally finds what a revenant is. It breaks his heart to think that you’d die at the end of your quest because… well, he loves you. He begs you to reconsider. That there are other ways. You don’t need to be like him. But you take his cheek in your hand and tell him there is no other path for you, so the two of you must just enjoy the time you have together. If he finds a way to cure you, he’s yours forever - if not, the time you have together is sacred. He wastes not a second.

Gale immediately researching about how to lift your curse, that the two of you may live a happy life together after you get your revenge. You tell him not to bother, it’s too much effort, he needs to move on and find someone better - someone with a life worth giving to him. He deserves proper, warm, and tender love, something your dead heart isn’t capable of giving. He does not listen. He doubles down, desperate to keep you in his arms. Maybe he finds some secret forgotten rite which allows you to live after you’ve killed the person who wronged you… or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he watches you die and pass on peacefully when you’re done, then does everything he can to ascend to godhood and bring your soul back into his arms. Either way, nothing will stop your wizard. 

Wyll listens to your story with a heaviness in his heart, but he knows he wasn’t upfront about his past either… but that does give him an idea. One night, with no way to understand how or why, you feel your curse being lifted, life returning properly to your body. When you seek out your Blade he tries to act pleased, but there’s something weighing on him. It does not take long to realise that he has given up his soul in its entirety to Mizora in order to restore yours. You cry and wail and beat at his chest pathetically. How could he make such a trade? You are not worth it. He holds you at arm’s length to look you over and tells you you’ve always been worth it, and he’d make his choice a thousand times over again. You love him so utterly that you're brought to silence. You vow to make the best of this gift he’s given you, with him by your side.

She knows what it is like to live your last days, does Karlach. The infernal engine in her will kill her sooner rather than later, so she indulges with you. Rich food, fine wine, long evenings of partying and celebrations of life. At Baldur’s Gate you hold her after she kills Gortash, and she begs you not to follow her suit, because revenge isnt worth it. This confession just leaves you empty. There is nothing left after except hollowness. And maybe you listen to her, the two of you find a way out of your curse and go on to Avernus to live out your happiness there (or what you can muster of it) or maybe you ignore her, or your time runs out, and she is left to face the Absolute alone - and lets herself burn on that dock, because a life without you isn’t a life at all.

Lae’zel is excited about your revenge. Enthusiastic, even supportive. She does not understand the nature of your curse. Many a long evening is spent training with her so you may sharpen your abilities, and she gains a great respect for you as both a warrior and a person. Either you find a cure which allows you to be together… or too late does she find out what your revenge brings. She holds you in her arms as you pass, your final words ones of love as your body goes limp and your soul passes into a different plane. She takes a lock of your hair and keeps it on her as a reminder. It is all she has left, after all.

Shadowheart is a great supporter of you… as a Sharran. She pushes for your revenge, evangelising the merits of you killing the person who wronged you, as it’s what Lady Shar would want. But then, as a Selûnite, she begins to think differently. Life is sweeter than she believed. There is more to it than suffering, and she wants to experience the loveliness of it with you by her side. She spends her nights poring over tomes to try and cure you. Maybe she finds a way with her new goddess. If not, when you pass, she keeps you in her heart forever, trying to move on with the guidance of her new goddess, but always feeling just that little bit empty without you.

Taglist:  @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kat @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @snoozeeebee @hopeful-n-sad

[easy-there-leftovers]

Hiii can I just say I’m OBSESSED with ISY,D!! Amazing work truly the best ❤️

I saw asks are open so I thought I’d slip in a little prompt 👀

Astarion and Tav have a bit of a spat at camp. Tav is trying to convince Astarion that ascending would make him just as bad as Cazador, but Astarion craves the power and the freedom. Tav, upset and frustrated, ends up leaving for a walk through the late night streets of the gate to clear their head. One of the vampire spawn out looking for their next prey find Tav, recognizing them immediately as Astarion’s love (and one true weakness) and kidnaps them to bring to Cazador. Cazador, being the sick fuck he is, locks Tav away and sends a note to Astarion that he finds the next morning, saying that he had Tav and that if Astarion wants them back he has to surrender to Cazador and go through with the ceremony. Astarion loses his mind and races to the castle with the gang in tow, praying that Tav is unharmed. Will he be there just in time to save Tav? Or will he be too late, will Cazador have already turned them by the time he gets there?

Sorry for the paragraph but this has been in my mind for DAYS and I would cry if you could make this story come to fruition ❤️

-🌸

Hello 🌸anon!! Thank you so much for liking the series, I'm glad that it's something that you enjoy reading! Also, I've decided to include @simp-4-astarion's request as they were rather similar in nature!! Thank you so much for liking my work :,DDD

In addition!! Just a heads up for people who'd like to request or send an idea in, I don't just write for Astarion! Feel free to include your favorite romanceable pcs (and non romanceable npcs lol) into the mix!!

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

That night at camp had been fraught with tension, like a fraying rope ready to snap. The campfire crackled, the tongues of the flame dancing and flickering about, mirroring the storm within the heated pair.

Your voice, something that he's come to find solace in as of late, quivered with frustration unlike any he's heard directed at him before as you tried to reason with him.

"I don't relish it. but my," He pauses, wondering what he should call them. "--Siblings lured thousands of people to their death over the years. I doubt Baldur's Gate would miss any of them." He seems rather taken with the idea, and you worry about what this could mean for him.

"But we don't even know if it's possible, Astarion. You're hypothesizing that you become the Vampire Ascendant at the expense of eradicating the other spawn." Whether or not they had done things as horrendous as your,-- gods you don't even know what you are,-- as the ex-magistrate, they did not deserve to be subjected to such a ritual.

He paces around you, ascertaining your reactions, and making quick work to think about how he could convince you

"And so what? I've obviously thought about it. If I completed the ritual, this evocation, I'd have insurmountable power. And--" He nears himself to you, practically whispering the following words into the skin of you neck. As if anything he said would etch its way into your skin and carve you anew.

"I could walk in the sun without fear of becoming a mindflayer. Don't you want that for me, darling? For us?" The question instills an indescribable fear in you. Not the same fear that's been riddling you as you wonder if you'd perish in one of your many battles, oh no, it was the fear you'd bear witness to when you lost something dear to you.

It's as if he's giving you an out.

Agree with him, and you seal his fate as the Vampire Ascendant with a sure place at his side.

Or disagree, allowing all those spawn the same chance he had been given all those tendays ago, and snuff out whatever growing relationship you had between you.

He senses your uncertainty.

And he feels lost.

He figured that you would be so sure to keep him at your side. Doing anything it takes to make sure it stays that way, but now you're getting cold feet with his blatant proposal of companionship because of what?

These monsters he's hunted with?

These damned spawn that represent everything you've seeked to correct about the world?

"Astarion, please, give them a chance. They were just like you once, give them that much."

At any other time, he would've admired your efforts to help them. But in this moment, he thinks you a fool who could never truly understand what it means to be a slave.

To want for power.

"You did not know them. And you do not know me as well as you may think, my dear, if you think they deserve a chance more than I do."

He doesn't know why it all happened the way it did. The way that his thoughts came tumbling out of his mouth and only allowing the worst of things to escape him.

All he knows was that it had surely hurt you and that he doesn't think he's ever seen your retreating form look as small as it did as you walked towards somewhere in the city.

And that he wished he had remembered where they were. So near to where his consanguines and he used to hunt.

So when he and the others are greeted with a letter smelling of undeath, telling them that they had their precious leader imprisoned in Cazadaor's manor, he knows not to tell them about the little argument you two had.

Knows not to tell them anything to dampen their mood as they search for you.

Knows not to tell them that the likelihood He kept you alive was slim to none, now that he has Astarion's attention.

Once they had been alerted of your whereabouts, a clear ploy to lure him back to his master, there would be no use for you anymore. They don't know Cazador like he did, and he was sure that by the time they reached their destination, you would be no more.

Stil, he's willing to take any chance he can get to get you back. No use in proclaiming you dead if he hasn't seen you, and he'd be damned if he let Cazador take any more from him.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

[bloodycyrano]

K, so I'm in a depressive episode, and I'm craving chocolate. Nobody probably cares, but here's what type of chocolate members of Team Tadpole prefer and how I think they'd react to receiving it as a gift! This is purely headcannons, and I haven't been able to play the game in a few months, so if I get something wrong, don't be mad at me, lol.

Shadowheart: She absolutely adores dark chocolate, and she's absolutely one of those pretentious fuckers who hate milk chocolate, and take anything other than 90-100% cacao as an insult on their fucking bloodline. She does think that she's better than you for liking Dark chocolate- This does not change if she gets her 'good' ending.

If you bring her her favorite type of chocolate, she will not only be impressed but grateful. I feel like she probably has chronic migraines or something and would enjoy sharing it with you some late night with a bottle of wine and a charcuterie board. Probably making flower crowns or feeding animals in a meadow, basic cottagecore lesbian romance stuff. I could be wrong, I've never romanced Shadowheart, but it's just a gut feeling.

Karlach: Karlach likes milk chocolate best, and doesn't see the point in putting up with something bitter just because some people think it's 'better'. More than anything, it reminds her of her mums baking, back when she was a kid. Chocolate is expensive and hard to get your hands on, but by god when the holidays came around or her birthday, I feel like her mum would've baked her the best cookies or chocolate chip muffins after working extra hard to afford it.

Karlach would love whatever type of chocolate you gave her, but I think especially if you brought her hot chocolate or chocolate chip cookies/Muffins/etc, she might even tear up a little. After all, she hasn't had something like that since her mom died.

Wyll: Wyll is a proud enjoyer of chocolate in general, but actually seems to favor white chocolate and dark chocolate the best. He likes to enjoy the contrast in flavors.

I feel like Wyll would just be grateful to be given chocolates, and wouldn't care much what form they came in. He'd probably invite you to enjoy them alongside him, and simply spend time with one another. I do believe he loves dark hot chocolate with whipped cream, and would probably try to set up a day to go to his favorite cafe in baldurs gate for hot chocolate, to return the favor. It's a treat for him, too, since he hasn't been there since his father cast him out. It'll bring a wave of nostalgia, and maybe some unkind memories.. But he will feel happy to be there. Especially to be there with you. And maybe, it'll become a much more common thing.

Astarion: I feel like he prefers dark chocolate, if he's able to eat it at all (I don't remember how vampires work in DnD.)..

If he can't eat it, I feel like he'd miss it.. the simple things. Pleasures like imported chocolates. He might go on a monologue about things he enjoyed as a Mortal that he no longer can.-.. If he can, however, eat chocolate.. I think he'd be surprised. Surprised you thought of him, surprised you spent the money, surprised you wanted to give him anything at all. I think he'd be very happy, but he probably wouldn't want to show it. He'd brush it off with a sarcastic comment or something, yet still taking the mental note that if nobody else cared, at least you did.

Gale: Gale is the most pretentious motherfucker there is, are you kidding me? I think he, himself, loves milk chocolate and it's a major guilty pleasure, but he tells everyone it's dark chocolate. He doesn't shame anyone for their preference, but there comes an air of arrogance whenever he says he likes dark chocolate.

He will definitely be grateful no matter what type you give him, but if you give him milk chocolate and tell him you know it's his favorite? He might try to deny it at first, but his heart is beating a mile a fucking minute knowing that you've been observant enough to bring him his actual favorite type without making a big deal about it, or calling him a liar.

Lae’zel: Has never had chocolate before, and doesn't know why you're giving it to her. She does, however, adore white chocolate after you get her to try some. You'd assume she'd prefer dark, but she doesn't. She believes that if you're going to have a sweet, or a desert, it shouldn't be bitter because that defeats the purpose.

After you get her to try it the first time, she'll insist she doesn't like it or see the reason for it, but at any party or gathering or anything where there's chocolate? She's sampling the fuck out of that snack table, and hovering over the bowl of sweets like a dragon guarding a hoard of treasure. She actually really likes fancy chocolates and truffles. If you bring them to her while in an established relationship, she won't act very different, but she's very happy and feels very loved.

I might do Halsin, Jaheira, Minsc, and Minthara later. Idk.

[petit-etoile]

open  up  your  heart  (stay  soft)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 3,626 content warnings: an extremely complicated look at astarion & a dark urge!tav. there are dom/sub undertones, s&m undertones, astarion doesn't want to be touched but he doesn't mind touching, and probably undernegotiated kink. this is self-indulgent in all honestly, i'm so sorry. originally intended to be part of basorexia. other tags: canon compliant, porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, light masochism, frottage, blood drinking, codependency, gender neutral tav inspired by: this post. archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘Astarion. Do you want a drink?’  /  ‘More than anything,’ he whispers.

‘Please…’

Astarion is on his hands and knees, cerise gaze wild, one hand clutching his chest as though he’s afraid his heart will escape through his ribs. His other hand is reaching for you. It makes you wonder about the power he has given to you to hold over him. You’re afraid to ask what it means. If you’re his favorite, or if you are close and near and he is desperate.

The anguish Astarion wears on his face is mesmerizing. You reach out your hand and cradle his tense face in your palm, smoothing your thumb over the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Astarion leans his face into your touch. He scents the curve of your wrist and bites back a sharp moan. His pink tongue darts out between his teeth.

It’s easy to pretend not to understand what type of situation you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s a moment of shared vulnerability between the two of you. A play in two parts: Act I follows a concerned vampire as he worries endlessly about corrupting a pure soul, and Act II follows the mad descent he leads the soul on until the very depths of the hells are explored. Act III is when the depravity is embraced. Astarion likes to pretend otherwise, but he adores worrying over you. It’s a habit that he can’t shake now that he’s picked it up. He watches you and holds his breath, lips parted.

You see: It’s a game. A very careful, very orchestrated game.

Part of this is very healing for Astarion. In the same way it gives you power, it also gives him power  —  Cazador would have never given him the blood that he so desperately craves, but you will. You hold your hand out and Astarion places his chin into your palm, eyes fluttering shut at the tender touch. Your heart threatens to break.

What a beautiful man he is now on his hands and knees for you, and unlike those who came before you, you have no desire to hurt him. No, you think. You join him in the dirt on your knees and brush your fingers beneath his chin akin to how one would pet a cat. Astarion purrs and offers you his pout in exchange for a kiss.

Instead of indulging him, you take the hand he once offered you and place his fingers against your pulse as it jumps beneath your skin. Astarion’s pupils tighten. His mouth presses into a firm line. It might be your imagination, but his skin pinkens prettily for you.

‘Do you want a drink?’ you ask softly.

‘Please,’ he whimpers. ‘Just a taste. Only a drop.’

‘Only a little?’ you hum.

It’s the hour of the wolf and Astarion’s favorite time to prowl. You can pretend to be in control as much as you like, but you know the truth. All it would take is one mistake, and Astarion could easily devour you and drain you dry without another thought. He’s dangerous despite how you hate to admit it.

But that’s where the other’s usually forget. All your warnings, all your revelations, and the other members of your party see you as naught but who you claim to be. They are willfully ignorant of your dark nature. Astarion compliments it.

In some macabre way, tonight is a test. Will you kill Astarion, or will he kill you? If you were prone to betting, you would say that you would win. Your skill as the Blood of Baldur’s Gate is not to be taken lightly, but a vampire spawn who is hungry could easily overtake you.

If you wanted him to.

You swallow very carefully. You do want him to. It’s no romanticized obsession, but a simple longing that won’t go away no matter how hard you try. You think about it absentmindedly sometimes when you’ve done nothing but walk for miles upon miles.

Would your eyes turn red? Would the color be drained from your skin as your ichor was stolen? Would you look pretty as a vampire, carefully playing the part of a damsel at night? It would be a good disguise…but you don’t want it to be a disguise. You want it to be a reality, and that terrifies you.

You want Astarion. You need Astarion like air, like water. He’s the only thing keeping you grounded in this mess. He’s witty, cruel, rude  —  but you find that it helps you focus more than anyone else’s steadfast desire to be cured.  Like Astarion, you don’t want to be cured. The tadpole is the one thing holding that murderous urge at bay even as unsuccessful as it seems.

You watch Astarion’s mouth. You study the way his lips tremble, how the muscle beneath his bottom lip tenses as he struggles to contain himself. Still, he does his best to make sure his expressions don’t betray his intentions. He doesn’t want you to know that he’s wondering the same thing. He eyes your throat hungrily. His nails drag across your pulse like a threat. He shakes.

Astarion won’t hurt you. You’re almost certain of it. Even as the nail of his thumb digs into your pulse, you know that he is pretending to struggle for your sake. His perceived lack of control excites you.

It entices you. His bravado is exhilarating. You like that he is playing it up for your sake. It reminds you of the night he first bit you and every night after that, but this is a ceremony unprecedented by the nights before. With the slightest pressure, Astarion tilts your chin back and watches.

You repeat yourself. ‘Astarion. Do you want a drink?’

‘More than anything,’ he whispers.

Astarion caters towards a façade he knows you enjoy. He’s petulant, pouty, and his eyebrows are drawn so tightly together that he reminds you of a stray beast. You look at his mouth again. He’s unable to hide the way his mouth waters. He moves his tongue behind his teeth almost as if they pain him, as if his teeth themselves are swollen. Drool catches on his plump lip.

‘Astarion  —  ’

‘Please,’ he says, voice low. He caves to your whims. ‘Like before, a taste, a sip, a drink. I’ve been good, I promise.’ He licks his lip. ‘I’m always good, now.’

‘You have,’ you say. ‘You’ve been very good.’

‘So I should get to drink,’ Astarion suggests.

You close your eyes and pretend to consider it. The thought of Cazador denying Astarion anything sickens you, and you try your best not to grind your teeth. This is a show, you have to remind yourself. A play. This is not about you, but about Astarion. You’ll acquiesce but you would be lying if you said you weren’t interested in seeing how far Astarion would allow you to push him.

‘I don’t believe you,’ you laugh. He squeezes your neck involuntarily.

‘I’m on my best behavior,’ Astarion insists. ‘I’ll show you, in exchange for a taste.’

‘A small taste,’ you allow. ‘A drop.’

Without thinking, Astarion pets your neck. He uses both hands to trace elegant lines along your throat. He scratches his nails across the line of your jaw without drawing blood. You want to kiss him, or to bite him, or to seek pleasure but now is not the time. Astarion is letting you in. He’s allowing you ever so politely to heal him.

If you call it healing, Astarion will bare his fangs and dismiss you. He wants to call it exploration. He finds your weaknesses, and you destroy his. It’s a good enough deal in your eyes. You kiss, you laugh, you dance together, and in the dark beneath a full moon, you search for answers.

You pull Astarion to you, your fingers fisted into the curls of his hair. You lead his mouth to the pulse in your neck and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ignore how unsteady you feel. Even though it’s pretend, Astarion’s weakness makes you warm at the core.

‘Thank you,’ Astarion whispers. He swallows hard.

He kisses your pulse wetly. He sinks his teeth into your neck with ease, and you play up the way you twist and shiver, groaning softly as if the sting of his fangs isn’t a familiar, welcome pain. He drinks a single drop as promised and leans back.

There is a thinness to the control Astarion shows you. He doesn’t have the confidence to pull too far away from you, and his eyes don’t leave the puncture wounds at your jaw. He wraps an arm around your waist and swallows sharply, turning his cheek the other way as if ashamed of how debauched you make him.

‘Good,’ you whisper. ‘You really are being good.’

‘So I can have more?’ Astarion asks.

‘What do you say when you want something?’

‘Please,’ Astarion says hoarsely.

Very carefully, you guide Astarion’s mouth back to the puncture wounds. This is something entirely new for him. A control that is both welcome and curious. He laps at your neck carefully, huffing out little noises against your skin as he collects droplets of your blood on the tip of his tongue. He takes his time in tasting you, in becoming mesmerized by the taste your life’s blood has to offer. Now Astarion knows that when he asks for something, you have very little ability to tell him no.

Not when he’s like this. Not when he’s being good.

Astarion being “good” almost sounds like a conundrum. Earlier today he was advocating for avoiding duties that could be seen as kindness. Now, you’re almost certain you could ask him for his help in anything and he would oblige. Not only has he found the freedom to feed whenever, he’s found the freedom in asking you. He had hesitated before, choosing to feast upon bad men. But even the good deserve their sins.

Not that it genuinely takes much to get you to agree to anything Astarion asks. As much sway as you hold over him, he holds over you. That’s why when he overstays and takes more blood than you wanted to let him, you say nothing.

You close your eyes. You shouldn’t, but something about Astarion’s bite always causes your mind to fog up until you can’t think of anything else. There’s no more draw to do something unseemly to one of your other companions. You don’t think you smell blood on your hands. You’re allowed to exist outside that ravenous bloodlust.

‘Enough,’ you tell Astarion.

He whines against your neck.

You can already imagine the excuses. I’m sorry, I lost focus, I was so thirsty, you really do have to forgive me, and if it were any other day, you’d swallow up his apologies as though they were lyrics to a song. You have to remind yourself: Today is not about you. Astarion asked you for this. You hum disappointedly and Astarion slinks away from your neck guiltily.

Except he doesn’t feel that guilty about it. His eyes are twinkling like they haven’t in hours. The more Astarion feeds on your blood, the more color that pools into his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. There is drool and blood mixed on his chin, and he doesn’t wipe it off. He offers you his chin and you take it, and carefully, you clean his face for him and wipe it on your camp clothes. The mess is a problem for another day. Astarion shamelessly stares at your neck instead of your eyes.

As if he’s practiced being pathetic for you, Astarion whines. He leans forward without permission and tries to sip at your neck again, but you catch him just in time. The refusal causes him to fuss and toss around on the dirt, crawling to you because he can’t help himself. He catches your fingers and pulls the mess you couldn’t clean to his lips, lapping at the spaces between your fingers for another taste of you.

‘If you want something,’ you say breathlessly, ‘how do we ask for it?’

‘I want your blood,’ Astarion says bluntly, eyes burning in the moonlight. ‘Please  —  Please let me have it. I could drink yours for hours.’

Gods be good. You steel yourself against his pretty words and shake your head. If you were to speak, your voice would betray how disgustingly turned on you are. Astarion knows it too. He always does. Behind the desire for your blood in his eyes is his desire to take you in fully. Your whims interest him because he’s never experienced them. Once, he said most fled once the fangs were in, but you kept coming back for more.

Your interests. His interests. Tonight is not an exchange of blood for sex or sex for blood. Astarion takes charge of his destiny, and you follow in his footsteps. Tonight is an exchange for power and safety. Only when he’s ready will you acknowledge your own hunger.

And thank the gods he does not make you wait for long. Astarion slips a hand between your thighs and presses his palm against where you’re the most tense with such confidence and precision your positions are almost flipped. Astarion has heard you beg many times. It’s almost his favorite pastime beyond hunting. You won’t do it tonight.

‘Drink,’ you command him.

His pout vanishes immediately. There is no careful, organized action behind how he pounces on you this time. He knocks you into the grass and bites you on the opposite side of where he bit you before as if to prove a point. His arms snake around you, one hand cradling your head to keep it from thrashing against the ground, and the other around your waist so you’re forced to arch your back for him.

Astarion drinks as though he’s never tasted blood before. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it. Every time he presses his mouth to your skin, it’s like a sinner turning to prayer. You are not a saint nor an idol of perfect disposition. You are what the gods fear most. Yet when Astarion feeds from you so voraciously but holds you so tenderly, you feel like a delicate treasure.

He eats you. Mind, body, soul. He takes away your bad blood and casts it out like a venom. You shiver despite your best attempts to maintain a rigid figure. Astarion moans against your neck. When you least expect it, he presses a thigh between your legs and grunts encouragingly. He won’t use his words. Not when there’s drink to be wasted. With the last of your conscious thoughts, you push your fingers through his curls.

Astarion tempers your masochistic streak by being the one person in the world who can truly sate it. A vampire’s bite is never comfortable, and the chill of his body is never enough to dull the pain. Sometimes you’re able to sleep through it, when he’s being as gentle, as careful as he can.

He is rough with you this evening because it’s what you need. You choke out a weak cry as you begin rutting against his leg, and although your cheeks burn with shame, it’s the best thing you’ve done all week besides sleep in a real bed. Astarion feeds from you and you grind against him, drunk on the balance of interests.

This is what you were missing in Baldur’s Gate.

Astarion is free to ask for the things he wants without fear of penalty.

You can chase punishment.

Astarion rolls his hips against yours to help distract you from the power of his bite. It’s hard to focus when you can feel his tongue lapping at your pulse and your core feels so tight and hot that you can barely think beyond how much you want him. You try to look for the stars to ground yourself, but the only stars you can see are the stars dancing in your vision.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

He growls in response. The sound is begrudging. He wants to do good and pull away, to show you that he knows how to be good, but it’s another one of his tests. The first night, you almost succumbed to him because you were too distracted by blood loss to be of any use. Astarion wants you to know your limits as well. You gasp and turn your cheek. It’s so hard to focus…

‘Astarion,’ you hear yourself say, ‘that’s enough. You’ve had your fill.’

Finally, he pulls away from your neck. He’s ravishing. Astarion carries a pride to himself, an assurance, that you might not have seen from him if you weren’t so intent on helping him stand up on his own two feet. He licks your blood from his lips and slowly cleans the mess left on lips and cheeks, funneling what’s left into his mouth so that he can taste you for the rest of the evening. Your eyes flutter shut at the sight and that’s when you lose focus.

Astarion’s thigh is soft between your legs. You shamelessly grind against him. You feel weak, and you know you’re pallid and sweaty and boneless, and Astarion only makes it worse. Once he’s finished licking clean his fingers, he grabs you by the hips and helps you ride out your intent on his thigh. He leans over you.

‘Watch,’ you whisper.

‘Is that a command?’

‘Yes.’

Astarion smiles wickedly. ‘And what am I watching, my darling?’

‘I want you to watch as I cum,’ you say unashamedly.

You notice it again. How your words affect him. Astarion’s pupils tighten a bit more and he truly devotes his attention to you, watching as you writhe your hips against his leg, back arched off the dirt and sticks and rock. You must be an absolute sight to behold as you bleed and chase your pleasure, but all you can think about is his face right now as he watches like you told him to.

You cry wordlessly and try not to twist away out of habit.

It’s so hard to focus, to breathe. You feel like you’re running out of time with how dizzy you’re becoming, and Astarion helps you through it so that you can fuck yourself until you find relief. You can feel a knot forming in your lower back, Your thighs and calves are burning, and your throat is so hot and warm you can’t stop from moaning.

When you do find it, that senseless pleasure so deep in your core, you’re almost certain you pass out for a few minutes. You cut off the sound of your own orgasm by clenching your teeth together and stiffening, but Astarion is there to murmur encouraging things as you navigate whatever is left of your consciousness. It’s so hard to think, to be, to exist. But it’s worth it when you open your eyes and you’re met with the softest look Astarion has ever given you.

‘You did amazing,’ you say breathlessly.

Astarion laughs, not meanly or cruelly, but a sound full of reverence. ‘I did amazing?’ he asks. ‘Look at you, my love.’

Whatever it was that Astarion wanted to work through, he seems to have managed it. He rubs your sides soothingly as you try to cool down and warm up at the same time. Your hair is beginning to curl against your skin from how much you’ve sweated and how much blood you’ve lost. Even though it’s not as much as you would in battle, you still can’t help but curl up on your side and press a hand against your forehead, desperate for some clarity.

‘There you are, my precious little love,’ Astarion soothes sweetly. He kisses your temple.

‘Did I help you?’ you ask sleepily.

He doesn’t respond at first, and you don’t have the strength to look over your shoulder to try and see what he’s thinking about. He rubs a circle into your lower back. Your stomach begins to feel a little funny, like it’s filled to the brim with butterflies.

You welcome the silence. You doze off for a few minutes, comforted by the weight of his hand against your back. Your mind has never felt so empty before. There’s always a dull roar, and now… You press your fingers to your lips to hide your smile.

‘Once again,’ Astarion begins delicately, ‘I feel like you’ve given me something I can never fully thank you for. I am not so afraid now as I was before. That’s because of you.’

‘And because of yourself,’ you mumble. ‘You ought to give yourself credit. This was but a small test, and you passed.’

Astarion’s mouth pops open like he’s contemplating arguing, but he decides against it. You feel him lie down next to you, his chest to your back, his hips to your hips, his knees against your knees. Normally, you hold him like this —  It’s a comfortable way to sleep, and you like being able to smell his skin.

‘How do you feel?’ Astarion asks you quietly.

Now it’s your turn to contemplate the severity of things. You don’t know how to address it, not when he’s sucked your brains through your skin and helped you fuck the rest of them out of your system. You rub an eye tiredly.

‘My mind is empty,’ you admit, ‘for the first time since I woke up aboard the ship.’Astarion hums like he’s conquered the world and peppers the nape of your neck in a thousand little kisses. You help him, he helps you. It isn’t a perfect system, but it’s your system. I love you dances on the tip of your tongue, and you’re almost to a dream when you hear Astarion say it back.

[jynxeddraca]

Small, Soft BG3 Things

Just an ongoing list of small headcanons for Team Tadpole.

Astarion:

Astarion learned how to sew and embroider from his mother. She loved to embroider poems that she sold at market. Most of his word based embroidery looks like her handwriting, even though he doesn't remember that.

He's the go-to member of Team Tadpole for mending because he's the best out of all of them at it. More importantly: as he comes to view them as friends, the basic mending is supplemented with subtle embroidery.

Every child that he ends up spending time around learns some slight of hand trick and/or how to use a knife.

When everyone is asleep and he's particularly at ease, he'll quietly sing to himself while doing other things.

Gale:

As the self-appointed cook - come time to set up camp, Gale might fuss about the bizarre assortment of food stuff they find on their travels, but he secretly revels in the challenge of making filling, delicious foods out of what they're able to scavenge.

Cooking was how his mother and him bonded as he grew up so now it's his favorite way of showing affection/appreciation to others.

Spoils Tara with all her favorite foods when they're reunited (also I headcanon Tara joins the camp most nights in Act 3).

When he was younger, he specifically created an enchantment to enchant his mother's favorite rocking chair so that when it was activated, mage hands would appear and give her shoulders and feet a massage.

Halsin:

He learned to whittle from an uncle and the knife he uses today for his carvings was given to him by his mother - whose favorite animal was ducks.

Halsin likes to go sit in Bloomridge park when the city gets to him, taking Yenna with him if she's agreeable. He has taught her and several other random children how to braid flower crowns.

When he returns to Reithwin Town, he teaches Art how to whittle and Art teaches Halsin how to play the lute.

On nights where Halsin is keeping watch will offer to turn pages for Tara so she can read a book or two.

Jaheira:

Will turn into a cat/dog to give comfort to children if they are inconsolable.

Takes an afternoon with Halsin - both in wildshape - to show him how nature and the city can be more harmonious than he originally thought.

The lullaby she knows how to play on the tin whistle was one taught to her by her late husband - she has put all her children to sleep to it's tune.

Teases Tara about her treating Gale like her kitten.

The rats that show up in camp do give her updates on other Harpers - but most of the time they are updates about her children.

Karlach:

Clive - her teddy bear - was knitted by her mother and she considers him her 'good luck charm'. Before the infernal engine was forced onto her, he could often be found tucked into Karlach's belt at any given point of the day or in her purse/pouch.

Karlach almost left Avernus without Clive, and risked missing the Nautiloid to go back to grab him.

Because she calls Halsin "Bear Man" Arabella starts calling him that too. At the same time, Karlach starts calling Withers "Bone Man" because of Arabella.

Her parents used to dance around the living room with her - in camp she'll get Arabella and later, Yenna, to do the same. When she's especially energetic, she makes Wyll join her.

Lae'zel:

While she originally hates everything about Faerûn, she becomes especially fond of the sunrises and finds she enjoys sunflowers.

After the egg is acquired, she does softly sing an old githyanki lullaby to when she tends to it.

Because she feels it is an important skill to have for when the egg hatches, she learns to sew by watching Astarion. Eventually, she asks him for tips.

Lae'zel seems well-read (on githyanki literature anyways) in my opinion so I feel like even though she's a very skilled fighter, she also spent much of her time in the creche library growing up. In camp, she raids Gale's library bag often.

When Karlach started calling her 'Lae', she began referring to Karlach as 'Kar'.

Minsc and Boo:

When Boo isn't around Minsc, he spends time around Shadowheart curled up on her shoulder or sitting beside her as she meditates.

Amused that it baffles people who can speak with animals, Boo purposefully does not allow them to understand him and sticks with his telepathic communications with Minsc.

Minsc enjoys finding excuses to tell stories and is a good storyteller.

Teaches Tav a few Rashemen songs and stories.

Minsc and Boo both have a faint smell of warm stone about them due to being statues for a while.

Shadowheart:

When meditating, sometimes unknowingly hums an old lullaby her parents used to sing her.

Still sometimes mutters "Lady of Sorrows" when exasperated, and at one point while very tired said "Lady of Sil-rrows" instead.

Has started keeping seeds and nuts on hand for Boo.

Talking to Astarion and Halsin in Elvish is soothing to her, and sometimes it triggers memories of her father.

Tav:

Was gifted a stuffed bunny by her dad when she was a baby. His name is Biscuit.

Biscuit was handed down to Temerity (Tav's little sister) while they were in the orphanage and he currently lives on Temerity's pillow.

Tav and Karlach have introduced Clive (Karlach's teddy bear) to Biscuit.

The smell of leather oil reminds her of her father.

Wyll:

Has a soft spot in his heart for trashy romance novels and anything related to mermaids. An aside: even though he hasn't been home in years, the merfolk around Baldur's Gate remember him fondly as a child trying to swim deep enough to see them.

Actually enjoys debating Astarion about laws and their effects - even though they have wildly different views on the laws.

Has a secret tattoo, and yes, it's mermaid themed.

Offered to teach Lae'zel to use a rapier if she showed him how to wield a longsword.

Also enjoys cooking and likes to show Gale different ways to season/cook in the wilds.

The rapier he has at the start of the game was gifted to him by his father.

[saphirered]

hello saph! first off, i'm wishing you good luck on your masters! i'm doing mine next year and i'm super looking forward to it, so i hope everything goes well for you too!! 💖💖💖

now, WELCOME TO THE HOT VAMPIRE ELF CLUB!! may i request Astarion/Reader(Tav) where Tav is a good aligned Life Cleric (or anything similar) that focuses on healing and supporting allies during combat, someone's that's a ray of sunshine because they choose the difficult path of being kind. i'm curious of your take on Astarion receiving genuine kindness, being disgusted at first, the progression of his attempted manipulation, eventually realizing his feelings, and how he would react to Tav being extremely injured in a fight and trying to save them (with good ending hopefully).

oh and maybe some blood drinking. you know. for reasons :-)

you're such a creative writer, i'm always looking forward to anything you post, so thank you! have a lovely day!

Hello dearie and thank you! Uni is tough but worth it so good luck with yours! I hope this little piece of distraction is to your tastes. 😘

Oh how easy it is to wrap you around his finger. Your sickening sweet and sheer willingness to bend over backwards at the smallest inconvenience you have the ability to fix, it’s nauseating. You’d already naturally gravitated towards him. It must be this incessant need to fix the broken. You seem to be attracted to broken things, thinking you can mend them with love and affection and a gentle touch like a stray pulled from the streets. He is no such thing. He is certainly no stray.  A handsome wanderer without a home port, now that’s more like him. But you didn’t need to see that. You didn’t need to know him or his past. As long as Astarion kept on the front he could be your next project, just like these strays you’ve pulled along, well that might just work to his advantage. 

To say you were an absolutely horrible influence on him would be an understatement. Whether it be his thieving and charming tendencies that often lead to heartbreak of the recipient or when his silver tongue is perhaps a little too sharp at times, your disapproval sparked something in the coils of his stomach he has not felt in nigh two-hundred years. Is this what remorse and guilt felt like? Did he want your approval? Your praise? He’s being utterly ridiculous. He has nothing to prove and you are just a tool. But here he is feeling just the slightest bit of guilt at the thought of you finding out the truth about him and how you might look at him then. He considers he might just not be able to look you in the eye. What has he become? 

Admittedly Astarion got a little peckish and without much opportunities to feed himself proper he’d taken to your neck. An attempt was made but you caught him. Your eyes opened and stared right at him in surprise. He was equally surprised, his stealth having failed him. In that moment you managed to flip him onto his back and held your palm to his chest as you crouched over him. You’re much stronger than he gave you credit for. Maybe you just got lucky.

“What the hell Astarion?!” You whisper trying not to wake the others. He can all but heart the beat of your heart, how quickly your blood rushes through your veins. When he doesn’t move you give him a little more space. You don’t move for a weapon or attack him as he might have expected given what it must have looked like. You simply sit down next to him and he watches the tension disappear from your shoulders, the adrenaline rush coming down with. He goes over the excuses, the ways to explain to you but you simply hold up your hand to silence him. He finds it in his best interest to do so. 

“You know you could have just asked.” He freezes like a deer in the torch light. You knew? How? How long had you known? Why hadn’t you said anything, done anything. He’s not blind to the prejudices against the creatures of his sort. Especially the ones that feed on the innocent.  yet here you are in front of him absentmindedly brushing your fingers along the side of your delicious neck. 

“Yes. Yes of course. ‘Hello my dear, I’m a blood sucking vampire spawn would you mind lending me your lovely neck for a few gulps? I’m incredibly peckish and could use a snack.’ Exactly how long do you think it would take for me to end with a stake in my chest or my handsome head removed from my ravishing body?” He ridicules and for a brief moment that pang in his chest, that tightening string reappears when you cast your eyes down and frown. It only lasts for a second before you go back to your neutral welcoming expression of understanding and compassion. 

“I just hoped you’d be able to trust us, trust me. If you’d asked I’d have said yes. Would still say yes. All you need is ask, Astarion.” He tries to decipher any means of deceit or strings attached but finds none which leads him exactly to wonder…

“Why?” You catch on to the hint of suspiciousness and guardedness but you’ve not seen anything else from the elf. You’ve witnessed him for a little bit now and you know he must have his reasons to be mistrusting and always assuming everyone’s selfishness to be the root of any actions. You made him question that entire way of thinking. Whether he deemed you an exception to his usual views, allowed you to prove him differently or he’s simply chalked you up as a very good liar, you don’t know and perhaps neither does he. 

He needed you to trust him. You do trust him. You’ve proven as much yet here he is still questioning your motives. You have your answer ready for him and by the looks of it it would be a genuine one but he doesn’t think he has the heart to actually hear it. He shakes his head. Something within him once again sparks that guilt. He feels bad for his motives of befriending you, of pursuing the path to something more, of charming you perhaps even into his bed if he kept playing his cards right but with every step he takes in that direction he can’t help but feel that guilt, and having to force himself to push down his own feelings. 

“Nevermind.” Once again Astarion flashes you a charming smile. “Now since we have this little secret out of the way, I will ask. Not a drop more than I need?” It feels so incredibly strange to blatantly ask. He knows about certain individuals who have a thing for the sharp teethed and sanguine hungers but that is not you. What you offer is not for you. It’s for him. You want to help him, truly help him and that is why you offer. He’s been feeling so weak. The animals aren’t enough. The humanoid is so much more sustaining. He’ll be strong. He has to be strong if he wants to see this all through, to finally become master of his own fate. An intrusive thought pops through his head; maybe there’s a place for you in that plan as well. 

“Only as much as you need. I’d like to keep my wits about.” The first part is a true statement. The second a half-joke. As much as he needs his strength, so do you. 

“Well then, let’s make ourselves comfortable then, shall we?” He gestures to your bedroll. You simply scoot over.

Astarion, ever so gently as if you might fade into the dawn itself, lays you down. Never once does he break eye contact. You can see the brief hesitation, then reassurance of himself, and then something akin to pain. It crosses his features in but an instant but you catch on to it either way. It seems he’s noticed you catch on but he does not read into you further. Instead he softens, brushes aside your hair as he supports your neck and back. You place one of your hands on his bicep and give a reassuring squeeze and nod. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath before making for your neck. 

It starts as a sharp and quick pain but is overtaken by a the awareness of the sheer rush of your own blood flowing through your veins. He drinks and drinks. You gasp his name, once more squeezing his arm but no response. He’s caught up in whatever runs through him, whatever keeps him latched onto your neck. You start to feel cold, then warm and lightheaded. You can feel your heartbeat speed up as well as your breathing calms and slows. 

He doesn’t know what overcame him. This isn’t anything he’s experienced before. This is pure euphoria. You are pure euphoria. Your heart, your mind, your very soul. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the tadpole. It has to be. He feels it all. He feels it as if those feelings are his own. He feels the warmth you radiate as it warms him from within like the rays of the sun he thought he’d never be able to feel again, not without them being his end. Your compassion and affections for him, the way you allow him to cradle you, how you fit so perfectly within his embrace. You hold him dearly and think highly of him even if sometimes you disapprove of his choices, words and actions there’s not but understanding to him. Whatever this is, it is unconditional. No one has ever held an unconditional affection for him. He won’t go as far to call it love, but in a way it is. You truly do care about him. Even the whisper of his name upon your breath is like charm bells to his ears. The way you hold on to him, it means everything. And in turn it makes him regret every step he’s taken, every step he knows will lead to your heartbreak and destruction. But all this he feels through you, all this that opens within himself it is addicting and he can’t pull himself away.

By the time he stops you’re not responding. Your body is unmoving. Shit. He can fix this. Of course he can fix this. The matter now comes down to testing the limits of your forgiveness.

[veren-cos]

Just Let Me In

Astarion (Bg3) x reader

TW: Contains mentions of self-harm. Do not read this if you are not in an okay mental state. If this is something you struggle with, I strongly recommend you reach out to someone.

"I just need you to let me in." He held on to your hands, tightly grasping you. It's as though he thought if he let you go, you'd disappear. "I see you. I see you're hurting. I see you're hurting yourself!" He makes a gesture to you and your new scrapes and cuts. "But I need you to talk to me! I can't help you if you don't let me!"

You looked away. It had been so long since you had hurt yourself. So long. You were doing so well. And then it hit. You had tried to hide it, but Astarion knew every part of you. He knew something had changed.

Tears began picking at your eyes. You turned back and just stared at him. Every time you tried to speak, nothing came out.

And then tears spilled.

"My love, my darling. It's okay. I'm not.. Upset." He made a face. "Okay I'm upset. But I'm not angry. I could never be angry at you. I'm upset because you didn't talk to me. Because you felt like you couldn't, given your stammering."

He pulled you into a loose hug, and then led you to a chair. Once he had you sitting, he got a cup of water, and set it on the desk next to you. He crouched in front of you, and reclaimed his hold on your hands.

"Take a deep breath." He didn't need to breath, but he made a bit of a show to get you to follow his lead. "There you go, Darling. You're okay. Drink some water once you catch your breath."

It takes a while, but you finally stabled. Your breath was at a normal pace, and you weren't actively sobbing.

"Good. You are doing so well. Now." He made sure you were looking in his eyes. "Talk to me."

And you felt like crying. Again. Gods is this what you were going to do all night?

"I'm sorry."

"No." He sighed, "No, don't be sorry. You didn't do this because you're sorry. You're sorry because you've hurt yourself. What is the cause?"

Another brief pause to calm your eyes. He held your hands as you began to speak.

"I don't know what to do with myself. Any reason that I could possibly give doesn't seem good enough. I know I shouldn't be like this. I know I shouldn't do this. But it felt like I needed to...'

You continued, "Astarion.. Astarion, it had been so long, you have to believe me! I was doing so well! I have been trying so hard. I dont know why I'm like this, and I don't know how to fix it. I'm sorry."

He pulled you into another hug, and leaned against you to keep his balance on the floor. "Shhh shhh..." He rubbed small circles on your back. "It's okay. You can do this. I'm right here. Keep going. It's okay."

You took a deep breath. "I don't like myself. I'm not good enough. I know you will just say that I am, but I could be doing so much more. All I want is to get this damned parasite out of my head. All I want is to be okay. Okay, and with you. But I don't know how to deal with this. It's too much. The only way I know how is with. Well. I mean you saw it. I don't think I can say it out loud. Not yet."

You had managed to get through your whole speech without crying. You clearly said every word, even through the shaky breaths.

"Well then let's start from there. I am so proud of you, darling. You have done so much. You have helped me - and our rag-tag bunch of idiots out there - more times than I can count, and more than you'll ever know. You are doing so well, and yes you took a step back. But that is okay. You will take two steps forward. And I will be right here."

Astarion pulled back from the hug to look you in your eyes. Even after crying, he still thought you were the most beautiful person in faerun. He made a note to tell you that later.

"I love you. And it will be okay. You will be okay. Now let's just take a moment to get you all fixed up. I can steal a potion of lesser healing from shadowheart maybe?"

You nodded in response, but with a look that said 'but no stealing' which he promptly ignored.

Once he came back, he had you drink it and then laid down. He gestured for you to lay beside him. But you settled on his chest, wrapping your leg over his waist.

"Thank you." You all but whispered.

"There is nothing to thank. Now sleep, my love."

You felt a bit better from the potion. It had sealed up the new cuts. Made it as if they were never there. But you knew. You knew that it would feel like it never went away. You still felt as though the wound in your mind was wide open.

But it would be okay. You had Astarion with you. He sat next to you as you went to sleep, your hand in one of his, and a book in the other. He quietly read out loud, enough for you to follow along but low enough as to not disturb you if you fell asleep. He cared for you. He cared for you so much you didn't know what to do with yourself.

So yes, it would be okay. He made it okay.

You had finally let him in.

Authors Note: Once again, if you are struggling with self harm or suicidal thoughts, please reach out for help. There are multiple help lines and resources depending on your region which are easy to find on Google. Talk to your friends. I promise things get better.

Ps. If there is a way I can more clearly label the trigger warning lmk, I wasn't entirely sure how to phrase it, but it serves its purpose.

[brabblesblog]

A Gift

Part 3 of the Goodnight Moon series!

Astarion finds out what the scroll you’ve been practicing with is for.

Read on AO3.

Part 1

Part 4

Masterlist.

It’s been days.

Days since he’s actually found you awake when he came over to feed. As of late you’ve been snoring in your bedroll by the time he’s come, and as much as he liked feeding, he did like talking to you more.

And he knows exactly why. That blasted scroll. And that wizard.

Astarion waits for a quiet moment when you’re not by Gale’s side (which has been rather rare lately) and barges into his tent, fuming.

“Gale!”

The wizard looks up, looking completely relaxed and ready to sleep in his camp clothes. “What can I do for you, As-“

“Whatever it is you two are doing - I don’t care! It’s perfectly fine,” he says with such venom that it’s pretty obvious it’s not true, “but I still need a conscious blood bag!”

Gale quirks up an eyebrow and without missing a beat, says “why do you need your food to be conscious?”

That makes him pause. His lips join in a pout. He hadn’t really thought up an excuse - it was just a good moment to complain and demand what he wanted.

“It- hmm. Conscious beings have faster heartbeats so- so it would be easier for me. Yes.”

Gale almost laughs in his face but holds back at the last second. “Ask her what the scroll is for. She’s ready.” With that cryptic reply, he laid down and with a wave of his fingers, turned off the soft motes of light he conjured for himself. “Night, Astarion. Happy feeding.”

Astarion growls, very much irritated. He stalks off towards you. It’s just after supper, a lot earlier than when he usually would come to see you, so your eyes widen in surprise when he plops down beside you and sighs dramatically.

“Out with it. What spell have you been learning?” It comes out harsh, harsher than he meant to, and he saw you cringe a little.

“I wanted to learn this one spell to uh-,” you fumble around in your bag, trying to find it. “Well. You’ll see. I know I’m not the best at spells like you said, so I decided to make sure it’s perfect before I show you.”

He swallows down the small wave of guilt and then watches you finally grab the scroll. You stand up, open the scroll and after a deep breath, say the incantation.

It takes a second for him to realize what he’s looking at.

A pale, white-haired elf stares back at him with crimson eyes. It looks almost terrified, shoulders bunched up to look as small as possible.

“Is- is this- I’m sorry if you don’t-“ you stammer. You assume it worked (it did work when you practiced), but his stare was throwing you off.

Astarion gets up, hands on hips, and then leans in close. Close enough for you to feel his breath as he drinks in every part of your (his) body. He takes a sharp breath and then you watch as that open expression in his face closes up into something more familiar. Smugness.

“Everyone was right. I am beautiful,” he breathes. He watches as his own face looks down, a flash of disappointment and sadness quickly covered by a neutral expression. Still, he could tell how you felt. You were never good at masking emotions.

“Yes. You are beautiful,” you say, sadness intermingling with the joy you felt at finally giving him this. Because even as you worked hard to be able to do this, it seemed like you couldn’t really break through to the real him.

After that last kiss he had given you, you had often wondered if it meant something. You knew it was very unlikely, but there was always an ember of hope that he would return your feelings. It didn’t matter if he did or not - you would still give him the world if you could - but all the same, that small selfish spark lived in you. As your thoughts cloud and your concentration breaks, the illusion fades and you turn back into yourself.

He blinks and clears his throat. “My dear, I do appreciate it,” he says, misunderstanding the source of your sadness. “I had thought you and Gale were - well Gale was tiring you out a lot.” Those last words had an edge in them, try as he might to hide it.

“Gale? No.” You blush a little, that he had noticed, and you look away. “He’s nice and a great friend, but him and I both know where we stand.”

Who are you falling for, then?

He couldn’t bring himself to ask that yet. Instead he puffs up his chest and says “well, good! Gale won’t be able to please you, anyway. Not like I do.”

He smirks as you blush and takes the initiative, moving closer. “I could show you how thankful I am for your gift,” he whispers, arms wrapping around your waist.

“I did miss you, you know? I missed the scintillating sounds you make when I feed on you. Which makes me even more glad you’ll now be awake when I come over,” he adds.

Gods. If only. You want to just stay in this moment, the two of you so close it would only take one step to press your bodies together. You squeeze your eyes shut, gathering the resolve to refuse him. You gently push him away, shaking your head.

“Astarion. Remember what I said,” you remind him gently. “It is a gift. There isn’t any exchange involved.”

He furrows his brow. Yes, he remembers you saying that, but it hasn’t really sunk in yet. For a split second he wants to tell you that he genuinely would want it, but he shuts down that idea- hard. Feelings were for fools and the naive, and he wasn’t either.

Instead he pulls away. “If that is your wish,” he says as he slowly backs out. “In any case - I’ll be seeing your delicious self tonight.”

He turns, making sure he can’t see your face and you his, and then says, “and thank you, by the way. I won’t forget it.”

[alpydk]

I know you've been back and forth about Gale smut, but can I maybe request angsty smut?

Gale 100% sure he's gonna use the orb at the endgame, but fooling Tav into thinking he had been convinced. The night before the last battle, Tav thinking it might be their last night but Gale *knowing* it is.

Hello anon. Thank you for this prompt. I'll admit, it's been a challenge and I'll admit this is more like 90% angst and 10% maybe smut... You'll see what I mean.

Lose you

Word Count - 1221 words - C/W Angst, death, last night.

‘Cause I’m gonna lose ya Yes, I’m gonna lose ya If I’m gonna lose ya I’ll lose you now for good

Gale loved Tav more than he ever thought was possible. He loved how she looked at the world, eyes bright and optimistic, how she saw the good in everyone she met. Everyone could be redeemed of the mistakes they had made at some point in their lives, whether it be Kethric cursed for giving everything for another, Astarion’s tactful advances learnt from a life of pain, whether it was Gale himself and the greatest of all folles.

But what are forgiveness and redemption with no sacrifice? Kethric had ended up dead, Astarion still a spawn living off woodland animals. Gale had sacrificed nothing, at least nothing he could see. A year in solitude was but the consequence of my actions, not a sacrifice. The crown was a distant pipedream that even if he reforged, he could not wield. Unworthy of wielding. No, fate had dictated long ago what his sacrifice would be, and even with Tav’s compelling words and Elminster’s belief that destiny could be manipulated, Gale did not see it for himself. He knew what he had to do. He’d known since that very first day with the book.

“You think too much.”

Tav was right. In recent weeks he had been thinking too much: of life, death, of Gods and planes, and the pain. Will I be given a place at Mystra’s side, or will I walk the Fugue Plane without relief until I'm met with Kelemvor’s judgement? When the end comes, will it be but an instant of burning nerves as I’ve experienced in recent months, a candle snuffed out without hesitation? Or will it be the dull ache of the orb’s pressure building within my ribs, the seconds stretching for eternity as each molecule of my existence is torn apart piece by piece? Gale chuckled at her words; thoughts abandoned. “Maybe, but to think too much, my love, should never be a cause for concern.”

Sitting beside him, she took his hand in her soft palm. She had seen his scrawled letters, words of farewell, of a future he wouldn’t be a part of, and it pained her to think he could even consider leaving them, leaving her. “It is when I know what your mind often travels to.”

 “And what might my mind be travelling to right now?”

To look upon your eyes, your hair, your skin. To see each curve of your body under the dawn’s light. To touch you. To hear your breathing as you sleep. To make you laugh. To make you cry. To love you and no other. To lose you.

She smirked at his words, the playfulness in his tone not going unmissed. Maybe the letters had been written during darker moments, ones before their night at Moonrise. He’d told her he was grateful for meeting her, told her he loved her. He’d invited her to Waterdeep to meet his family. The future was there and maybe it was her who was overthinking things. “I could think of one or two things.” Tav slipped her hand from his, bringing it to the trailing weave of the orb upon his chest. For so many nights she had placed heated kisses along the darkened lines, felt the rise and fall of his chest with each heightened emotion, made him forget his goddess. And for a thousand more nights to follow, Tav would do the same.  

“Maybe a demonstration is in order, hm?” Gale leant back, watching the way her hair tumbled down above him as she positioned herself. He felt the way her fingertips traced along his chest, his robe removed and abandoned. The tender touch of her lips upon his, the scent of wine on her breath. How he longed to change fate. To hold you close on stormy nights. To see you smile as you taste my cooking. To dance with you. To hear you read poetry in the dim light of my study. To feel your head on my shoulder as we watch the sunset. To love you. To lose you.

Her dress was gone, the candlelight letting shadows dance upon her flesh. She looked at him in the same way she saw the world. He could be forgiven, redeemed. In her eyes, he already was, and she wanted to show him that.

Wishing he could tell her the truth; he buried his face in the crook of her neck. The scent of poppies hung in her hair, and he tried to memorise it. He tried to remember each minute detail of her form: the shade of her hair under the light, the flush of her cheeks as she gave into the tides consuming her, the quiet moan as he stroked her body with the soft pad of his thumb. If only they could stay in that one moment, an eternity with Tav as his goddess, the stars their followers, each whisper from his lips a new prayer devoted to her. If only...

“Tav... If something untoward, shall we say, were to happen to me-”

She gazed down at him, the slow rhythmic movements of her hips coming to a hesitant halt upon hearing his words. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I merely need assurance,” Gale replied, an unwilling sliver of emotion escaping him. Please tell me you will find someone else. You will fall in love and smile at them as you smile at me. Tell me you will not need me.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” Tav was so sure of her words. They would fight the Netherbrain and all of them would survive. They would not sacrifice anyone. They were not pieces on a lanceboard to be thrown away at the whims of the gods. They, he was more than that.

“How can you be so sure?”

He felt the slow roll of her hips, the warmth of her body as she grew closer to him. Wrapping his arms around her, Gale held her tightly. He would not let go of her, would not let go of this moment, of their last night together. He would remember every gasp, every whine, every bead of sweat that merged with the salted tears that pricked at his eyes. When the time comes, I want the last thing I see to be you. To see you as you are now. To feel you as you are now. To not lose you.

 “Because I love you,” she moaned softly, her eyes closing with the building heat between them. She knew there was always a chance something could go wrong, but those doubts had no place in their world right now. There was only the love she could show him, the meaning in living.

“I love you too.”

What else could he say that night before his sacrifice was made? Their last night could not be one of pain and sadness. It had to be spent in the way it was, with heated kisses and stars of their own creation. It had to be the last memory they shared, one that would smother out the darkness to follow, one that he could picture as the conjured dagger pierced his heart. To hear your voice. To see you smile. To love you. To lose you.