#Astarion deeply has my heart though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brain-rot-central · 3 months

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Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal

A/N: This is a working title. I reserve the right to change it going forward, lol. This is also my first AA fic! Can't believe it took me this long. Also feel free to note any other tags I may have missed. I'll add them as I go.

Rating: E Word count: 5.1k Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+, post-canon, PiV sex, creampie, angst, stalking behavior, obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulative behavior (overall A's not really the greatest in this), use of derogatory language (though not at anyone specifically), messy break-up, depictions of gore, break-up (maybe make-up?) sex

Summary: Astarion has performed the Rite, becoming someone unrecognizable. Tav leaves him after settling their business with the Netherbrain, refusing his proposition to become his consort. She uses these last 6 months to heal her broken heart, mourning all they were and what they could have been. Hopefully all her hard work has paid off, because he's decided he wants her back and drops in for a visit.

♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

“It's awfully dangerous for such delectable morsels to leave their windows open this time of night.”

The whimsical voice comes from behind. With it, a rush of cold air sweeps through the quaint upstairs bedroom. Curtains lining the double panes of the front windows dance as the breeze blows in. Papers on the dresser scatter about the floor.

A young woman dressed in a sheer linen nightgown sits at her vanity, combing through her long red hair, when she freezes.

A familiar scent dances beneath her olfactory nerves - heady, rich, citrus. She breathes deeply, the warm spice of the cologne sweeping through her. Waves of heat pulse throughout her body as her ears pick up the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

With a sigh, the woman closes her eyes as the assailant reaches her position, their footsteps coming to a halt behind her.

It's him, she realizes. She’s never been more sure of anything else in her life.

Many months have passed since their last meeting. Passion burned as hot as an Infernal forge on that night. Promises of love, of pleasure, of power poured freely from their lips as their bodies intertwined. At that moment, she was prepared to give him everything - her life, her freedom, her body, soul.

She would have, had she not come to realize it was all an elaborate farce.

As she cracks open her eyes, daring to look up, the woman catches his reflection in the vanity mirror. With an audible gasp, it quickly dawns on her that this is the first time she’s seeing his face reflected in a glass pane.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, her chest suddenly heaving.

It is him.

And by the Gods, he's even more devastatingly handsome than she remembers.

“You never know what sort of monsters are out lurking the streets, hm?” he purrs, bringing his face close to her ear.

Assaulted once more by the warm spice of his cologne, her head spins.

“Astarion,” the woman whispers, nearly breathless. “What are you doing here?”

Craning his head, Astarion dips down into the nape of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her pulse quickens as he draws near, heart hammering away in her ribcage. His lips curl, fangs gleaming in the faint candlelight illuminating the room as his tongue sweeps over his teeth.

“I needn't an invitation to go where I please now, pet,” he pants against her neck.

A cold shudder shoots down her spine.

There was a time when her body would come alight from his many terms of endearment.

Darling, dear, sweet, pet, love.

Love.

“Nothing special, of course. You're only the first person I truly care for.”

His words echo in the far recesses of her mind. The words of her companion and partner, her lover… of a man who no longer exists.

That night in the ritual chamber, he changed.

The sound of the staff hitting the stone floor reverberates off ancient walls. Cazador and his spawn playing their parts, bound together in blood by the Rite. Astarion, levitating at the center, eyes burning red as an aura of blood envelops him. He's chanting the words - the Infernal seance that was once meant to be his end.

Her tongue lay heavy in her mouth. Words fly across her mind; desperate pleas begging him to reconsider, to stop this. None ever make it past her lips.

Suddenly, the spawn pop. One after the other.

Pop, pop, pop.

Astarion laughs, loud and boisterous, relishing the new found power that comes with each death.

Finally comes Cazador's turn.

He screams - a true blood-curdling scream. The type you hear moments before a person knows death has come, all too late. His voice carries on as she stands in the chamber, helplessly watching Cazador succumb to the ritual. He bursts at the seams into a pile of pulverized matter, dripping onto the floor below, completely unrecognizable.

Then suddenly, the room is engulfed by a haunting silence.

The Ascension… is complete.

The aura around Astarion fades and he drops down onto the platform below his feet. He remains kneeling for a moment. The sound of his breathing is all that fills the chamber, companions too stunned to speak.

He rises, slowly turning to face their leader. Looking upon his face, she sees the horrible truth lay bare before her.

Her lover is no more.

She's mourned him, the promise of them, ever since that night. Cried tears until her head throbbed and her face swelled, cried until nothing but sleep could soothe the ache in her heart.

And here he stands behind her, a scowl littering his visage as their eyes meet yet again in the mirror.

Her heart pounds in her throat, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. She swallows, asking, “Why did you come here, Astarion?”

Astarion pulls himself back, taking a few paces away from the woman. Folding his arms over his chest, he replies, “My darling Tav, I've come to take you home.”

“Home? I am home,” insists Tav. Turning her body, still seated in her chair, she scans him over.

Moonlit curls sweep elegantly across his forehead, framing his face. Ruby gems glint in the dim light of the room. He's wearing a black and silver doublet, blood-red dragons delicately embroidered on the lapel. Every bit elegant and refined; elite.

Astarion's face softens. He draws closer again, Tav’s breath hitching as his hand cups her chin. Tilting her face up toward his, he states, “I've given you more than enough freedom.” He cranes his head, bringing his lips a breath above her own as he whispers, “Don't you think?”

The velvet grace of his voice makes her dizzy. Tav realizes she feels heat radiating off his skin as their faces draw closer in proximity; a stark contrast to his usual aura. Her face burns - a fire that quickly spreads down into her belly. Tav tries to speak but Astarion closes the distance, lips capturing hers in a delicate embrace. His kiss is soft, alluring, unhurried.

Gentle, she thinks to herself. He's being so gentle.

“Astarion-” she protests, logic returning to her as she breaks the kiss. Tav scans his face, drawing her head back. Heavy lids fall over his eyes as they transfix upon her lips. He’s hungry, in more ways than one.

She knows that look. It's the very same he'd give her night after night in his tent, when all he wished was to share his body with her. Instead, they'd find other ways to partake in the ecstacy of one another until they were left breathless and panting.

But that was long ago.

Astarion's tongue darts out to lick over his lips as he says, “A lord is nothing without his dearest consort.” He moves to kiss her again, but Tav quickly ducks out of reach. She stands, hands clenched in tight fists.

“No,” she insists, locking eyes with him. She furrows her brow. “I will not be made into your personal plaything!”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest. Astarion tilts his head, a smirk forming on his face. “‘Plaything?’” he reiterates. “Do you believe I think that little of you?” Astarion brushes his knuckles over Tav’s cheek. “My darling treasure,” he begins, “I have many playthings, though none are quite like you.”

Tav’s pupils blow wide.

Astarion means to make her jealous with talk of other lovers. He means to fill her mind with images of him making love to unknown beings. To make her think of him finding pleasure in others who are not her.

She will not rise to it.

“Your chosen harlots aren’t enough?” Tav sneers. “I thought Lord Astarion Ancunín had everything he desired?”

With a scoff, Astarion replies, “You don't get it, do you?” A twinge of impatience can be heard as he says, “You helped make me what I am. We are bound to one another, until the end of time.”

Tav shudders as his hands come up to hold her face. She pulls in a sharp breath, expecting the cold sting of death from his usual chilled palms. Yet, they're completely warm as they cradle her jaw. Another reminder that he is now very much changed. Alive. His cologne assaults her senses once more and her eyes flutter closed as she settles into the strange comfort of his touch.

“My heart will never stop calling for you,” Astarion speaks softly. “No other can satisfy that hunger.” He brushes over her bottom lip with the pad of a thumb and feels her tremble below him. “You are to be my consort, my bride,” he insists, voice stern but low. “That is your role in this.”

Tav falters beneath his touch, allowing herself to be walked back to the wall next to the vanity. Her hands come up to wrap around his wrists. “Such honeyed words,” she retorts. “If I didn't know any better, I'd actually believe you.” Her back connects with the wall and she gasps.

“Tav, look at me,” Astarion demands with urgency. She doesn't comply, turning her head to the side. Slipping a hand from her cheek to grasp her chin, he forcibly turns her head back toward his. “Look at me!” he spits again.

Hesitant to look upon Astarion’s face, Tav cracks her eyes open. Opening them fully, it's not anger that she finds there. Her stomach flips. No, not anger or even disappointment. Instead, she sees… vulnerability.

“I wish I could replace you. I’ve tried,” Astarion bites out through clenched teeth. His face falls as his eyes settle on her. “Nothing can fill the void your absence has left.” He shakes his head slightly before adding, “Something within me screams for you, as if I were alone in a decrepit crypt and only you can save me.”

Her heart beats wildly in her chest. She feels as though she may suffocate, or that her heart may give out at a moment's notice. Tav begins to feel the tendrils of desire dance across her abdomen. They start low in her groin and quickly spread upward, causing a rhythmic contraction of her walls. She cannot fall for this again, she simply must not. All he's done is spout pretty words and step into her presence. And yet…

His breath pants against her face as he rests their foreheads together. The scent of freshly chewed mint whirls beneath her nose. Her vision spins.

In her stupor, Tav hardly notices Astarion's hands slipping under her nightgown. His palms rest on the backs of her thighs and he lifts a leg, allowing more room to slot himself against her core.

Tav groans as their centers meet, arching her back. Her chest presses into his and she moans, hands seeking purchase in his hair as he rocks himself into her once again.

“Astarion,” she pleads, wrapping her leg around the small of his back. A bolt of pleasure shoots up from her groin. She feels her walls clench again in desperation as his hardened cock brush against her cunt, straining against the fabric of his trousers. Her body remembers him and is all too eager to receive him once more.

Astarion knows. He recalls exactly how her body reacts almost on instinct to his touch. He pants against her lips with each roll of his hips into hers. “Come home with me, Tav,” he groans out. “Please, darling. I need you.”

His voice comes out ragged, stressed. Astarion leans against her chest, slipping his face into the nape of her neck. Inhaling deeply, a fire begins smoldering low in his belly. Her scent is of fresh mountain dew in early spring. Floral, sweet, and holding the promise of possibility. His cock twitches in anticipation.

Tav moans, loud and unfiltered. Her knees grow weak and she nearly buckles off the wall if Astarion weren't holding her up. She throws her head against the wall behind her, back arching once again.

“I mourned you,” Tav tells him, nearly breathless. “I mourned us.” She doesn't protest as Astarion lifts her other leg to join in locking around his waist. Tav doesn't fight how he grinds himself into her again, trapping her between himself and the wall. She feels faint, her vision growing fuzzy at the edges, though she manages to huff out, “You don't get to come here and make demands of me, Astarion.”

Astarion pulls his head back leisurely to meet her eyes. “You left me, remember?” he says low in his throat.

“What choice did you leave me with?” Tav exclaims in frustration. “You wanted me to sacrifice my life in order to prove my love for you. You would have never asked that of me before that accursed Rite!”

“I only wish to live out the rest of eternity together,” Astarion replies. “I promised I would protect you, that no harm would ever come to you.”

Tav stares into his face as realization registers in her mind, mouth falling slightly agape. She's gotten used to reading between the lines of his words, so often laced with duplicate meaning. True to his former life as a rogue of the night.

Her mortality is a threat to his oath.

Astarion cannot fathom going through the rest of time without her. Or, he does, and the thought is too painful for him to ever risk becoming reality. That is what he means to say, though apparently incapable in this new state.

“Isn't this what you wanted?” he asks, quietly. “To be together? Forever?”

Tears well in the creases of her eyelids and Tav sobs. “You are a fool, Astarion Ancunín,” she chides.

Astarion hovers his mouth mere millimeters above hers. “Only for you,” he says. “Always for you.” He captures her lips in a gentle embrace, breathing deeply through his nose as he pushes further into the kiss.

Tav moans into his mouth as she slackens her jaw, creating enough room for their tongues to begin exploring one another. She gasps as Astarion carries her from the wall to her bed on the far side of the room, grabbing at his shoulders for leverage.

“Tell me I may have you,” he asks, breaking the kiss as he lays her down over the mattress. He climbs over her, mouth descending upon her neck. He peppers chaste kisses along the underside of her jaw.

Tav writhes beneath him, whimpers escaping her throat as he licks and suckles on the delicate flesh of her throat. With resolve quickly waning, her hands find purchase again in silver locks as she finally says, “You may, but only for tonight.”

Astarion freezes above her. Hesitantly, he pulls himself back, looking her over as he begins shrugging off his doublet. “Are you sure?” he inquires softly.

This is the perfect opportunity to ask him to turn and leave. To not start this over again, to not return down a path in which she knows there is no favorable end. Though, Tav also cannot deny just how much she has missed him, as well.

“It's only sex, Astarion,” she tells him, sitting up to undo the ties of her nightgown. “That's all this will be.”

His hands come to rest atop hers, replacing her motions as he pulls gently at the laces of the gown. With the last tie undone her gown falls open, revealing her bare breasts to his heated gaze. Astarion sucks in a sharp breath as he meets her eyes.

“Only sex,” he ponders aloud as he furrows his brow. “But what if I want-”

“No,” Tav interjects, voice firm. “This is all I can give you. You either take this, or you have nothing.” Her breathing comes uneven as she stares back at him, chest heaving. Her nerves have come alight; she cannot fall in love with him again, but she can at least offer him this.

With a curt nod, Astarion replies, “As you wish.”

His expression is guarded as he fumbles with the laces of his trousers. He pulls his undershirt up and over his head, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor behind the bed. Standing up, he peels off his boots, pants, and underclothes in one fell swoop. He returns to Tav on the bed as bare as the day he was born, following her eyes as they roam down the long plane of his torso. They come to rest between his thighs.

Astarion’s cock stands ready at attention, jumping in tandem with his heartbeat. Saliva pools thick on her tongue and she slips the nightgown down and off her arms. She's left naked before him, not having time to fully dress before his unexpected visit. Tav hears him groan as he looks her over.

A surprised gasp falls from her mouth as he cups her sex. She feels him drag two fingers through the arousal that has already gathered between her folds, and watches as he brings those same fingers to his mouth. A bolt of desire pulls behind her navel as she watches his slick-soaked fingers slip between his lips. He suckles around them, moaning his approval.

With a wet pop, Astarion pulls the two digits from his mouth and places them against her cunt again. They're saturated with his spittle, softly prodding at her entrance.

“A-ah!” Tav gasps as his fingers sink in. It's only two, but Gods how she's struggling to take them. They glide in and out, Astarion occasionally curling his fingers to pass along the spongy spot inside her that turns her vision white.

It's not long before he's pulling his fingers out and lining himself up along her entrance. Astarion spits into his hand, giving himself a few languid strokes. The weight of his cock slaps down heavily as he drags his length through her slickened folds once, twice, before he's finally slipping into her.

Screwing his eyes shut, Astarion lets out a guttural groan as he feels his tip pop through her tense entrance, her warmth enveloping him as he seats himself a bit further before halting. Her walls spasm wildly around his shaft; it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to sink the rest of himself down into her inviting wet heat.

Tav sighs as she finally adjusts, body relaxing around him. She hadn't necessarily forgotten that taking Astarion is no small feat, though she did forget how it feels to actually do so.

“You can move,” she tells him meekly.

He doesn't respond with words; a simple nod of his head is all Tav gets before he's leaning over her, hips slipping further and further toward the backs of her thighs. Wrapping his arms around her thighs, Astarion pulls her into him, pelvis meeting her backside. He growls, cock twitching as his tip brushes against her cervix.

Tav shudders under him as he pulls out, feeling the dragging of his length within her cunt, only for him to push back in with added force. Her body jerks upward from the power of his thrust. An audible string of whimpers falls freely from her lips as he does it again, and again, and again.

Astarion catches Tav’s hands as she tries reaching for him, pushing them back toward the bedsheets. Confused by his gesture, Tav tries again, only for Astarion to once more shove her hands off of him.

Stunned, Tav looks at his face. Sweat is beginning to gather along his brow, though he keeps perfect composure. There is no lust nor passion to his expression. He looks… removed. Distant. Aloof.

Just… having sex.

“Astarion?” Tav asks, concerned. “I can't touch you?”

He scoffs above her, grunting as he slams his hips again into hers. “Touch is a rather intimate thing,” he says, sarcasm saturating his tone. “Intimacy isn't welcome when you're just having sex.”

“Stop,” Tav demands, hands pressing against his stomach. Astarion immediately ceases his movements. “This is too cold, Astarion,” she says quietly. “This isn't us.”

Above her, Astarion sucks in a large breath. “It is when it's devoid of emotion,” he clarifies, patience wearing thin. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?” He tilts his head, craning his neck to look down upon her. “Just a quick romp?”

“I-”

Venom seeps from his pores as he quickly adds, “If you were ever curious as to how I treat my harlots, well, now you know. It's rather different from our last time, eh? I wonder why that is?” Astarion feigns an inquisitive glance, placing a finger to the side of his mouth as his lips form into a pout.

“Astarion, I-”

Tav tries desperately to interject, but is disrupted again by Astarion snapping his fingers. “Oh, I know! It's because I made love to you!” he sneers, lips curling over his fangs as he leans closer to her face. “You were never a conquest to me!” he growls. “Never one night it's best to forget.”

Astarion exhales, eyes falling closed in an effort to regain his composure. “If you insist on me treating you like a whore in a brothel, fine,” he says, “I'll do it. But know it's not done willingly.”

Tav remains silent, words failing her. Her body trembles as the full weight of his confession echoes throughout her mind. Pulling in ragged breaths, she questions, “Would you make love to me again? If I asked?”

Astarion huffs out a laugh, his expression softening. “I would raze an entire city for you,” he confirms. “You need only ask.”

A sense of despair enshrouds her as she stares into his ruby red eyes. He still loves her, Tav realizes. As much as, if not more than, the day she left him. Her head pounds; she needs to stop this from going forward. The voice in her head is begging her not to continue, to not risk reopening the wound she's spent the last six months delicately stitching back together.

Their last night together replays in her thoughts. She recalls the all-encompassing feeling of want that radiated off Astarion, that night. He carried her into a world of pleasure she never dreamed possible, all while singing praises deeply into her ear as he rocked in and out of her core. They joined as one, body and soul. Or so Tav thought, until the following morning.

Astarion looks at her now with that same compassion in eyes. He means what he says; he would destroy anyone and anything should she ask it of him. He's already destroyed himself, all in a vow to protect her.

Choking back a sob, she accepts final defeat in the battle her heart fought so desperately since he first came through her window. “Make love to me then, Astarion,” Tav tells him, pleadingly. “The way you used to.”

The flame of the single candle in the room dances in his eyes. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Oh, my sweet,” he purrs, “There's nothing I'd like more,” Astarion brushes her cheek with the back of a palm. His arousal has flagged, still situated within Tav’s warmth, though it stirs back to life as he captures her lips in a hungry kiss.

Tav groans as she feels Astarion's length swell within her walls, noises swallowed by his mouth over hers. When he grows stiff enough, Astarion gives shallow thrusts between her legs. It isn't long until he's back to full virility, rolling his hips into hers in a steady rhythm.

She cries out as he breaks the kiss, one last deep thrust before he's pulling out of her. Pushing her legs back, knees almost hitting her chest, Astarion slips back into place between her thighs. Tav’s knees are being held up by his shoulders as he bends forward, sliding his cock back into her slickened cunt with ease.

Astarion groans as his cock slides down, down, down until his tip nudges the end of her tunnel. Tav gasps as he settles himself impossibly deeper, hips giving a soft push that leaves her womb pulsing. She claws at Astarion’s back when he pulls his hips up slightly, only to crash into her again.

Astarion rests his forehead against Tav’s. He drops his hips repeatedly into her center, eyes locked with hers as he does. The air pushed from her lungs from each of his thrusts passes over his face and he greedily sucks it in. Her face is flushed shades of red and pink as blood rushes through her veins, singing her desire loudly in his ears.

Nails sink into the tender scars on his back and Astarion hisses. With half open eyelids, Tav struggles to keep his gaze, pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. But when she finally does, she sees it. There, in his eyes, is him. The man she fell in love with.

Astarion's eyes are soft, round, pleading. The eyes of the man she gave herself to repeatedly all those months ago.

Each night she spent being devoured by his mouth, pulling the very essence of her body into his, she felt it - the sanctity of her oath dangling in the balance. Should she have stuck to her teachings, Astarion would’ve been staked through the heart at first discovery of his true nature. And yet, night after night, she willingly succumbed to the lustful desires that only her blood could provide him.

She moans as he angles his hips sharply on the next downstroke, the head of his cock brushing deliciously up against her spot. The rhythmic fluttering of her tunnel over his shaft pulls a throaty groan from Astarion, who quickly buries his face into the nape of her neck as the sensation wracks through his body. His arms envelop her torso, using her as leverage to increase the pace of her thrusts.

Tav feels her arousal leaking down the cleft of her ass, carved out from her with each plunge of his cock into her cunt. The tip of him rams against her spot repeatedly and she shakes in his arms, pleasure coiling tightly in her belly with not much left to hold onto. “Astarion,” she pants against his ear, mindlessly mouthing at his lobe. “Gods, Astarion…”

He groans again against her neck, skin muffling most of it. The sounds of their joint arousal fill the room, and Astarion pulls his lips back in anticipation of his impending climax. The smoldering fire in his belly has erupted into hellfire, threatening to consume all and any in its path if not quelled soon.

Fangs press into the delicate skin of her neck and Tav shivers, hands flying into his hair and grasping, pulling. “Do not bite me, Astarion,” Tav says, panicked.

Humming his disapproval, Astarion reluctantly pulls his head away from her neck. He rests his forehead against hers again. “Where do you want me, Tavaria?” The question comes quietly, unguarded. Strained.

Tavaria.

The sound of her full name on his tongue sends pulses of desire through her belly. He's close, Tav realizes. Astarion pants against her face as his thrusts grow more uneven. Moving a hand to his jaw, Tav holds his cheek, rubbing his chin with her thumb. “However you want,” comes her reply.

Astarion shudders, a moan slipping past his lips, eyes rolling to the back of his skull momentarily. He blinks back into focus, chest heaving as his breathing becomes labored. He's barely lifting hips into Tav, instead giving short stuttering thrusts that have his tip kissing her cervical os.

“Tav, please,” he begs. “Tell me.”

Silver strands of hair stick to his sweat-soaked forehead. Brushing them out of the way with a hand, she plants a kiss between his brow. “Inside,” she coos. “It's okay.”

Carnal desire flares behind Astarion's eyes. He grunts, raw and guttural as he dips his head back into the crook of her neck. He feels his cock begin to swell, a telltale sign that his release is imminent.

Tav whimpers as Astarion rams over her pleasure point again and again, the fattened head of his cock dragging along her walls. It doesn't take much longer before she's screaming out her completion below him, nails digging into the skin of his marred back.

Astarion roars out his own climax above her, balls pulling up tightly as fangs sink into the pillow next to her. He floods her channel with his seed, tiny rolls of his hips pulling groans from his chest as he rides out the wave. Tav’s walls are more than willing to massage the rest of his spend from his balls and into her greedy womb.

They lay together panting, post-coital haze in full effect. It isn't until Astarion shifts to pull out his softening member that Tav feels it - his spend dribbling from her entrance and onto the nightgown under her. He's the first to leave the bed, shaking his head while running a hand through tousled locks. Tav watches him disappear into her washroom as she slowly sits herself up onto her elbows.

The sound of water running into the tub can be heard and Astarion reappears in the doorway. He returns to the bed, Tav gasping as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her toward the washroom.

“What are you doing, Astarion?” she asks, mind still clouded by her peak. She loops her hands around his neck, lolling her head against his shoulder.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest as he kisses the top of her head. “Taking care of you,” he answers, bringing them both across the threshold of the washroom.

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

Tav awakens the next morning alone, tucked snuggly in her bed. The events of the night are hazy as she slowly regains consciousness. She doesn't recall when or how she fell asleep. Peeling off the covers and giving herself a quick look over, she realizes she's dressed in her nightgown again. The ties are neatly in place, eerily similar to how she had them before.

Looking around her room, there's no evidence that Astarion had been present. The papers she swore fell to the floor are all stacked neatly on her dresser. The candle has been hushed out, and her windows closed.

Was it a dream? she ponders, heart rate rising as her confusion grows.

Her eyes scan the room frantically in an attempt to find a single piece out of place. Finally, she finds the answer she is searching for laying atop her vanity. Rising out of bed, Tav walks over to find a single rose laid across the top of the desk. He was here, Tav notes to herself, bringing the rose to her face. She inhales its sweet scent, dread filling her heart as the heavy weight of last night begins to actualize.

No, it was very real. And it’s only just beginning.

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion angst #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x female tav #my writing #bg3 fanfiction

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dragonsfictavern · 5 months

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Brighter Than The Sun

Astarion x gn!Reader

a/n: I have no idea if this was a prompt I saw somewhere or if this was completely out of my brain, the idea was from months ago and I finally got around to writing it.

summary: With the parasite no longer in your brains, Astarion can no longer go into the sun. You try everything you can think of to help him experience the same heat but with no luck. Until you think to use yourself as a means for Astarion to feel the suns warmth once more.

word count: 1.7k

From the shadows he watches you, his red eyes almost gleaming and noticeable through the darkness. He stands behind the door, watching you, waiting for you… He needs you and yet he knows you need to stay away, if only for a little while longer. Long enough to get what he wants.

Astarion stands behind the door of the home you two share together in Baldur's Gate. With the parasite long gone and his ascension a trickle of a memory, Astarion has long since been unable to walk in the sun. It spurns him once more as if his mask had been unveiled and even the sun could see what he truly was. While on the other hand, darkness has greeted him back like an old friend and he remains cursing it.

More than anything he yearns to once more see the color in the world, to feel its warmth on his cold skin. But even after years of searching, he feels as though you two aren’t any closer to finding a cure, from ridding him of the curse forced upon him so long ago. Even so, his mind stays focused on the task and it touches him deeply that it remains in yours as well.

Which is what has brought along today’s events. When reality had first set in, Astarion couldn’t ever explain the despair he felt toward never being able to feel the sun’s warmth again. But he didn’t have to explain. He knew you understood, he knew you saw him for all he was. You have for probably much longer than he gave you credit for. Always the one to try and fix things, Astarion wasn’t surprised when you tried thinking of clever ways he’d be able to feel the sunlight again. You had tried creating the hottest of fires and yet it didn’t feel the same. Nothing ever felt the same. Astarion had given up and urged you to do the same. He should’ve known you well enough by now to know that wasn’t something you were capable of.

So this morning when you began guiding him toward the door, Astarion briefly questioned if he was being led to his demise. If you had finally gotten tired of him and decided to end it all. Of course you hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Who’d ever get tired of him, after all… He only resisted briefly until you ended up explaining your entire plan to him. To have you stand in the sun and then shut the door and hug him. So that way, he may once again feel the heat of the sun against warm flesh.

Astarion’s heart swelled, lips parted as he struggled to react and while he still couldn’t quite express his gratitude and affections out loud, he knew he could show you them through his actions and it would always mean just as much. He may have thought the plan ridiculous, silly even, but it was your attempt that moved him. The way you never gave up on him. Now here you two are, you out in the sun as he lurks in the depths of the shadows. Astarion’s lips part as he watches you bask in the sunlight's rays, your eyes closed and a soft smile on your face.

Whilst always beautiful, Astarion remains even more assured that you are most beautiful in the sun. His feelings toward you both similar in the weight you hold in his heart. His eyes trial over your form, looking on as the sunlight highlights your complexion, the sun shimmering across your skin. The way it flickers off of you, making you appear even more brighter and full of life. Astarion watches it all, his attentions never having been more focused. He couldn’t dare look away from you and miss a moment of this.

You were so close and yet so far and as Astarion looked upon your beauty, memories from before starts flooding through his mind of him out there with you. Astarion couldn’t help but step forward, reaching out to you. He didn’t think, too caught up in how much he wanted you near. Not because of the sun but simply because you were you.

As his hand falls into a faint sliver of sun, instead of the comforting warmth he has shamefully become accustomed to, the familiar burning radiates across his skin. The sound of his skin sizzling rang in the quiet air and instead of peace the sun now brings panic, causing Astarion to release a high-pitched hiss. You jump, opening your eyes and looking over at him as Astarion quickly draws his hand back. You take a step to him but he uses that same hand to motion for you to stop.

“No! Don’t come closer. Just stay out there… for a little while longer,” Astarion pleads, brows furrowing deeply. It wasn’t until this moment, this instant where he’s reminded of the pain the sun has the power to inflict upon him, that he thinks your once silly idea may actually be important.

“Astarion-“ You try, tilting your head, eyes on his crackling hand that already starts to heal itself. But it’s one shake from his head that has you quieting. The softness in his gaze that has you stopping from stepping into his darkness. You look over him before giving a tentative nod. Your body turns back toward the sun within the space of the open door, but your eyes occasionally flicker over to him.

His fingers press into the flesh as it returns to its original smooth texture, the only trace of it being the faint throbbing that was already starting to fade too. As Astarion stares at you as you stand in the one place he could not reach you, despair flowers in his chest like a plague. You two are so different. While dealing with the parasite, while able to walk into the sun, Astarion could simply ignore it, not think about it because there were so many other important things to think about. Could push their differences aside in order to use you, then eventually love you.

But all that was gone now. You could walk in the day while he was stuck in the shadows. Even while only inches away, to Asatrion, it was like he could see an invisible barrier set between you both. A force that stops him from being with you, touching you. Something he could never cross so long as he was like this— a vampire spawn.

He was not good for you, he knew. All this time, Astarion allowed himself to be greedy, convinced himself that you need him as much as he needs you. But his love was doing exactly what the dark was doing to him. Trapping you. He was sure that if your heart wasn’t so big, you’d be out in the sun more often. Like you deserved.

Then you did the most peculiar thing. In a flash, you were closing the door, objecting yourself to the dark, and you reach for him. One hand wrapping around his waist as the other grips the nape of his neck. Both use their strength to pull him into you. Before Astarion can process what’s happening, you’re hugging him.

Warmth radiates off your skin and spreads over his. You guide Astarion’s head into your neck, letting him feel all the heat the sun left on you. Now, after this time being with him, Astarion doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. His arms wrap around you firmly as he exhales a shaky breath.

“I could feel you thinking from all the way over there,” your smooth voice washes over him, making warmth spread within him as well as across his body. He burrows closer to you, soaking up everything your skin was offering. He could imagine the fierce sun and how it must have felt upon first contact. But somehow, when it was you providing it instead of the sun, it was better. So much better.

He finally had you in his arms and the fog that moments prior were tormenting him now clear away. As you imply, he was thinking too much. He was spiraling and second guessing himself and even worse, you. He knows that you would never truly do something you didn’t want. You wouldn’t be with him unless it’s what you wanted. He didn’t have the power to trap you and he would never want it. While he can’t deny your differences, he also can’t say they’re a bad thing. He likes that you’re not the same person. Although, Astarion would dare say he’d make a lovely suitor for himself if the chance arose.

“What ever are you talking about, darling?” Releasing a light-hearted chuckle along with the question. Astarion’s hand brushes along your neck as well, the skin feeling even warmer here. Everything in him tells him to hide his feelings, to brush them aside and offer a short quip. While he knows he’ll end up telling you everything later, right now he can’t help but evade the vulnerability that was controlling him.

“Oh, I must be seeing things, then,” you tease right back, understanding Astarion and playing along with it. Astarion closes his eyes, gratefulness filling his body and pouring out in his physical contact with you.

“Hmm, must get that checked out,” he shoots back, not able to stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. You both end up laughing together and the peace that spreads through the atmosphere around you two reminds him why he never ends up keeping anything from you anymore. He learned his lesson once before.

The two of you fall into a peaceful silence as you remain hugging in the darkness. Your skin quickly grows colder again, losing what your time in the sun left you with. Even so, neither of you step away from the hug.

“You know, out of all the ways you’ve attempted to give me back sunlight, I have to say, this is by far my favorite,” Astarion admits, moving to rest his forehead against yours. The warmth he feels with you blazes hotter than any sun could ever supply him. He hears as your heart picks up and your neck once again becomes warmer than the rest of your body. Astarion does not hold back his grin, informing you of his awareness, yet remains still as he enjoys what he can get.

Astarion keeps you close as he realizes that any lack of sun is worth it when he gets moments like this in return.

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avocado-writing · 3 months

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Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his gn crush telling him that they're glad they had a chance to meet him despite everything they have went through? They also mentioned how they would have never met him if everything (the plot itself 😂) didn't happen!

my most gorgeous anon you certainly may!!

Astarion

Laughs, but not at you. At the situation - this whole thing, mindflayers and all, has been ridiculous.

But he takes your hand in his and holds it, looking into your eyes with a depth of sweetness you don’t often see.

“Me too, my darling. I’m glad for every blood-drenched moment of it… though maybe I’d appreciate not sleeping on ground so much.”

You open your mouth to bicker back, but he captures your lips in a kiss instead, and rests his forehead against yours after.

You know he’s happy it happened, too.

Gale

You whisper this to him in an intimate moment, cuddled up together on his bedroll.

He pulls back to look at you, studies your face to see if you’re being sincere.

Wipes some hair from your face, softly. He speaks with such reverie it is as if he is making a vow.

“I’d do it all again, my heart. Every wretched second of it, if it meant you would be waiting for me at the end.”

Kisses you deeply, and the two of you know that you need no more words for now.

Wyll

Takes your hand and holds it to his heart. Lets you feel the way that it beats

”My darling, if I had a choice, I’d never wish this upon you. I’d hope for a kinder life where we discovered each other in a time of peace, where I could court you properly, like you deserve. But seeing as we cannot change the past… I can only be glad we went through this, and that I had the opportunity to meet you.”

Kisses you so sweetly, and through that kiss you know he means every word he says.

Halsin

Holds you ever so tightly.

“My heart. Nature has created many great marvels, but none that could possibly rival you. If I could spare you from the path you’ve been made to tread, I wish I could say that I would… but I would never give up the chance to meet you.”

Buries his lips against your hair, whispers his adorations to you.

Lets you know that you are the most treasured thing in his heart, and he’d change nothing on his path to meet you either.

Dammon

Puts down his forge hammer, turns to you with the softest look in his eyes.

Takes a moment to wipe his hands before he takes yours.

”I’m so glad that I met you, too. This path has been treacherous but I can’t regret a single footstep.”

Kisses you so sweetly. You know he will help protect you for every step forwards, too.

Rolan

Pretends that he thinks you’re being overly sentimental and maudlin, but you can see the way he smiles.

“Well, I’m not sure I would do it all again… but I’m glad that you would…”

You harrumph and he pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours.

“I am happy that I met you though, my light.”

Zevlor

He takes a moment to digest this confession.

Kisses you deeply, caresses your face with his battle-callused hands.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he tells you, voice thick with emotion.

You stand there, basking in the other’s love, happy.

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

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I love how you write for Astarion, my request is (as long as your comfortable with it) Tav tends to have nightmares from a past sexual assault, one that they've opened up and told Astarion about once their relationship became more official and he opened up. One night, Tav wakes up with a scream bolt upright in their bedroll, hyperventilating. Everyone comes to check on them, but it's Astarion who realizes what's going on immediately coming to their aid and comforting them.

I did not really reference what the dream was about, but I did imply it was about somebody who hurt Tav/Reader in a few lines

This is also my first time writing any of the companions besides Astarion so I hope I did okay with them lol

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: panic attack, ugly crying, protective Astarion

Word Count: 704

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The scream shatters the quiet of the night. Everyone rushes toward the sound, weapons drawn and spells at the tip of their tongues. They find no monster, no animal, no criminal - only their leader, sitting up in their bedroll, sobbing uncontrollably.

Astarion is the first to recognize what’s happened. He rushes from his tent to your side, hands held in front of him though not touching you. His face is serious, eyes focused on you with an intensity he shared with no one else.

“It’s alright, darling,” he coos as calmly as he can. “Do you hear me? You’re safe.”

Your whole body shakes. A cold sweat soaks your sleep clothes and sticks your hair to your head. Your breaths come in rapid, shallow. You don’t look at him. The spawn isn’t even sure you see him. Perhaps all you perceive him as is the monster of your past.

He slowly takes your hand in his, loose enough that you could pull away with no resistance. You almost do - until your eyes, wide and teary and fearful, meet his. Whether it is fear of the monster you see in his face or a desperate plea for help, he can’t tell. “Can you hear me, dove? You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Gale dashes over with a canteen of water. Karlach drops her battle axe in favor of rushing to your side. Shadowheart starts kneeling by your side, hoping she can provide any help. Wyll is just starting to approach when Astarion nearly growls and waves them all away with a hand. “Go away! Give them space!”

“They’re-!”

“Not physically injured,” he barked at the cleric. “They’re panicking. Back. Up.”

Shadowheart frowns, but she gets up and backs a few paces away. Gale drops the water by Astarion and retreats. Karlach has to be stopped by Wyll - too blinded by her worry to register how angry Astarion is. Lae’zel watches on, weapon still drawn.

Your eyes have been fixed on him the whole time. The sneer drops once they’re far enough away from you.

“It’s alright, dear, just breathe.” He pulls your hand to his chest. There’s no heartbeat, but, though he doesn’t need to, he makes a show of breathing deeply. His lungs and chest expand with each breath. “Come on, love, breathe with me. You’re safe.”

His words finally seem to reach you. You wheeze and choke as you force your breathing to slow down and follow his. He’s sure his heart would have stuttered with relief if it still beat. “That’s it. That’s it.”

The entire camp is anxious as they watch on. It takes much too long before you’re beginning to breathe normally. Your face is red and wet and snotty from crying, but you don’t have the energy or presence to care. Nobody else does, either.

“You’re safe,” Astarion repeats for the up-teenth time. He squeezed your hand gently. “Nobody is going to hurt you. Alright?”

You shakily nod. The fact you could answer eased his concern immensely. The haze of your nightmare finally lifted. You were now all-too-aware of your sweat-drenched body, of the tears on your face, and of everyone else watching your breakdown. You sighed, sapped of energy. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“Don’t you dare,” he chastises immediately.

You sniff as you lean forward, dropping your head against his shoulder. He’s not wholly comforted with the knowledge that snot was getting on his shirt, but, he supposed, it was better than leaving you to suffer. He’d be cleaning it first light, though. He wraps an arm around your back and tangles his other hand in your hair. Your hand falls from his chest and around his waist, where you weakly hang on to the fabric of his shirt.

Over your shoulder, Astarion nods to the others. They’re reluctant to leave, but if they stay they risk being yelled at by him again. Karlach is the last to leave. She gives him a pointed look - silently telling him that she demands answers in the morning - and he nods, if only to get her to leave you alone.

“You’re alright, dear. I’m here.”

“Don’t leave,” you whimpered into his shoulder.

He stroked your hair. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m right here.”

---

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writteninlunarlight-years · 9 days

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Can I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, and Halsin being jealous of some guy is flirting with their female s/o although she's oblivious that he's flirting with her? He's so possessive that he even took her back home to have a heated make-out while holding her close!

Sorry for how late this is. My state has been having major bad weather, and it's been hit or miss if I can write!

I love this, Anon. I know you have to be the exact one cause it is worded similarly. I want you to know you are my day one, and I appreciate you <3

~~~~ HEADCANONS ~~~~

Jealous Astarion, Gale, Halsin w/ oblivious Reader

Astarion

ThE pLaN wAs SiMpLe. All jokes about Astarions' cut scene aside, he simply tried not to like you.

He tried not to notice your smile, laugh, or radiant personality that felt like the sun.

He fell, though, and you were everything to him, but he was afraid to lose you. To push you too far, you to abandon him like all others.

He tried oh so hard not to think about how that tieflings stupid tail was getting dangerously close to you.

You were so naive and unique, so headstrong but so so clueless. How could you spot an ambush a yard away but couldn't tell this creature was hitting on you.

Astarion chose the safe route of just sitting there and watching like always.

A burning fire lit within him, the usual cold tempered vampire became lit with something. Jealousy? No, it couldn't be.

Then that damn tail wrapped around your leg; why, just why couldn't you be simple? Why couldn't he just not care who you sleep with?

Before he knew it, he stood before you, the tiefling behind him. Why?

He turned on his charm, and before he knew it, he was wooing the Tiefling, convincing him to go on his married way in hopes of bedding another.

Astarion looked at you as the tiefling left, and the fear of losing something so good ate at him. Gripping your arm, he took off as quickly as a fox through the forest you close behind.

Once safely away from prying eyes where he could be vulnerable, show you how much he cared and how scared he was of losing you, and he kissed you deeply.

You two had bedded in the forest many times before, but today, your connection was so passionately different.

Gale

Gale liked to imagine he was a simple man who didn't need much, especially after all that happened with Mystra.

That was until you came along, with your well everything; Gale couldn't find anything to hate about you.

The fear of messing up again and entering a new world of troubles ate him alive—almost as bad as the orb resting in his heart.

That's why anyone getting close to you, even a fraction of romance hinted or thrown your way, killed him.

He knew his place, though. Trying to woo a woman got him into the mess he is in now, so he just stood by and watched as people flirted with you.

Every instance though filled him up like a bottle, soon the pressure was going to explode but he didn't know how to inform you of this.

That night at Sharess Caress, though, when the twins propositioned you, the bottle overflowed.

Gale couldn't handle the pressure building or how you just laughed at the twins even though he could tell you were uncomfortable by their touch.

Before he knew it, he pulled you into him and used his ability to travel the astral plane to escape.

You were his and his alone to look at, adore, and love. No outside force or group could take you. Here, he ravaged you all night and early in the morning.

From that day on, Gale never hesitated to steal you away to his private hiding place to show you his more jealous side.

Halsin

Halsin was one with nature, so sharing with you wasn't horrible.

He knew that people would come and go, but he would be your one rock, always present and always there.

That made this evening at camp so much more confusing for him.

Halsin knew the wizard, vampire, and legend were all seeking your companionship, especially since they all brought it up to him before this month.

However, watching them flirt with you repeatedly, you just accepting the advances and taunts ate at him a little.

Halsin tried to go on nature walks, work with the land, and even speak to the great oak father about this; however, he turned up blank.

Tonight at camp was exceptionally hard. Though you had turned down Wyll and Gale, you never quite turned down Astarion. Halsin didn't know why this tore him up.

As the vampire asked you to take your life force once again, Halsin grew irate. You were simply too oblivious to realize this was an addictive habit, so you always stayed by the cold man's side.

Anger consumed him, and Halsin went to your side. Grabbing your hand and dragging you along, Halsin allowed nature to take its course.

Once you two stopped in the middle of a clearing, Halsin sighed. "Oak father's blessing, I know I always said nature can take its course, but Petal, I do not think I can stand this any longer. Let's just stay us, me, you, and no one else."

Once his profession came to light and you agreed, no questions asked, Halsin couldn't wait to enjoy the combination of you two as one. Oak Father's blessing on you both.

#bg3 #baulders gate 3 #bg3 x reader #x reader #head canon #headcanon #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #baldurs gate 3

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dhampling · 2 months

Text

ivory tower 18+ ASCENDED!ASTARION X AFAB!READER, 4.6K

Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city; but you want this.

woah boy! my first ascended astarion piece, so please be kind! dal is back babey! woooo! thank you to @bhaalism and @lipstickghoulie for dealing with me while writing this i love you both endlessly. wc: 4.6k cw: afab reader, female language used. breeding, mind-control, p in v, ascended astarion, public fingering, private banging, great times all round, as always if there are errors no there aren't, creampies, yippee

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep. Not really.

She sometimes slows just enough to find some purchase amongst the muddle, though - tiptoes lazy through highsun in soft linens, the burgeoning swell of soap suds and sunny rosemary through wide open wooden shutters. Lingering - sweat-soaking worn leathers, the sore of the flex in the arch of your foot splayed over cobble. As if to grasp at the memory, your fingers stretch out from your side and on to the dark oak of the armrest, in a moment of sheer jubilance. Summer. The sun. Wide bright mornings. Hopeful and hot as a bated breath.

The city ambles onward this evening, no different despite the inclement weather and the din of an early darkness. Half-lidded through dark streets as rain smatters the roofs with wet, glistening something dozy under the tall oil street lamps and swirls of ever-present heavy fog. Gurgling whilst each drain fills with water and swallows deep into the sewers.

Scatters the hay, bears the slip; sings a slow drunken stutter of thunder-wind whiling at the windows into the small hours. There’s a comfort to be found in it.

The harbour bell will go on to toll for every sail weary ship coming in from the fog; the crescent caress of the Gate’s waiting arms lit low with oily dots of amber. That even this late into the night the bands of trawlers on the dock work crates and barrels into cargo holds with worn hands and ruddy cheeks. The gulls and their scattering squawks. The flapping of their fat feathered wings up into the clouds.

From where you sit in the Ivory Tower you can hardly see anything at all. Fog obscures the streets to a point, other than the light patches under the oil lanterns out on the ramparts. The window runs dripping wet with condensation. Pools under the pane.

A hideaway of sorts within the manor. Newly reclaimed by Astarion in some deal with the quivering council in order to keep him sweet. Not that he has any armies of undead in his retainer to command as yet, but they don’t need to know that. There’s time. You’re still blessedly mortal and able.

Astarion.

He should be skulking the halls somewhere below with that unnerving silent step he’s taken to using. Your cheeks grow warm, the blanket over your shoulders pulled closer into your chest as you allow your mind to run wild; the scald of bliss to your brain like that of some ironmonger’s poker, split straight to the core.

Your love. Your lover.

Amongst his many newfound desires and passions seemingly includes the impetus to redesign a centuries-old palace from scratch, and while you doubt he has the want nor willpower to take the project anywhere near to completion you’re more than happy to indulge him during this burst of creativity. A designer’s eye. Lavish yet not ostentatious, he tells you. Your own private wing of the palace, and one you’ll share together. He has no need for his own private chambers. You’re the only one he wants to be beside. You understand that at its essence, it isn’t even necessarily a want to design for creativity’s sake, it’s important to you both to have every memory of the residence’s former owner gone. Every threadbare tread of carpet, every scuff on the wall; every painting being demounted by workers downstairs and shipped to the auction house first thing in the morning. You can hear them if you still enough, heart still beating in your chest and the low chunter of layman gossip.

The version of him you knew before his ascension was so very scared. Beautiful, but wavering. You loved him of course; and you always will - it was that version of him, the one lost in the wilderness that you fell for, and gods; you fell hard - frenetic and whiny, fleeting as light snow never to settle on the forest floor. Wild-eyed.

But this Astarion - the real Astarion, as far as he is concerned - has you completely and utterly enraptured each day you wake together, the same as ever, from the second your eyes open. Wrapped in those Daerlunian-import plush linens atop your gargantuan newly-installed four poster bed. Face of marble with those cattish dark lashes and eyes of carnelian crush. Enchants every room he walks into, as he always has.

You don’t know he’s with you until a hand ghosts your shoulder, sinewy; with those deft pale fingers deep encroaching on your collarbone in his grasp.

“I didn’t hear you, lover.”

“But I heard you.’

He circles round the velvet armchair, resplendent in his home finery. Not a crease to be seen. Voice soft, yet laced with a bristling concern.

‘Why do you insist on sitting up here?”

You err for a brief moment.

“I can hear the rain on the roof, here. See some bustle when the fog clears. The city goes on.” You shake your head with a smile as he crouches beside you, nestling his head in the crook of your arm.

“But it’s cold. Dark. Come down - I can light the fire in our sitting room if you like?”

“We have so many centuries yet to see together! What sense is there in not observing the world as it is now? Keeping record of the city as we saved it?”

His head lifts and his eyes meet yours, some churlish quirk of a brow in the low light.

“An archivist, now? Is that to be your profession alongside me? Whilst you raise our young?”

“If I wish it to be, yes.”

He laughs, a gentle low hum.

“Then an archivist you’ll be - the most renowned in all the lands. We’ll make it so.’ He stands once more and takes your hands from your lap, bringing them clasped to his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

‘I’ll begin planning on your archives - I presume you’ll want a library? Or something similar in your wing, maybe even an office. Who knows?”

Astarion looks to the room around you, the shapes covered with old canvas and the rickety floorboards underfoot. Cobwebs in the corner. There’s no grimace nor displeasure. He simply surveys as cool as still water. Objective.

“I’ll have some of the merchants relay their contacts come morning too. If you insist on expanding your territory up here then it must befit you.”

“Befit me?” You grin now. His hold on your hands remains secure.

“If you want me to say it, then I suppose I will. As many times as it takes to get it through that heavy skull of yours.’

His smile reaches his eyes as he circles back behind your chair, fingers splayed over your shoulders once more in a deep round kneading pattern.

‘There’s nothing you won’t have if you want for it. Nothing too good for you to covet, my solace; Saviour to the whole Sword Coast and every plain mite within its bounds.’

There’s a small pause as he bows to kiss the top of your head.

‘And I thank the stars every day that I can provide for you. That you saw the potential in me and lifted me higher, to such profane glory amongst the swill of common man. That my gold, my influence, and terror, and each lift of my blade is at your command and yours alone. That you stayed at my side.”

He doesn’t like to mention the gods, hence the stars. Pointedly brings the grimace back into play, occasionally even furrows with the slightest twinge of anger brewing at his brow. The gods had no role to play in your shared victories. No divine intervention saved him from two hundred years of torment, from certain death after the crash of the nautiloid along that sun-soaked span of rocky beach;-

You did. You with your strange inclination toward the weak man he once was. The shell he lived in like a hermit crab on the shore, nothing more.

On bright days, you thank him for giving you time.

Time to live, time to breathe with full lungs. Time to allow you to burn your eyes in the beating sun with a silver pot of fresh coffee and whatever ridiculous spew the papers hold between the pages today.

You know as you sit in comfortable silence that your time dwindles, and that your turning is inevitable. Your eternal wedded bliss is to be alongside him and will be as vivid in nature as all the colours of the astral plane, if he’s to be believed - and there’s no reason not to see his word as gospel. You can see each moment as crystalline as sea glass on sand. Forever with the man you love more than you’ve ever felt inclined to love anything. The bridal ceremony is but a drop in the vast ocean of your lives together.

He thanks you too. Often alongside you with eyes closed in some dozy recline, forearm hanging lazily whilst he takes the sun on his skin like a blessing. A loose linen shirt akin to the one he wore back at camp at the start of your journey together, strings wide open, a blaze of blinding flesh at the corner of your eye each time he shifts.

The veranda on a clear day. Astarion has assured you he’ll never take this from you. He’ll never take anything that you don’t willingly give him with a clear heart - and why would you give him your ability to bask in the sun, like a street cat in days-warm dust? What purpose does that serve either of you, beyond making you a less useful weapon in his prized arsenal?

At one point, all you wanted was to talk to him - and it rings true even now. The want to be the bearer of all his tales. To learn about him, to be close to him; to hear him tear the world apart with that dulcet snarl, walking alongside each other on the barren dirt trails out in the wilderness. Hop-skipping to keep up with his quiet gait. Giving him back as good as you got. The glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the way he’d sometimes just stop.

Close his eyes. Feel the heat. The gentle burn of highsun on tender flesh. A soft inhale.

That morning out in the clearing after your first night together. Arms outstretched in a welcome to the light. It had taken a few minutes for it to click as you’d silently watched on, why his sun salutation was so fond. So open.

It’s to be a long engagement with regard to your transformation whilst the manor undergoes renovations. Reason after reason as to why now isn’t the ideal time to commit you to eternity. You know why he wants to keep a hold on your precious mortality for the time being, of course; and that keeps you from the forever embrace of his Dark Kiss. It never changes.

You’ll allow him to sire your children. You want him to. Crave it. Him.

Your very own lineage together, he whispers; frenzied by your ear as his fingers crawl the bare span of your thigh. He can breed you full like fate intended and you’ll have something - besides him - that’ll also last forever. Something of your own surpassing the death of all of your contemporaries. The Vampire Ascendant and The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, flesh-on-flesh, skin smacking skin; his debauched groans and lewd whimpers as he buries himself inside you, your cooing breaths;-

You’ll wed normally too, for the interested eyes of the city. Some dull ceremony with the elites adorning all tables as gilded pieces might some decorative chess board, deceptive vows. Legally it makes things easier should anything befall either of you but the hassle almost makes the whole thing undesirable - gods, especially because he already treats you as some smitten newlywed might. Adores you. Follows you around the manor, stalking; like some wolf cub after its mother. Carries you to bed each evening and ploughs you senseless, until spit gathers in the corners of your wet, wanting mouth and you can’t see straight through grey-blear eyes.

He likes the idea of you taking his name by law. Melds with your own like it were meant to be, from the starter threads of whatever cosmic tapestry pulled you together, the marriage of your first name to his last, interwoven by a scholar’s hand in gold-shining delicate point.

Ancunín. The House of.

Tapestries. Large, spanning the halls. The Sarsantyr's over in Waterdeep - they’ll be able to create what you’re picturing.

A familiar gaze meets yours. It’s then that you realise you aren’t alone in your mind once more

“If you want tapestries, you only have to ask.”

“In fairness - you didn’t give me a chance to.”

He hums, tilting his head a little in the sun’s glare.

“I’ll send for them. The Sarsantyr's, yes? Have them pack up all their little-’

He pulls a face and lifts his hands in some kind of puzzled shake.

‘Sewing bits? Textiles? I’ll send carriages. They can come and stay in the lower rooms. Create the masterpiece you envision.” Astarion sniggers a little at the thought of putting them in the old dormitory while you remain lost in thought.

“Okay. Check them through first though, yes?

The real event - the wedding - will give you total ecstasy beyond your wildest preconception, you know this. Unfettered and euphoric. Books and books on the topic stacked clumsily beside your bed, reds and greens; the turning of a vampire bride in leather bound prose. You know what to expect in florid detail. You know to trust your lover, that the rabid creature you’ll become is only a temporary mental state precursing an eternity alongside him.

And yet, you wonder about the children. They’ll be here by then. However many he decides is enough, naturally; assumedly under the care of some hired help whilst you engage in your thoroughly bastardised pastiche of a wedding ceremony. You laugh now. He’s still in your head, mulling over your thoughts as soon as you can think them.

Will you miss them? Will they be your last thought before you pass away; Astarion unable to complete this ritual alone as he was unable to before? Will your death lead to his, leaving your dhampir offspring to ravage Baldur’s Gate unsupported by the windfall of knowing parents? There’s still no hesitation, though. You will bear his young. You want to. The consequences either way are vast and long-lasting, and you’d rather be at his side than facing his ire-

“Love, what are these thoughts? What on earth is going on in that very pretty head of yours today?” His voice is a low drawl, pitying yet laced with affection. He sits straight in his chair whilst a hand lazily searches for yours atop the sun-warmed table; beyond the scope of the ramparts wall the low meander of city life continues on.

“Mulling things over.”

“You don’t need to do that, pet. Come now.’ He beckons you onto his lap and wraps his arms around your middle, hand searching for the soft pillow of your chest as your ass backs up to his abdomen.

‘You want me to make it better?”

You nod gently, the sun catching your eye in a particularly bright beam and making you squint.

“Please.”

“Poor thing. It’s okay.” As he coos; one hand finds the curve of soft flesh at your chest, holding the weight of your breast firmly as he starts lightly thumbing at the nipple through your nightshirt.

“There, now. Good girl.” Your head falls back onto his shoulder, a deep sigh as he lulls you into a new state of calm astride him. Birds sing overhead whilst you nuzzle his neck.

“I will miss this warm flesh of yours, you know. Terribly so.’ His other hand moves to your nightskirt, gently hitching the material bit-by-bit up your thighs until you sit exposed to the air. Nobody can see you from here - the faceless crowd little but colourful dots below; Astarion giving a small tense laugh as he feels your pulse quicken against him.

He toys with your skirt, edging ever nearer your exposed cunt; and your eyes flutter closed.

‘But the greater purpose… I just can’t let it go. Us. Our lives together. I sincerely doubt you want to wither away to age; to lose your extraordinary beauty-’

A gentle groan as he feels your warmth.

‘Do you, my most precious flower?”

“Of- Of course I don’t. I want to be with you, as we are; forever.”

“Then we’re going to need to make a concerted start on the only thing setting us back, are we not?” His fingers gently tap on the crux of your pubic bone, threateningly close to your clit. You feel the familiar seep of your slit leaking onto the bunched skirt fabric and you think of honey. Some kind of sweet glaze.

“Yes.”

As you sink further into him his fingers move down just a little to meet your clit; and in response to your delighted sighs he very lightly begins to stroke either side of the engorged flesh. There’s no urgency to his movement nor his demeanour; just a treacle-thick teasing grin as he turns his head to kiss your blazing cheek.

“Good.”

There’s something borderline celestial about the gentle way he touches you, coaxing more of your slick from you with every gentle jerk. He deftly motions ‘come hither’ with a soaking middle finger dipping lightly at your hole then brings your arousal up to wetten your clit once more.

“You want this, don’t you?” A finger slips down to your cunt, this time slipping and nestling deep inside as you feel yourself writhe on him. One arm scrambles around the back of his neck to support yourself while he begins to curl at your spongy spot, and the anchor of your arousal shifts free.

“I’ve been rifling through that glorious mind of yours these past few days and I see you now. You want comfort. To comfort. To seek shelter in those warm lights on the horizon, to know you aren’t alone in the late hours.”

You nod furiously, wincing, desperate to feel him deeper. Thicker. You need more, your fox-eyed paramour giving only the barest minimum he can do to watch you squirm.

“You, with my babe in arm;- oh the image alone does things to you, doesn’t it?”

It’s as if he’s creating the visions in your head as he speaks them, bringing them to the forefront of your mind in hushed coos and silent gasps. As if by magic, the only thing on your mind is a primal need for him to fuck you full. Nothing else, no mind for coffee nor completed manor renovations.

You will be round. You will brim with life before he turns you, and you’ll take to his seed the minute he offers it to you. You’ll accommodate him like no other across Toril could hope to. You wonder if he has the power to decide how many, as he adds another finger to your unbridled torment. If he could choose to speed the process up with a celebration of twins, triplets. An heir and two spares. Maybe he’d wait instead until the first was born, just to ensure the viability of his bloodline. A test.

He’s doing this; you become starkly aware as he withdraws his fingers, spiderwebs of glistening drool clinging to your inner thigh as he brings them between his lips and suckles. He’s giving you these ideas of grandeur because he can. Because you are his. Because you wouldn’t want to belong to anyone else, to be tied to any other notion of whatever a fulfilling life is, if it weren’t one shared wholly by him. With him.

“Let me take you inside, sweet one. Let’s take care of you properly, shall we? Curb this fever, hm?”

Please, you think. Please take this burning hole in my womb and make it full with you. Extinguish the flame with your unholy spend and give me children. Give me oud and orchids and a life of warmth, however long we both may live.

“Use your words, my love. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this. Please.”

On the bed you now lie, the room cool and dark; balcony doors open wide with light-billowing curtains. Sweat consumes you as your thoughts run wild, the smell of your arousal, clammy hands and deep breaths in the low light. Astarion approaches like something from a dream, shirtless now; smirk plastered cheek-to-cheek as he leans over your trembling form with confidence - your lust-addled fingers reaching for his steady form like a ship to harbour.

“You want to feel it, little dove? Feel how you set me alight?”

He pries your wrist from him with gentle urgency, taking your hand under his and skating both downwards; down the plane of his tight torso, slowing to a stop just above his pelvis.

“Tell me - do you want to feel it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of your lips, but he doesn’t seem to notice - watching the way your hand twitches under his.

“Hm?”

His groan is guttural. Thick. He doesn’t even try to mask it, eyes wide as his hand shifts yours just a little further down and over the blistering burn of his heavy cock through loose linen trousers. A hazy sigh as he moans a small whimper at your touch.

“Please, Astarion. I beg you.”

It’s like his fingers are enchanted, the way they reduce you to this sodden mess. Unable to think unless guided delicately by his superior whim.

“I need to bury myself inside you fully for this to take. I need your full attention, submission; your devotion to our lives together. Do I make myself clear?”

He’s giving you one final chance to withdraw. Your head clears for one sweet moment and you can do little else but stare at his bulge with heavy lids and your mouth agape.

“Crystal. I ache for you. Please, give this to me.”

You lift to meet him in a soft kiss, jaw slackened and cunt ablaze. Nothing else matters, no complications, nor possibilities of horribly mangled spawn from your womb as a result of your copulation. This scalding stupor that sends you insane won’t go away until he quenches it with his seed.

Your response has satisfied him, if the way he stands sharpish and unties his trouser laces is anything to go by. The glassy head of his cock stands purple at his stomach, leaking wild at the slit and red-hot as your hand reaches blindly for him in your hunger.

He gently taps you away and back down onto the sheets.

“Magic?” You hear yourself mumble, still amazed at how surely swollen he must feel with how sore he looks. Has to be.

“Just me.”

There’s a tenderness in his eyes as he crawls back over you, legs instinctively parting and lifting at the knee to accommodate him. Something that compels him to hold your face in the hand that isn’t supporting his weight and just look at you, fondly; for what feels like an age.

Then he shifts once more to angle himself, decidedly spending no more time on preparation. The heat of his cock against your slit is unlike anything you’ve ever known, dizzying yet pleasurable; hard and yet still yielding, and as he thrusts a shallow dip into your core you swear you see angels overhead. Yes, you’re ready. You’ve never been more ready for anything than you are for the sheer ecstasy you know he’s about to give you, and he’s going to give you it in droves. Seismic tremors as he shifts a little and you adjust to him once again.

He nods. He hears you.

Then, he snaps once more; and he’s lost.

Each glub of his cock meeting your spill as he ruts into you; the way you feel it running downward in long dribbles, with each and every mindless hump of his hips eking more honey from your cunt in spades.

You hear the sounds of your shared carnal pleasure and it makes you clench around him in some kind of self-perpetuating cycle. Groans and whimpers and moans and hisses and the frequent egregious slaps to your thighs whilst he chases his high.

He’s perfect like this. Halo of curls above you, voice silken as he calls you every pet name under the sun, his, always. Your legs ache already from being wound so tightly, interlocked around him, and you think of the prespill inside you already. How each fangy showman’s smile means he’s twitching at your cervix and leaking molten gold inside you with every thrust.

It’s not until he nuzzles down to your neck that you remember to offer it, potentially for the last time on this mortal coil.

“Are you asking?”

“Well, you didn’t offer.”

The immediate pang is one of violent nausea, subsiding quickly into a wooze coating the bottom of your stomach in black tar as he fucks upward. Unease. There’s something in his spit, you assume. Something that makes the gaping wounds a little more bearable, a little less raw as he kitten-licks the flesh between swallows. Ice courses your veins with adrenaline as it always does.

Astarion chokes down his first sip with an eager cough. The burgeoning panic wracking your limbs turns into a numbed haze as your lover feasts, big neat gulps whilst he clutches at your ribcage with fingers splayed deep and cock buried to the hilt, like a man starved. His hair tickles at your jaw, the smell of something herbal. Slightly lemony.

He splutters that he’s close and you feel yourself nearing your peak too.

There’s a profane desecration in what he’s doing, painting your walls in an attempt to get you pregnant. Something deeply sordid, raw; ungodsly. There’ll be no Lathandrian blessing for your young, no gentle welcome into some family fayre on the outskirts of the city. No villages to raise them, no cards nor flowers from friends or family; but you want this.

You want him to taint you in his particular shade of crimson, visibly; so the realms know who made The Saviour of Baldur’s Gate come to heel. The man who compelled her through sheer love alone and to whom she gave everything. The indomitable force for whom you’ll die, only to resurrect forever as his.

Visions of your turning don’t scare you - all lightning and thunder, the cries of your dhamplings in some nursery down the towering halls of your palatial wing; and yet you’ll be safe in his caress. He wouldn’t let a single thing happen to you. He won’t.

And as he cums; he calls your name.

Some rhythmic prayer over and over again; and with each kick of his cock he loses some of his bedroom charm and hurtles back to earth, humbly enraptured. More candid. His weary muscles tighten as yours threaten your own release around him.

“Cum for me, now. Milk me.” in a heavy whisper whilst he strokes the soft flesh of your cheek; and you do. You cum harder than you can remember ever before. Each wave of sheer pleasure some blackout tidal wave as you writhe, staccato in his arms.

If you die during the ceremony, you’ll die happy. Should the younglings bite their way through your womb, it won’t matter.

You’re loved. He loves you, in soft kisses and gentle arms carried all the way to the waiting washtub. In the way he sponges your aching shoulders and brings a washcloth to your dazed face.

Baldur’s Gate doesn’t sleep, not really.

But tonight it will, in the patient, visceral bliss of calm before a summer storm.

#my writing #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #bg3

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ticktockmyclockworkhart · 4 months

Text

Tired of people being so dismissive of/slandering Wyll. Like I’m 1000% on the Astarion train but I recognize Astarion is genuinely a shitty person at times and his trauma doesn’t mean he can be excused from being things like yknow. Canonically racist. Like I adore Astarion but honey. no matter how much I love you you are a spiteful menace who needs to work on himself for real

But Wyll is just so nice and sweet and is such a genuinely good guy!! It disappoints me so much people don’t like him… and also on me liking Astarion, something I’ve seen a lot of in this fandom is a lot of people acting like you can’t like one kind of character without dragging the other constantly. Just because I like Wyll doesn’t mean I hate Astarion. just because I love Astarion doesn’t mean I hate Wyll. Literally all of the companions are deeply nuanced characters and yall need to give Wyll a break for real. When Tav has the option to say “he’s a good man. Maybe the best of us.” to Karlach they are RIGHT.

And it’s not like he’s boring or anything, I don’t know where that comes from… the son of a duke exiled from his home with a deep rift driven between him and the father he loves because a devil got her claws into him and convinced him to sign away his soul for the promise he could protect the people he loved? My guy what isn’t interesting about that?? And I love Wyll even more for the fact that, like Karlach, literally all the shit that gets tossed his way never stops him from being a good person. I always feel so bad breaking his poor heart when the game gives me his act 2 romance scene. Sorry buddy…

Wyll is my guy though and just because this is an Astarion loving zone doesn’t mean this is a Wyll hating zone. Door’s over there if you don’t like Wyll. When my Tav and Astarion get married he’s gonna be the best man. My dragonborn Tav thinks his horns are magnificent. Of fucking course I’ll do a little boogie with the guy.

I’m tired of people acting like genuinely good-aligned characters are boring.

#wyll ravengard

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vale-writes · 5 months

Note

when i feel icky i like to project onto whatever poor characters happen to be my hyper fixation at the time. might i recommend a hurt/comfort with our favorite vampire spawn when tav gets burnt out/depressed/dissociates?

i love this request <3 my dissociation has been horrible these past 3 weeks and i hadn't even thought of doing this. thank you!!

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, dissociation, reader is in depressive/dissociative episode, gender neutral reader, post-events of the game, bg3 and astarion spoilers

summary: ever since you defeated the netherbrain and saved baldur's gate from evil, astarion noticed you weren't yourself anymore. he started seeing pieces of himself in your behavior, which terrified him. he decides to ask what's wrong and tries to help you through it <3

Ah, sunrise. The time that Astarion should’ve despised the most, considering it’d kill him, but it was really one of the times of day that he loved the most. Because you were there waiting for him in bed.

He was just coming back from a night of haphazard drinking with Karlach and Wyll. They’d both invited you out, but you’d refused, saying you were too tired from all the work you’d been doing helping Baldur’s Gate rebuild. Astarion had been suspicious of you. You were never one to turn down some partying with friends, but he had tried not to think too much of it.

He quietly crept back in through the front door of your shared house, and a soft smile found its way onto his face when he saw that all the curtains had already been drawn to protect him. You must’ve drawn them before you went to bed, knowing he’d be back by sunrise. It was the little things like that that made his undead heart feel alive, even if just for a moment.

Astarion slowly pulled his boots off, trying not to make any noise. After centuries of slinking about, being silent wasn’t something he really had to try to do. But he always was extra conscious when it came to you. He didn’t want to wake you up or disturb your sleep. You deserved to rest.

He gently opened the door to your room and just stared at you for a bit. There was no light in the room, but his darkvision let him see you just fine, albeit in shades of grey. He changed into some more comfortable clothes for sleep and slid into bed with you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You were sleeping on your side with your back facing him, so he just buried his face in the back of your neck and deeply inhaled your scent. Gods, you were so warm. And soft. And the perfect person to sleep next to.

“I’m home, darling,” he murmured softly into your neck, though he knew you couldn’t hear him in your sleep. He always tried to savor this time. Your schedules never seemed to line up, what with him being nocturnal and you not, but sunrise was the one time you both could really rest together, even if it was only for a few hours.

“I love you,” he said before placing a light kiss on the back of your neck and closing his eyes, holding you tight against him. He let himself relax and fall into his trance, his breathing slowing and muscles relaxing into you.

He woke from his trance about four hours later with you still in his arms asleep. He blinked in confusion. By now, you should be out of bed and out of the house. He was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Maybe you’d decided to take the day off to rest. He couldn’t complain about that. He simply nuzzled his face into your neck again and decided to just wait for you to wake up. You always looked so peaceful when you slept. He could stare at you for hours, just drinking in the sight of you.

He sat up and took out a new book he’d been reading. He wasn’t just going to sit around the house doing nothing when the sun was out. He ran a hand through your hair while he read; half because he knew you liked it, and half because he was a selfish bastard who kind of wanted you to wake up already so he could tell you about all the stupid shit he’d gotten into last night. You slowly stirred from your sleep at his touch, turning to look up at him. You lazily draped an arm over his blanket-covered legs.

“G’morning, ‘Starion,” you said groggily.

“Good morning, darling. You’re up late. Did you plan on taking the day off?” He continued running his hand through your hair and set his book down by his side.

“..What? What time is it?” You frowned in confusion.

“It’s already almost midday. Are you okay? You don’t usually oversleep. Well, this much, anyway.”

“..Midday..? Godsdamnit I’m so late,” you grumbled as you laid face first on your pillow. “Might as well just stay home at this point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re not answering my question, darling.”

“What was the question?” you asked, your voice muffled by the pillow.

“Look, darling, as much as I love having your face in the pillow when we’re in bed, I need you to turn over so I can actually hear you.” He grinned at his own dirty joke and waited to hear your giggle back.

But he got nothing.

“..Are you hungover or something?” he scoffed. “You know, we invited you out last night. Did you go off partying with some other group of dashing bastards? You can tell me. I’ll pretend to not be offended.”

Again, nothing. He tried to hide the growing panic in his voice.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly, as if it couldn’t be true if he didn’t say it loud enough. “Did I do something?” He took his hand out of your hair and placed it on his lap. His eyes raked over you, trying to see if there was anything physically wrong with you. You were eerily still. Still breathing, but you weren’t moving at all, even though it couldn’t have been comfortable with your face in the pillow like that.

“No. ‘Starion.” Your voice sounded.. pained. Like every word was taking the life out of you to say. He reached over and picked your limp body up to turn you over onto your back. Your eyes were glazed over and half-lidded. If he couldn’t feel you breathing in that moment, he was sure he would’ve thought you died. He moved some of your hair out of your face as some was stuck to your mouth.

Astarion leaned over you, scanning your face to see what could possibly be wrong with you.

“Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” He hadn’t noticed any signs of someone breaking in and he didn’t smell your blood anywhere in the house. What in the Hells was wrong with you?

“‘M fuzzy..” Was all you said.

“You’re.. fuzzy..?” He furrowed his eyebrows at you. “What do you mean you’re-“

And then it clicked. He’d seen you like this once before. It was after you’d been imprisoned and chained up by that goblin priestess, Gut. You’d stumbled out of there in a daze, covered in blood but silent. Once you’d all gone back to camp, you just stayed in your tent for hours. Karlach had gone to check on you, but all she came back to tell the group was that you had been laying there silently. The only thing you’d said was that you were “fuzzy.” Gods, it was so long ago that he’d almost forgotten.

He stared into your eyes. Eyes that were looking, but not seeing. He saw himself laying there. In your eyes, he saw the same faraway look he made himself have every night when he was still enslaved by Cazador. It made him have a horrible nauseous feeling in his stomach. What could have possibly made you feel this awful?

“I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

You simply blinked at him. He tried to mask the anxiety on his face and hurried to pour you a cup of water. He came back into the room with your favorite cup in hand and set it on the nightstand next to you.

“Do you think you ca-“ He looked down at you and saw there were tears falling from your eyes. They fell down your temples and onto the pillow under you, but your expression hadn’t changed since he left. He gently wiped the tears from your eyes as if you were a delicate piece of glass. As if you could break.

Your mind was completely empty but unfathomably full at the same time. You wanted to tell Astarion what was wrong. That you never had time to process everything that happened in your adventure. That the faces of the people you killed or couldn’t save were always in your mind. That the wounds you’d taken always felt like they were still there, no matter how many times Shadowheart had healed you. It was too much.

But whenever you tried to tell him what happened, the thoughts drifted away from you. Your tongue felt heavy. It was better to just give in to the gnawing emptiness. To let it consume you. To let it drown you.

Astarion took your hand in his and gently rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand. The chill of his skin against yours brought you up for air for a moment.

“..cold,” you fought through the heaviness of your own tongue, trying to tell him that the cold was helping. He pulled his hand away from you immediately.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I thought it might-“ He looked down and saw that you had gripped his hand into yours before he could pull away, his cold hand now spreading its chill through your own. He frowned in confusion. “What..?”

You flicked your chin up to motion him closer. Every movement felt like dragging a thousand pounds behind you, but his touch lightened the load just a bit. He tentatively brought his face closer to yours, now about a foot away. You flicked your chin again, then pushed your head down so your forehead was closer to him.

His eyes flickered in understanding once you did this. He laid a gentle, cool kiss to your forehead before resting his forehead on yours.

“Is this helping? Me being cold?” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours as he spoke. You simply closed your eyes and took your first deep breath of the day. Gods, were you lucky your partner was undead.

“Mm,” you grunted in response. He took his free hand and wrapped it around the back of your neck to hold you closer. He picked you up to help you sit up against the headboard of the bed, then straddled you to sit in your lap. He wrapped his arms around you, trading his undead ice for your living warmth.

It shocked your brain out of its spiral, finally letting you fully see Astarion. Your hands moved to his waist and you kissed his nose, earning a surprised noise from him. He pulled away to look at you again, his red eyes drinking in every inch of your face, as if he was trying to memorize every line and shape in it.

“What happened, love? Did someone hurt you? Did you eat or drink something odd? Gods, if anyone did anything to you, they’ll have to deal wi-“

“Astarion-“ you tried to cut him off before he could begin his “I’ll murder anyone,” rant.

He scowled. “No, I’m serious. Who did this to you? Where do they live? You know I’ve got plenty of experience killing. Nobody would know-“

“Astarion.” His face softened and he looked at you again. You gently tucked a stray curl back behind his ear. “Nobody hurt me. I just- life has been a lot, recently. I’ve been so busy helping everyone rebuild and I never had time to just.. rest, and recover from what happened to me. To us.”

“You fucking hero,” he rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Can you be selfish for just one second? Fuck them all. Are you saying spending the entire day shoveling bricks out of the street and listening to people cry for hours is more important than laying here with-“

You shot him a warning look. He rolled his head back and dramatically groaned in frustration.

“Why didn’t you tell me before this happened?” He rested one of his hands on your chest, toying with a stray thread coming out of your shirt. He’d have to fix that later.

“I didn’t want to worry you, ‘Starion. I thought I could handle it,” you mumbled and looked away from him, ashamed by your weakness. You couldn’t deal with a little zoning out and feeling sad every now and then? Really?

He took his other hand and pushed your face back to face him. When you saw him again, his eyes were narrowed and darkened at you. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” You squirmed under him, confused by the sudden firmness in his voice.

“Don’t say you didn’t want to worry me. That’s what led to.. this, which made me infinitely more worried than if you had just told me sooner.” He took a deep breath. He was trying to practice that whole “vulnerability” thing. “It scared me, seeing you like that,” he murmured. “At first, it was because I didn’t know what was wrong. And then it got worse when I did realize what was wrong. I don’t- I don’t want to see you like that. Like me, before.. all of this.”

Your heart felt full, but also dropped at the same time somehow. Gods, he really did care about you. In your efforts to try to shield him from what was happening, you ended up hurting him anyways. You took his hand on your face and kissed it softly before resting your face on his chest, tightly wrapping your arms around him.

“I’ll take that as an apology. You know, I’d prefer a bouquet and a new perfume—maybe a new pair of shoes as well—but I suppose this will do,” he sighed, trying to sound annoyed. You could hear the smile in his voice, though, even if he tried to hide it while you drank in his scent in his chest.

“Now, lay down again. You’re staying right next to me until I say you can leave. I never thought I’d say this, but I do miss our little camps, if only for the fire I could sleep by every night.” He pulled himself off of you and got back under the covers, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in as well. He was startlingly strong for a.. petite elf, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He spooned you, leaving kisses along your neck while holding you tightly against himself. Your heat spread through his chest and stomach, making him release a content sigh.

"You'll be my fire, won't you? All you have to do is stay here and rest with me, darling. Let me take care of you."

Yeah, the city could go without you for a few days. You had more important things to do now.

#vale writes #WOOOOO #this one got away from me #i’ll be working through the other requests soon #didn’t mean to make this so long #love you!#bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #dissociation #bg3 fic

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sfehvn · 5 months

Text

new religion part 7

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! This has been sitting in my drafts half-done for a looong time. Hope you enjoy! Xx

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

CW: Pregnancy

Word count: 2,347

Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The agony that coursed through cold veins was not unfounded. Astarion watched on with helpless eyes as you lay in bed, your condition only worsening through the days that had passed. Skin that had previously whispered the touch of light seemed much paler than it had before this sickness befell you. Hadn’t it? Yes, he was certain of it. Deep bags kissed under your eyes like bruises of a cruel fate, hair once silken to the touch had become brittle and flat. An emaciated picture of what you had been just days prior lay curled on the bed. If Astarion hadn’t known better, he would assume you hadn’t moved at all from your position since climbing into that bed after returning from the boutique. He had been the one to force you to bathe and stroll through the garden; of course you’d moved. The pain hung deep in his stomach but he refused to let it take him prey. What you were experiencing was far worse than any discomfort he may be feeling.

Three days.

It had only been three days, yet it felt like an eternity. It felt as if he had borne witness to your undoing in such a mercilessly short amount of time. A sadistic reminder of how fragile mortals were. Of how fragile his flower was. How barbarous the outcome; Astarion finally felt so deeply for a being other than himself, only to have it ripped away from tightly grasped hands. He had restrained the urge to maim and destroy you, allowed his love for you to flourish in its haste, yet had still proved to be your inevitable downfall. The wretched thing dwelled in your womb. The disgust ebbed and flowed deep in his gut. All the while he knew the culprit of your condition; he wouldn’t dare utter a word until it had been confirmed. An unspoken battle; should he be forthright with the circumstance? No doubt you would wish to brave the godsforsaken gestation, your longing for motherhood had been made abundantly clear. Stubbornness had been one of the many traits that had made Astarion’s unbeating heart grow fonder of you; in this plight, it very well may be your undoing.

From Astarion’s peripheral, a chambermaid enters the room, awaiting permission to address him. He nods silently in approval, eyes never leaving your debilitated form. “Master, he is here. Shall I see him here?”

His eyes falter from you to glance at the thrall. “You may. Clear the halls on your way out. I expect not a single interruption from anyone while he works. I trust you’ll let the others know of the agonizing centuries to follow if my request is disobeyed.” Though his voice was firm, there was a hint of fear masked beneath the threats. Fear of what fate awaits his lover, fear of what has yet to come, fear of the unknown.

“Yes, master.” She agreed before swiftly seeing her way out. There were no games when it came to Astarion and she did not wish to be in his line of fire if the matter at hand didn’t resolve to his liking.

Astarion steps up to the bed, stroking disheveled pieces of hair from your sunken face. “He is here, my treasure.” Soft words were met with a weak nod, eyes shut in an attempt to stop the spinning you felt in your head. An unwelcome thought made its way into his mind, which he hastily pushed down as far as he could. A corpse you began to resemble.

A tall lanky man makes his entrance. Dressed in a robe that looked centuries too old, wiry hair wisped from the sides of a misshapen ignoble hat, and shoes that seemed to be worn through the soles. He looked every bit a beggar who Astarion would pay no mind to under typical circumstances. Magic radiated in powerful lulls from the stranger, an aura of importance despite his unseemly appearance. “Sir Ancunin, a pleasure.” The man regards him nasally, though his eyes are fixed on you. They seemed to scatter over your frail body in assessment. “May I?”

Edvund Luoguarde. Every piece of unbiased literature regarding dhampirs Astarion had managed to scrounge up had been written by the man in front of him. Not a stone was left unturned in search of the scholar; all the while he had been holed up in a makeshift home on the edge of Rivington. The notoriety Edvund possessed had not affected his simple way of life. It was something Astarion might have found humor in if he had come across the strange man under different conditions. The man slinks towards the bed once Astarion approves, lips pursed as he looms over your unmoving figure.

“Poor child, barely hanging by a thread.” Edvund muses out loud. While there is empathy in his words, the firmness spoke to the weight they held. Astarion eyes his hand cautiously as it comes to hover over your midsection. “I will need her on her back.” He states. “Are you able to move, dear?”

Your eyes open barely a sliver in response. You open your mouth to respond but your voice is lost to the dry ache in your throat and on your tongue. Looking to Astarion in a silent bid for help, he obliges by carefully moving your body into position.

“This will do nicely. You’re doing wonderful, dear.” Edvund reassures. He places his hand on your clothed stomach, a pale blue light illuminating from his palm. His eyes bear the same blue light as he stares distantly at the wall. “Very interesting.” He murmurs after a few minutes pass, but does not remove his hand. It shifts purposefully from your sacrum up towards your ribcage. It was a brief moment of relief, as if whatever magic he yielded offered numbing to the visceral blows you had been experiencing.

Edvund removes his hand and the light in his eyes flickers in tandem. “You would be wise to rest while you can.” He pats the hand that lay lifelessly at your side. Unsure if it was a trance or from the fleeting comfort you finally had after three days of torture, you drifted away. The man turns his attention to Astarion once he’s sure you’re asleep. “A dhampir of not one, but two.” He riddles. “To be born of fruitful womb and abject seed. To shed light as great as thee.”

“What in the hells are you saying?” Astarion’s brow creased. It seemed more likely that Edvund was reciting poetry rather than providing a diagnosis.

“A dhampire of not one but two; to be born of fruitful womb, abject seed. To shed light as great as thee. Cast darkness into light, and light into lead. A union thick as thieves.” His hands move in an unfounded performance, fingers coming to lock in front of his chin once he is finished. “A prophecy greater in age than you or I.” He clarified, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the bed. “It was foretold a pair of dhampirs would be born to a pure soul and a heinous….” He trails, eyeing Astarion before continuing. “They will materialize to our plane of existence. The gods have willed it so and so it will be.”

“Are you suggesting there are two?” Astarion’s jaw clenched as he eyes Edvund. “Remove them.”

“I cannot.” Edvund was unphased by Astarion’s aggressive demand, instead he stared him down with the same determined look in response.

“You will. This will kill her. Are you mad?”

“She will recover.” Edvund muses, looking back down at your sleeping form; no doubt the most divine rest you’ve had in your life with the help of his own magic.

Astarion steps around the foot of the bed, making his way toward the man with a fire blazing in his red eyes. Edvund glances at him, whispering a quiet incantation that seemingly relaxed every nerve in Astarion’s body. In a daze, he sits limply in the chaise at the end of the bed. He felt powerless. For the first time in his many years, he was indeed. Completely, utterly, entirely not in control.

Edvund steps in front of him, crouching until he is eye-to-eye with him. “You’ve felt this is destiny, yes? You and the girl?”

Astarion feels that blaze return, but it is quickly simmered once more. Edvund effortlessly defies his rage, pouring his own magic into keeping Astarion sedated. “Get out of my head.” Astarion murmurs, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.

Edvund proceeds; he already knew the answer to his question. “You do not want to anger the gods, Sir Ancunin. This has been foretold. Of course, nothing is stopping you from finding someone else to get the job done; I for one will have no part of it. I’d rather not deal with the wrath of any all powerful deity, let alone all of them. I suggest you heed this warning. It will not be pretty if you interfere.” He purses his lips tightly, furrowing his fluffy brows together as he speaks.

Astarion’s mind felt convoluted as the reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. This was bigger than you or him, but he refused to stand by and watch you crumble.

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of destiny as Astarion grappled with the revelation. Edvund's cryptic warnings and the ominous prophecy left Astarion torn between the fate dictated by higher powers and the desperate need to protect you. The clash of emotions within him mirrored the conflict that unfolded in the dimly lit chamber.

Astarion's eyes, once ablaze with defiance, now flickered with uncertainty as he considered the implications. The revelation of a dual heritage, the prophecy, and the insistence on non-interference pressed upon him. Yet, the fierce love he felt for you surged as a counterforce, compelling him to challenge the preordained path.

The room bore witness to a silent struggle—one man navigating the treacherous waters of divine prophecy, the other tethered to the mortal realm by love's unyielding grip. As Edvund continued his mystical work, Astarion's internal turmoil mirrored the external tension, a tempest brewing in the shadow of fate.

In the midst of this cosmic chess game, your frail form lay suspended, caught between realms. A pawn in a game played by unseen hands, her fate intricately woven into the fabric of prophecy. The dichotomy of despair and determination etched across Astarion's face painted a poignant picture of a soul at war with itself.

The room, once a sanctuary for quiet moments and stolen glances, now bore witness to a profound struggle that transcended the mortal and the divine. It was a clash of wills, a dance of destiny, and a tableau of emotions that would shape the course of lives entwined in a tapestry woven by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

“The gods have orchestrated this all, Astarion.” Edvund loosened the invisible grip he had on Astarion, allowing a sliver of distance between them as he stood. “I’d heard of you, you know. The ruthless vampire lord.” Edvund quirks his head. He didn’t need to say it aloud as it was unspoken; love had made Astarion soft in a lot of ways. Specifically for you, but for the way you lived life as well. The way you simply loved.

For a brief moment, Astarion wondered if you would have been anything more than a meal and quick fuck without the interference of higher powers. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though. It made him sick to think about.

Edvund's words cut through the tangled web of Astarion's conflicted thoughts. The acknowledgment of his reputation as a ruthless vampire lord served as a stark reminder of the life he led before you entered it. The juxtaposition of his past and the vulnerability that love had brought forth in him loomed over the room.

As Astarion grappled with the unsettling realization, Edvund's gaze lingered on him, a silent understanding passing between them. The enigmatic scholar seemed to grasp the intricacies of Astarion's transformation, not just as a vampire but as a being touched by the profound force of love.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.” Astarion replied back coldly, his eyes stone as he looked at Edvund. Edvund held his hands up in a show of understanding.

“I’d better get going. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but see to it that she rests adequately. There will be days where she feels like she can conquer the world, but she mustn’t overexert herself.” Edvund states as he walks towards the door. He leaves with a parting reassurance. “She will live. The gods are not as cruel as you would believe them to be right now.”

With that, Astarion sat alone. The air hung thick with magic and tension.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on your slumbering form, the delicate rise and fall of your chest a comfort amidst the tumult within him. The cold, stoic exterior he had worn for centuries cracked, revealing the vulnerability that love had etched into his undead heart.

As he sat in the quiet chamber, a myriad of emotions churned within Astarion—fear, love, defiance, and an unsettling acceptance of the cosmic forces at play. The room, once a witness to stolen moments of intimacy, now bore witness to a solitary figure grappling with the intricacies of mortality and the influence of gods.

Time seemed suspended in that moment, the force of the future pressing down on Astarion. The journey ahead, fraught with uncertainties and divine machinations, loomed large. Yet, in the hushed solitude of the room, Astarion found a quiet resolve to face the impending challenges.

The vampire lord, once driven solely by self-preservation, now stood on the precipice of a destiny entwined with love and sacrifice. As the shadows deepened and the room embraced its newfound solitude, Astarion remained a sentinel, guarding not only the frail form on the bed but also the fragile threads of a fate spun by gods themselves.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #x reader #bg3 #tav #reader #ascended astarion #ascended!astarion x reader #ascended!astarion x tav

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noroamenial · 7 months

Text

Light my Heart Aflame

Here is my full Raphael x Tav fanfiction!! Tav is afab and I doooon't think I gave them specific pronouns (I wrote in second person)

I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR POETRY

Spoilers for end of Act 2

cw: smut!

Summary: you and Raphael have a sweet consummation in an empty bedroom in moonrise

You sat on the steps of the main throne room. Ketheric’s empty throne sat behind you as you stared through the hallway’s open doors to the vestibule and out into the night. The only lights were the flickering torches mounted on the wall. The air still smelled like blood and the dead, even with most of the bodies removed. Only a few hours ago you were grappling with an avatar of Myrkul. You can still recall the exact feeling: your heart beating so loudly you thought it would jump from your throat, the smell of necrotic undead, and the weight of the glaive in your hands. You had witnessed your own death a hundred times over in the moment you had looked into its eyes.

You inhaled deeply, it didn’t matter that the air was tinged with iron, the upper floors of the tower breathed with relief. You yawned, shucking your gauntlets for the freedom of your hands, you had been waiting for this moment of relief. You rotated a wooden pipe in your hands, it was packed and slender with a curve. Halsin had handed it to you before you had slinked away from the night’s camp. ‘My gratitude can not be contained to only a gift, but allow this to be the start of my many thanks to you.’ He had said softly, with a hand on your shoulder before sending you off with an understanding nod. You puzzled over it for a moment, in your haste to escape socializing, you had forgotten a light.

“Even the smallest embers can be stoked to a wildfire. It is the consumer, fueling on whatever its claws can grasp.” A voice echoes off of the brick from behind you. And as soon as you are able to turn, Raphael stands above you, leaned over at the waist to stare curiously down.

“If you’ve come to deal, I’m in no mood.” You sigh, turning around. Your body aches too much to stand up in your armor and face him.

“A bird in the hand is worth more than two in the bush. I have what I want.” He sits down beside you with a shrug. “I thought perhaps you could use a lighter.”

You don’t even realize how much your reaction time has slowed until he’s lifting your hand with the pipe by the wrist, and has vastly closed the difference between the two of you. He offers you a light—a small burning flame, produced from one finger. And as you light the pipe and test the contents—something herby yet sweet Halsin must have put together—you’re greeted with a pleased smile from Raphael.

“It’s the least I can do for my little mouse.” He hums, and you’re so close you can pick out the streaks of white scattered through his black hair. “You went out of your way to take care of a deal meant for the vampire spawn. I feel as though I owe you more than him.”

You shake your head, before sighing.

“I would never let Astarion do that alone, much like he would not let me do that alone.” You explain, looking down. “I did it for him, so you don’t owe me anything.”

“Then allow me to wipe our slates clean, if not for you, then for me.” He hums, “allow me to service for what has been paid.”

“What service?” You laugh, rolling your eyes “what could you possibly give me right now that can be achieved? Bring me the netherstones? Remove the tadpole from my brain?”

“Alas, those are things I can not give you. But don’t underestimate me…I have tried. Had I the ability to succeed you would be indebted to me more than just one orthon.” His eyes glaze over, just a shimmer of an ember behind them. Perhaps lost in a fantasy, but he is back in a mere moment. “But no, what I offer is momentary relief. I can alleviate the ache in your mortal body, sate your mind, and in doing so allow you the pleasures that only the unholy can provide.”

If not for the seriousness in his tone and how close he had sidled up to you, you would’ve laughed. Instead you sputtered choking on your pipe and he tenderly had your wrist in his hand again, moving the pipe away from you.

“…free of charge?” You ask quietly, your voice catching as you regain your composure.

“Darling, you already paid.” He chuckles, face so close to yours you could smell brimstone and just about taste his lips.

“You’re going to kiss me here?” You hum, quiet enough just for him to hear—keeping this moment a secret from the ancient stone and battered walls.

“And on the throne, and in bed, and everywhere I can reach on your flesh.” He murmurs back, equally quiet and no less sultry.

The wooden pipe is carefully stowed, and for a moment you hesitate regarding your bulky and bloody armor, but you aren’t given the option to think for long as Raphael’s hand guides your face back to him.

The kiss is surprisingly sweet and a little clumsy, but his tongue deepens it so easily you forget. His hand graces the side of your face, thumb rubbing gently across your cheek. Maybe it was your own emotion or maybe it was an infernal charm but a sense of adoration bloomed from your chest and replaced the biting cold. Tentatively one of your hands weaved into his hair, well groomed, soft, and warm, he was so very warm.

One of his hands goes to your chest and you have to stop him.

“Not here,” you sigh, leaning back.

“Not interested in prying eyes, dove?” He asks, a slight tilt of his head. “Or do you recoil in the cold despite the warmth I will bring you.”

“Somewhere softer, somewhere private, if this truly is for me then let it be so.” You say back, allowing his words to roll off of you. If he was going to fuck you, it sure as the hells will be in a bed.

Raphael makes a noncommittal noise that is between a huff and a laugh, an amused smile gracing his expression. “Let it be so.” He murmurs.

You barely blink and suddenly you’re on a bed, you recognize it, an upper floor room you had ransacked earlier. It smelled less like blood and more like old books. Raphael is standing at the edge of the bed, surveying the room. He snaps his fingers and the oil lamp on the bedside table illuminates his face. His gaze lands on you, and suddenly you’re all too aware of the devil who will be bedding you tonight.

Imposing figure, horns, wings, tail and ember eyes trained on yours. With the mere flick of his wrist he’s in a silk robe. If you knew him better, you’d understand how important this performance he was putting on for you was. Not only was this a show of his autonomy—but of yours, a performance to convey the delicate trust he has placed in you in hope of a continued alliance. Tonight, you’re the one thing he’ll let break his fetish for control.

You swallowed, pushing any fear down with the rationalization that Raphael would not let up on his side of a deal—even if it was a deal you didn’t know was happening. You sat up to sit on the edge of the bed, removing your boots, undoing the straps of your armor. In doing so Raphael came to sit beside you, unusually quiet, perhaps mulling something over with the look he had on his face. You felt very dirty in comparison to him with dried blood and slowly healing wounds, this was the first time in a few days you were able to let down your hair—it sent pangs of shame to your stomach.

“Don’t look like that,” he hums, “Shame isn’t pretty on you, dove.” He reaches over to undo your breastplate and your shoulder armor comes off with it.

“In an ideal world I am not dirty and bleeding as you come to me in the night.” You sigh, finally shucking the rest to your feet and scooting back on the bed to lean against the headboard.

“My ideal world is having you as you are now.” He turns to sit on his knees, hands folded in his lap neatly. Even now he was gentlemanly, but the way he looked at you with a piercing primal gaze made your stomach flutter. “What a waste it would be to tame you in any way.”

“I like being tame.” You counter as he crawls toward you, “and well kept, and bathed.”

“Not in that way, dove.” Raphael reaches for your cheek with one hand, his other steadying himself in the sheets. “Not like that.”

He smiles slowly, wings splaying behind him and half of your face has a shadow cast over it. He’s waiting for something…he’s waiting for you.

So you reach for him, bringing him in and he accepts so easily. His kiss is ravenous, eager to fulfill its promise. His hand on your cheek traces gentle circles as if comforting a lover, and his other cups your waist. After such an overwhelming lack of affection as of late, Raphael easily coerced a flame to ignite in the pit of your stomach.

“Sweet thing,” he coos, leaving sultry kisses down your jaw to the softest parts of your neck. You allow a relieved sigh to escape you. Your hands trail down his back and you make an amused noise finding the slits in his robe for his wings. His tail flicks and you gasp as he nips you. Your attention returns to him as his hands squeeze your thighs, parting your legs further for him. Raphael slots himself between them with a content hum.

“Tell me, dove. What do you desire?”

You. Was your first thought, and your heart fluttered as you hesitated to speak. This side of Raphael you had only seen in bits and pieces. In the brief moments he could catch you alone: a touch to the shoulder, a more genuine conversation, poetry, letters…You could describe your relationship to him as more than a potential victim to barter with…but perhaps a confidant.

And if only you could see behind his eyes. Raphael was searching for your answer, for whatever unspoken thing you could tell him with your body language. He wanted to trust you, he wanted to want you.

You were brought back with the flick of his tail in the corner of your vision. You weighed your options while gazing at him.

“I desire you,” you hum languidly, “To have you in this manner. To kiss you. To have you come to me as you did; wanting to be the means to the end of my suffering, and I want to be able to come to you, to be yours.”

Raphael’s hesitation told you he didn’t expect that answer. Perhaps he had run over all of the possibilities in the several moments you were allowed to think, and your answer hadn’t even graced his thoughts. He was a creature of well controlled performance masking something that you had only seen glimmers of, like sunlight through barely parted curtains.

And so you responded for him, kissing him sweetly. That seemed to pull him back as he cupped your face and returned the action. His hips roll against yours as his wings flutter and span out behind him. One of his hands guides your hips along as his kiss trails down your jaw and to your neck.

You let out a pleased and almost relieved sigh, nuzzling him as he marked your neck. You grind your hips against him, eager to gain more friction as heat pools in your stomach.

“You are mine.” He affirms, pulling up to look down at you, and his claws are able to so easily tear through the fabric on your chest. You think he must be using magic because how else could his other hand so gently hold your face. “And I would do anything for you if you asked.” He spoke so plainly it made your breath hitch.

You splayed your hands against his chest, parting the silk of his robe.

“Right now, all you have to do for me is make passionate love to me.” you laugh, “I have already chosen to be yours.”

A ghost of a laugh leaves him in return as he kisses down your sternum, fondling your chest as he goes.

“Good,” he mutters, hands on your waist as he makes his way to your stomach. His lips were ticklish, and his claws were already curling under your waist band. And with a quick discard of your undergarments you are barely able to react before his mouth is on you.

Hot, wet, slick, his mouth gladly devours your cunt. With languorous strokes, his tongue teases your entrance only to slide up and hit your clit with the flat of it over and over. Your legs tense, but his hands hold them apart as he eats you.

Your cries of ecstasy only get louder as you grow closer to climax. Raphael’s piercing gaze is on you again as one of your hands curls into his hair and the other into the sheets. His claws hold you to his mouth as he focuses dutifully on your clit. All too suddenly you are coming undone, hands buried in his hair as you are gasping his name...an unholy prayer.

Raphael pulls away, your slick arousal on his lips. He wipes it away with an amused huff.

"Sweet thing, aren't you?"

Your chest rises and falls as he stares down at you. his hair is disheveled, his smirk lazy yet endearing and your cunt clenches down on nothing as you notice his erection. Raphael shifts, discarding the silk robe from his shoulders and giving you a great look at his exposed body.

The warm lighting really did him justice as you looked him up and down.

"I want you," you finally say, sitting up to face him.

"I know, I am glad you do, my dove." he laughs, "now give me your hands."

Your brows furrow, but you offer them up anyways. He turns them around in his own grip to have your knuckles up. As he does, you're more focused on watching his chest expand with each breath, steeling your resolve as your core continues to ache with arousal.

You are pulled back by the tingling warmth blooming from your palms, traveling up your arms and to your chest. You look up at him for an explanation.

"Relax," he coos, "I’ll allow you a taste of Avernus’ great fire, the seat of power in the hells. Consider it a gift and we can be on equal standing.”

“What does that even mean?” you scramble for words. The feeling now not only is physically warm, but mentally. As if Avernus could reach into your very desires and passions and stoke their flames.

Raphael doesn't answer, simply intertwines your fingers in his and guides your back to the bed. It is like he created a circuit, your connected palms the conduit. It made your eyelids heavy, you knew there was some importance to this carefully guided ritual, but you were not sure what it was yet. You had placed a great amount of trust in him and it seemed this might be part of the way he was placing trust in you.

Raphael kisses you again, and you don't think you could tire of it. As you kiss back the material plane wavers for a moment, allowing you a space between; your body a little lighter and your soul a little heavier.

One of his hands untwines from yours and instead slides across your slick aching cunt. You keen and gasp as his finger enters you, curling ever so slightly. He kisses your cheek, and you move your head to capture his lips in yours again. Your hips grind on his finger, eager for more stimulation.

Eventually you're sure he can't help himself anymore. Raphael pulls back, panting, fingers leaving you to instead wrap a hand around his cock. He pumps from base to weeping tip, coating what he can in your arousal. His hands settle at your waist. The sweet whisper of a groan that left him was heavenly as he entered you.

This was truly for you, while Raphael surely was getting something out of this: whether an orgasm or simply the pleasure of watching you plead and beg and shudder underneath him, this was all for you. He so softly wormed his way into your heart you almost didn't recognize him.

It was only with a, "yes, my dove?" and a confident kiss to your cheek did you recognize him again. Also were you suddenly aware of your trembling flushed body with his name perched on your tongue.

You've been to bed with a partner, had a myriad of experiences in your time courting, but nothing really compared to this. Perhaps it was the way the stroke of his cock that tugged you part way from the material plane that made it so good. Or it was the way the pleasure doubled back over through that tentative tether tied to your heart. Either way it made it easy for Raphael to make voracious love to you.

As the cambion pulls away, you're back. This night has been as though you have been through several states of limbo. Guided gently by Raphael as pleasure, form, and love collided.

"By sunrise, you should be well rested." Raphael pulls hair out of your face, laying at your side. His silks had been returned to gently hanging from his form. He was obscuring the bedside lamp, casting a shadow over your form, but his eyes remained as a soft glow.

There were words to say, words you wanted to say, but they were stuck at the back of your throat. Thankfully, your silence didn't seem to deter his claws running through your hair. It was hard not to drift off, your energy was fully and truly spent.

Your eyes flutter, you will them open just a bit longer to look at him.

"Sleep, dove." he chuckles, and it reverberates in your own chest. "This is not the last time you will set eyes upon me."

~~~

In the morning, you wake up as the sun peaks from the horizon. It should not have been a restful sleep, but sure enough the devil was true to his word. You were allowed a touch from Avernus’s flames. Your ambition had new fuel. Your body healed. The only thing he left was the ghost of a touch and a tether on your heart, marked dutifully by the master of the house of hope.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate raphael #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #bg3 raphael x tav #cw:smut #they have sex #im very proud of this #even though it took forever #and I have a different idea of his character again #i love developing

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galebrainrot2024 · 2 months

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I’m about to learn what the overlap is for Astrology and BG3 - I give to you my takes on the companions Big 3 (Sun, Moon, Rising)! Disclaimer: I did this on vibes alone

A quick break down for those unfamiliar: sun is ego, moon is emotional world both how we process and express emotion, rising is our house of self, how others perceive us., who we fundamentally come across as

Karlach: Taurus Sun, Leo Moon, Sag rising. Starting off strong and easy, girlie is a Sag rising without question, she loves spontaneity, good humor, trying new things, wants to explore and see the world and take it all in. Taurus sun, I think she’s a fairly grounded character and it takes a lot to make her angry - what she is angry about though are long standing grudges where people have done her quite dirty. Provoke the Bull, get the horns. Leo moon: she wants to illuminate and shine her optimism and love onto others. Has great hair, strong sense of humor, bold, a flair for the dramatic.

Gale: Pisces sun, Libra moon, Taurus rising. I had a surprisingly hard time with him. I think he’s a March Pisces specifically. He is a little delulu and has a huge imagination as well as capacity for empathy, humanitarianism. Romantic. Plus, baby cow eyes. Big water sign energy there. Taurus Rising: our boy is quite stubborn and enjoys a bit of lavishness from time to time. Conjures a bed instead of sex on the grass. The five senses matter a great deal to him - Taurus is ruled by Venus after all and is a very sensual sign. Great cook. The moon I struggled with and ultimately think he’s a Libra moon. He craves intellectual stimulation, strong people pleasing tendencies and also values relationships and partnerships. Very romantic. Libra moons thrive and seek out partnerships and as it’s an air sign, is also very intellectually driven and aroused by intelligence/harmony/beauty in all forms (arts, food, people)

Astarion: Cancer sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising. No further questions your honor. In all seriousness, nothing screams moody, sarcastic vampire like Scorpio and cancer. Capricorn because of the restriction imposed upon him. All of these placements are really sweet to their people, everyone else.. well.. just keep your distance, darling

Shadowheart: Gemini Sun, Capricorn Moon, Scorpio rising. Girl is secretive and emo as heck, and emotionally cold and distant (AT FIRST!) Capricorn moons hold their cards close to their chest as do all Scorpio placements. Gemini for her fluctuating nature, enjoys talking, is a chameleon in many respects. Needs intellectual stimulation and likes the back and forth, can be a playful person

Lae’zel: Aries sun, Aqua Moon, Aries rising. As far as I’m concerned, she is the pinnical of Aries: head-strong, straightforward (sometimes at the expense of others), courageous, short tempered and outwardly aggressive as opposed to Scorpio or cap aggression which is more subtle. Lae’zel says what she means and means what she says. Impulsive. Can rub people the wrong way and is ultimately a lovey, soft hearted character once you get passed the sandpaper attitude. Aqua moon because they are humanitarian and look at the bigger picture, less squishy about their emotions yet have strong feelings. Tendency to Intellectualize emotions.

Wyll: Libra rising, Pisces moon, Sag sun. Sag because Wyll has a strong sense of duty and purpose, yet it’s coupled with a strong sense of freedom and zest for life. Expansive. Libra rising because he’s a good conversationalist, enjoys the arts and finer things, wants harmony and Justice, tries his best to avoid strong conflicts when he can. Pisces moon because I think our boy is so sweet and soft internally, and thinks and feels deeply about everything. Can feel misunderstood.

Bonus: (descriptions to come later if desired!)

Halsin: Gemini sun, Taurus Moon, Cancer rising

Minthara: Aqua Sun, Virgo Moon, Capricorn rising

Minsc: Leo sun, Gemini moon, Taurus rising

Jaheira: Capricorn sun, Cancer moon, Leo rising

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale #bg3 brainrot #bg3 jaheira #bg3 karlach #shadowheart baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baulders gate astarion #bg3 minsc #baldur’s gate wyll #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 halsin #astrology of bg3

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lillithhearts · 5 months

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Can I request dating headcanons for Gale, Wyll, Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor, Halsin, and Astarion with gn s/o?

say less!! It's been awhile since I've written headcanons or prompts with multiple people but LETS TRY

Bg3 chars x gn!Tav

warnings: (maybe) Ooc Zevlor,Rolan (I think I have a pretty good grasp on Dammon) not proofread!! Mentions of traumatic backstories

Zevlor definitely has some self worth issues due to Fall of Elturel and what happened with the Grove he cares deeply for his fellow kin and that care flows into you aswell. He is absolutely infatuated with you and has absolutely no shame showing it or others.

I feel like he's very big on PDA for an odd reason he isn't afraid to tell anyone off and he has a backbone that's for sure, that doesn't mean he's not vulnerable he absolutely is and he feels safest with you as his beloved. He shows his love with physical affection and acts of service in my opinion— cooks you breakfast,lunch and dinner. Plans nice evenings, takes you nice places, whole nine yards— he's also surprisingly big on literature and he writes you poems and tells you the nicest most sweetest things ever. He's a very stubborn man though, so if you're also stubborn it can turn into bickering but never an argument, at the end of the day he just wants to see you smile.

EXTREMELY cocky, He's like a cat that'll keep eye contact with you when knocking a class off the counter. He does love big nonetheless! A heart of gold and an ego of steel but you love that about him

I think he'd enjoy quality time. Cooking or cleaning together, reading in silence or just holding each other in the morning juicing up for the day.

I also think he's also just absolutely obsessed with his Partner but in a more discreet way, Glances at you after he voices an opinion or telling a joke. Seeing what you'll do and think. Expanding on that he definitely takes what you think to heart at all times and always ask your opinion on anything— food,clothes, decoration how to style his hair so on and so forth

Also a HUGE cuddle bug. Cooking dinner? Hugs you from behind, Sitting on the sofa reading a book? Lays his head in your lap and looks at your gorgeous face, Walking in public? Hand on your lower back.

He's a little cutie patootie

OUR FAVORITE BLACKSMITH!!

He's actually so adorable and hes definitely into gift giving and physical touch.

He'll make you little trinkets and do-dads from scraps he has left over, You know those metal roses some people make for their partners?? He does that with you and they look absolutely amazing everytime (he buys you normal flowers aswell do not worry)

He's also no stranger to being the small spoon so just hold him sometimes, He's gone through some things with the Grove and the Shadow lands and he has nightmares on occasion when he will wake you up and you of course sit with him until he can rest easy again

He's no surprise to anyone very strong he's a black smith for crying out loud, he's 90% sure he can pick you effortlessly no matter how tall or big you are he will do it. No negotiating about that

He has the cutest puppy dog eyes I mean can you blame him? I'd use those gorgeous eyes to my advantage aswell— he knows you love it and him so whenever he wants something from you he gives you a look anyone could coo at you fall for it everytime

In the city (or in general) he basically drags you around by your hand, he's also 10 steps ahead of you mentally and sometimes physically..at this point get a leash for him

He's still very emotionally intelligent and talking with him about something that bothers you is met with understandment and reassurance while he works on the issue and he expects it vice versa aswell where you happily oblige

He's sweet but he's not a pushover under any circumstances

The most gentlemen-y of Gentlemen.

Outside of Baldurs gate he will do his best to spoil you with food, flowers and protection— you swear to him you can take care of yourself but he doesn't listen to you

After you enter Baldurs gate however he's going full ex-Noble mode, Fancy dinners, Bouquets and whatever you'd like he's ready to get it for you at the basic snap of your fingers.

Gift giving is his love language, ontop of quality time. You tell him you do not need all of the nice things he gives you but he insists some Noble roots run deep, he often confides in you over his Father and Mizora and the guilt of what he would've potentially done to Karlach still lies in his head despite Karlachs constant reassurance ontop of your own

His favorite thing is honestly to look at you especially your eyes, The glimmer in them after a fight? Or the reflection of the fire from the campfire in your eyes? Absolutely breathtaking in his eyes.

To him you are everything, You're one of the only people he has left and he isn't planning on losing you, has your back if you ever need it. Physical cover in a fight? He's right behind you, someone's giving you shit? He'll defend you with every ounce of his being

Also a man that insists on carrying you anytime you even show an ounce of exhaustion, He might also be one hill away from collapsing but he's your knight in shining armor and you know it

Sometimes he wonders if you love Tara more than him honestly—

Please give this man some REAL love, pamper him, smother him and reassure him. The roots on Mystras abuse runs DEEP but he doesn't know that but you do.

Despite his very obvious love for you and the care he holds deep in his heart but he cannot help but feel like he's holding you back with the literal ticking bomb he is, everyday he fears it might be his last along with yours unfortunately. He's aware you'd insist on staying with him if his time ever came but he simply can't bring himself to think of you being gone even after he's passed

If you're out alone he asks Tara to keep an eye on you if you're out long that is

He's not insecure but afraid, anxious despite the fact he's one of the men with the least baggage he's worried you think you can do better

his biggest love language I think is physical touch, He wants to feel you, to know you're real and you're his.

If you're useless in the kitchen he does not mind doing all of the cooking and baking as neither do you. He's a powerful and talented culinary wizard, He also just prefers to spend his nights and mornings in your arms just taking a breather and loving you

Our most beloved spawn :)

Obviously very touchy and handsy but hes also big on words of affirmation and gift giving

He once brought you a head rat as a joke saying it was a gift

He needs someone to match his energy, either by being matching chaotic or laughing at his not so violent antics (or also at his violent antics that's up to you honestly)

He's not all sunshine and rainbows however, the wounds of Cazador will always be part of him and he wants you to know that.

He talks big but he knows he's alot with everything he's gone through and what that made him at the end of everything

He also knows you won't be around forever unlike him and he dreads the day he's alone again

You are his sunshine and he doesn't know where he'd go or who he'd be if you didn't stick with him and he loves you endlessly for your patience and understanding with him.

Halsin the big bear

Have a fear of bears or dont like em in general?

Ultimate deal breaker, he needs someone to love him for all of him, bear form included

He's a big sweetheart but like Dammon also not gullible or Naive

Definitely big on Marriage with you because he genuinely thinks you are the one and he wishes to never spend a day without you ever again

He becomes less subtle with his advances and flirting the more you date him, and it makes him laugh everytime you give him a knowing look and laugh at him

No matter how not pick up-able you think you are Halsin will throw you over his shoulder

HUGE cuddler anytime you guys aren't actively moving around? BOOM hands on you everywhere. Another man who loves giving loving words

A nightmare? He will whisper sweet nothings into your ear and hold you closely to his chest listening to his steady heart beat

He's also a great cook which he uses to make you some very nice meals

I can also imagine you can ride him in his bear form especially if you're tiny, Cuddling him in his bear form is also not rare between you both

Overall very big nice bear husband

OMG KILL ME I ACCIDENTALLY PUBLISHED THIS BEFORE I WAS DONE THATS SO EMBARRASSING

again I apologize for ooc npcs 😭 hope you enjoyed nonetheless

#bg3 x reader #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #bg3 wyll #bg3 zevlor #bg3 dammon #bg3 halsin #bg3

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bg-brainrot · 3 months

Text

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 9: Before Reaching Baldur's Gate

Chapter 9: Before Reaching Baldur's Gate

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 2, Canon-typical violence, consent, cw: alcohol

WC: 1.7k words, 9/18 chapters

Summary: Set during that one rest between Act 2 and Act 3 -- they talk about consent a bit, establishing their hug-boundaries.

Ao3 | [Hug8][Hug10] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Tonight you’ve set up camp in a fortress, just one sleep away from your final destination: Baldur’s Gate. You’ve never been so anxious, so excited, felt so many different emotions, just from staring at the city you call home.

It’s been a difficult journey, one that your companions have felt just as deeply as you have. So when you see the city illuminated in the distance, you know it’s a welcome sight for you all– a true victory, one that not even the Absolute can take from you.

As their de facto leader, you know this is a time for the group to celebrate its win. And you just know that the view from the battlements is better than anything you can get from your tents down here. “Hey!” you call out to your group. A few perk up from their nightly routines, several start to walk over. “Who wants to climb that tower over there? I bet you we can see all of Baldur’s Gate from up there.”

It doesn’t take long before the entire party is clamoring up the ladder to reach the heights above you. Not even Gale, who’s making the entire climb through groans and cries about his bad knees, would miss this view.

You’re the first to reach the top, leading the pack up and climbing with practiced efficiency. As soon as you raise your head, your breath catches. It’s beautiful, you think to yourself. And it truly is, lit up like the beacon of hope you know it to be. Home.

As you walk to the edge of the tower, you can hear your companions filing in behind you. “There it is! Even after a decade, it’s lovely as ever!” Karlach extols enthusiastically.

“I’ve only been away for seven years, but my heart is no less elated,” Wyll responds, his eye crinkling in excitement.

“I’ve only been away for a few months, and I don’t understand how adventurers do this for years,” Astarion grumbles. “You both must have backs made of steel to sleep on the ground this often.” He easily takes his place next to you, arms-crossed, shoulder nudging yours ever so slightly as he stops. You nudge back a bit, but continue to stare out into the slumbering city, listening to your companions banter.

Karlach laughs a bit bitterly before saying, “Didn’t have much of a choice. Though I will say that you hardly notice what you’re sleeping on when you’re busy destroying demons.”

“Well, I still notice while destroying cultists,” the vampire responds, voice tinged with annoyance. Then to you he asks, “And what are you so enchanted by?” He leans into you more, and your body ends up at an awkward angle.

“We're so close," you say, simply, allowing yourself to rest on the crenellation next to you for balance. As it so often happens with him, you’re reminded of a cat demanding attention. “Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

He scoffs, lightly jostling you as he does so. “Of course I am, Cazador won’t know what’s coming for him.”

You grin at that, recalling your earlier conversations with Astarion, who was so worried that fighting Cazador would be impossible. Your group has faced the impossible now, facing a mad vampire lord seemed right within your grasp. “Damn right,” you say, finally turning to look at him, only to find his face incredibly close, eyes staring at you intently. “What’s the matter?”

Astarion looks back at the rest of your group, conversing amongst themselves, pointing out buildings in the cityscape, otherwise wholly preoccupied. Satisfied, he turns back to you and pouts. “Darling, would it kill you to hug me every once in a while?”

You startle, what is he talking about? Thinking back, you’re certain you hug him quite a bit, more than once in a while. You say as much, “Love, is your head alright? I swear I gave you a hug just yesterday.”

He continues to lean into you, but keeps his arms firmly crossed. “Yes, of course you hug me back,” he starts, tone explanatory. “But you barely ever hug me first. I can only think of one such instance and, while I much appreciated it, I would appreciate more.”

His words ring true, you realize. You’re not sure how much of it is a choice that you’ve consciously made or if it’s born of your underlying worry. It hasn’t been long since you entered this new phase in your relationship, and the past couple of weeks have been a lot of trial and error to get to a place of some comfort and understanding. As such, you know exactly why you’ve been careful, consciously or not. “I don’t want to touch you if you’re not ready for it,” you say, tilting your head toward his, whispering your words away from the rest of the group.

The vampire freezes a moment, his eyebrows knitting into a look of concern. “While I appreciate the sentiment, darling, a hug isn’t exactly carnal.”

You give him a flat look. “Of course it isn’t,” you respond back. “But it’s still… intimate. You should be allowed to decide when that happens. If you hug me, I know you want it to happen.”

Astarion finally uncrosses his arms, only to rub at his temple in exasperation. “Ugh, you’re being disgustingly considerate,” he says, closing his eyes. “It’s times like this that I wonder how we’ve even gotten this far.”

“Hey!” you exclaim in indignation. Lowering your voice again, you continue, “You know you’re the only one I’m this considerate to. I even told Gale we don’t have time for his little shopping trip.”

The vampire opens his eyes and shoots you a wry smile. “Ah, the very epitome of an unflinching leader. Besides, we both know you’ll give in to him anyway.”

“I will not,” you say, without much conviction.

“Regardless,” he says, holding up a hand. “I appreciate your kindness, but I am not a porcelain doll– as much as I may look it.” Astarion tilts his head up, as if to catch the starlight in his silver hair.

Pursing your mouth, you consider his words. Have I been too careful? “I… know that. I’m sorry, love. I’ll work on that, alright?”

“I know how you could start,” his eyes twinkle at you expectantly.

“With a hug?”

“Yes, gods, just hug me already.”

Some part of you still worries, still hesitates, but in the light of Astarion’s pleading expression they melt away a bit. Facing the silhouette of the city you both call home, you wrap an arm around him and pull him into your side. “Like this?” you turn to ask him, noses almost touching.

“Mmm, it shall do,” he answers softly, leaning into your hug, touching his nose to yours for a moment before looking out at the city. “What a romantic scene we've stumbled into. I can see why bards write about it.”

You hum in agreement, tilting your head to touch his. “Maybe if we save this gods forsaken city a few bards will pick up our tale.”

“In that case,” he starts, finally wrapping his own arm around you, squeezing you to him. “We’d best make it memorable.”

You stand in each others’ arms for a while, occasionally pointing at the city as you spot places you’d like to share with each other. You’re not sure how long you spend staring out at Baldur’s Gate together before your companions jolt you back to reality.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” You both turn in unison without hesitation to the source of the interruption, Karlach. Her and the rest of the group have gathered back at the ladder.

It’s Shadowheart that responds, “It’s getting a bit chilly up here. What do you say we pop open a bottle of wine and celebrate our return home?”

“As long as it’s not firewine,” you reply, shuddering at the idea of drinking any more of that swill. Pulling Astarion by the torso, you start to move toward the group.

He tugs you back gently, ignoring your questioning eyes to call to the group, “We’ll be down in a bit, not done here quite yet.”

“Suit yourselves! But take too long and I will drink all the good shit!” Karlach says, laughing as she heads down the ladder. The rest follow right behind her, their words and footsteps fading on the night’s breeze.

Once they’ve left, you look back at your lover, eyebrow raised. “And what aren’t we done with yet?”

“Our hug, obviously,” he says, waving his free hand at you. “Or did you really think a paltry one-armed hug would satisfy a man of such appetites?”

You only take a second to process his words before gladly diving into him with both of your arms. You wrap Astarion in an all-encompassing embrace, a vice-grip full of love and warmth. “Better?” you ask, turning your head to the crook of his neck.

“Much,” he sighs into your hair, reciprocating the hug with no hesitation. A moment passes in a silent buzz of happiness, before he speaks again. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding ridiculous,” he begins. “But here, in your arms, it almost feels like I’ve already made it back home.”

Your heart thumps in your chest, but you’ve gotten better at surviving his sincere compliments. “You’re right, I should hug you more often.”

“I knew you would see reason,” he laughs. “And if you're ever worried about hugging me, you're quite welcome to ask. Now, since you always ask so nicely, would you allow me to kiss you?”

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you nod. “Yes, please.”

Astarion smiles at you, an unfiltered joy shining in his eyes. His cool fingers cup your chin as he pulls your face toward his. Your eyes close as your lips meet his in a slow, tender kiss. With the city as your backdrop and this lovely man in your arms, the world feels more focused, your purpose clearer. Baldur’s Gate awaits you, and you’ve never been so eager to answer its call.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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ghastlytofu · 7 months

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I listened to Kamina's "All The King's Horses" while writing this. If you feel like crying about Wyll today. :)

Titled 'joke's on you i'm into that shit' while it sat in my drafts and you know what..? Still applies. Consider this chapter one of at least two, prompt courtesy of @hiriaeth: "Wyll offering Astarion to feed but feeling guilty bcse it's not just about keeping Astarion healthy it's cause he's really into it for sexy and deeply personal reasons" and @mz-elysium's replies positing masochist Wyll. I can only hope I deliver.

This ended up being very introspective and soppy, slightly gory? And probably only sexy if you're an unholy but SOFT monsterfucker like me, so. Fair warning.

(Still working on my other prompts!)

They are knee-deep in gnolls, which is one thing - but the next, oh, before they've cleaned the blood off their blades they're set upon by what appear to be human slavers. Thayan, perhaps, though Wyll can't say for certain. Normally not much of a challenge for adventurers of their ilk - there are no Red Wizards among them, only the grunts and thieves that make their lives easier, but they are fresh off a much harder fight and haven't had time to rest when the first strike comes.

He keeps the location of his companions in mind as he casts Arms of Hadar, sending necrotic power surging menacingly towards his target. It finds it, he notes grimly as the man screams, and Wyll ducks and takes him with his rapier, bloodspray hitting the soft soil like rain. A few paces behind him Shadowheart's mace crushes the skull of an unfortunate rogue and she's rushing to aid Lae'zel, casting quick healing spells to treat what looks like a sprained or broken ankle and - he winces - some kind of acid burn running up her leg, effectively taking them out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Wyll moves to cover them. Successive eldritch blasts slam into the only archer left, felling him. There are at least three more melee combatants on the field, and that's if they don't have reinforcements. They have to move quickly. Lae'zel stumbles to her feet with Shadowheart's assistance, already swinging her greatsword and Astarion -

He hasn't seen Astarion, until now. Hasn't needed to; knew that he would've slipped into cover of darkness when first the fight began, and that he has. He takes one of their foes by surprise, his whirling daggers at their wicked work as one plunges into her heart, the other arcing across her throat. She falls.

There's screaming, and burning. Someone is on fire to his right - another of their enemies, and over the noxious stench of burning flesh and the rising smoke he sees their suffering ended with a swift strike of Lae'zel's massive sword.

There was one more, wasn't there?

He turns, but it's too late. The enemy is upon him, driven by desperation and fear at witnessing his fellows' violent deaths to strike wildly and carelessly, but it's enough at this range. He can't avoid the blade, can't think fast enough to make the mortal wound a minor injury, steels himself against the impact -

It doesn't come. Not like he expects. The blade bites through his armor and grazes his flesh, but he isn't skewered. He turns to see - Astarion, backlit by the afternoon sun, one hand gripping his would-be killer's hair and the other grasping his shoulder. Faster than Wyll can think, he's plunging his fangs into his attacker's strong neck.

Astarion has kept to his word all these long weeks. Animals and hostiles only, he'd promised, hand over his unbeating heart. And when those bodies inevitably fell in the heat of battle - throats torn, blood burbling through gaping wounds and into Astarion's eager waiting mouth -

Wyll watches the slaver struggle, watches his struggling cease. Astarion is - Astarion is drinking deeply, hungrily, Wyll can hear him swallowing greedily as he devours the man before him. A wicked man, a man who'd every intention of ending Wyll's life just moments ago. He has never seen it. Like this, before. It's too intimate. Through the faint sucking sounds, Wyll's - he finds himself staring at those teeth, and after a moment his one working eye meets Astarion's two, catching over the almost-limp body of his. Food.

He knows it's a mistake as soon as it happens - his head throbs with psionic energy, and Astarion's eyes go wide. He is still drinking as he sees-feels Wyll's morbid interest through their tadpoles: something beyond simple gratitude for thinning their enemies' ranks (as had happened in the past: with all professional gravitas, of course, "I appreciate you doing your part to ensure our little group lives to see another day," he'd say. "One hunter to another.")

But underneath. His tadpole squirms - underneath lies the heart of his fascination, and he knows Astarion is consuming it as surely as he's consuming their foe: for every time he's witnessed an enemy die in Astarion's arms, Wyll is alight with pity and envy in equally terrible measure, a heady concoction that flies in the face of everything The Blade of Frontiers stands for: Gods, I wish it were me.

The body falls. The spell breaks.

They return to camp.

There is no use beating around the bush.

With their illithid connection, he knows he's been had. There is no point denying it. He'll have to explain himself or risk being subjected to endless teasing - has to hope that Astarion is feeling particularly magnanimous tonight. Because.

He does want to help. He always has. He feels earnestly that Astarion shouldn't have to go hungry - that no one in their camp ought to go hungry - wading through uncertain days and nights when there was a ready supply of fresh food available. It was only practical.

And yet...

It gnaws at him, how much he wants it. How easy it is to get lost in the fantasy of those sharp canines penetrating his skin, his flesh and blood yielding to hungry ministrations. He imagines his own hot blood coursing through Astarion's body, warming him up. Of being the flush in his cheeks, the throbbing in his loins -

Well.

It's a recurring thought, suffice to say.

It burns within him - something hot and hungry that was stoked inside long before the Hells got their hands on him. He expects Astarion's face to be mocking when he confronts him at camp that evening, perhaps just this side of cruel - the man takes his petty pleasures where he can, and following the life he's lead Wyll can hardly blame him - but instead the rogue's looking at him thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he saunters forward. Considering.

"You know, dear," he says, keeping some distance between them. But not much. "This could be quite fortuitous for you and I," and he gestures between them, easy and graceful, as if there could be any doubt about whom he speaks.

Charming bastard. My, but he is in deep.

Astarion's voice hasn't fallen into a seductive register, as one might expect. The tone one supposes he would've - might've - used to entice innumerable patriars of the past.

Not that Wyll's thought about it.

But he does sound hungry. Underneath the civility, there's an edge. And Wyll is intensely aware of that gaze on him - of his own heart hammering away in his chest, a bird beating against the bars of its cage.

It's almost worse because he trusts Astarion. It would be so much easier if he didn't, if the vampire spawn were just another monster to slay. He could be righteous then, and not want, and not wonder.

But wonder he does, and Astarion's incessant teasing doesn't help. Oh, not that Wyll minds as such - finds him more charming than not, by and large an agreeable menace - but some words rattle in his brain more than others: Astarion admitting within three feet of him, bold as day that he'd favor a taste of Wyll's blood above all others. No question, he'd said, and hasn't that thought kept him up countless sweaty nights.

Perilous were the waters of flattery when the source was such a danger. And Astarion was dangerous - is dangerous, deadly even. And catty, and brave. Surprisingly sweet under all the bluster and defensive sarcasm. He's proven a steadfast ally and delightful company to boot, if a tad knife-happy. And even were that not the case, Wyll thinks. He's of no mind to condemn any creature that isn't actively preying on innocents.

He's not sure if he counts himself among them.

He's struck by the memory of a book he once read, tucked away in his father's study. Certainly not meant to be seen by his young prying eyes, The Salty Mermaid was as debauched as it was dramatic, the salacious and harrowing tale of the mermaid Allura, a beautiful and brave battlemaiden of the sea, and the hapless half-elven fisherman that loved her.

Descriptions of desire and alien anatomy - the salt spray painting the scales of the mermaid's tail, running in rivulets down her iridescent body, slick in secret places. Her lover's tongue tracing them tirelessly, feverish in his devotion to her pleasure. She was known. She was heeded.

To this day the memory of that damnable book inevitably has him swelling in his smallclothes, clenching his thighs in a hopeless attempt to alleviate the arousal that builds in him. He's never thought of himself as a man of peculiar tastes - has always considered himself rather old-fashioned in love, if he's being honest - but it leaves an imprint on his memory that's tied directly to the fire within him - a chord that resonates in every nerve of his body, plucked by Astarion's knowing smile.

He can see his fangs.

Drivel, his father had called it. But still Ulder kept it in his drawer, a shameful but coveted secret tucked away like so much hoarded treasure. An action that befuddled young Wyll at the time.

He thinks he understands it better, now.

He doesn't want to. Use. And that is the crux of it - this mad desire to be bitten feels at odds with his sincere desire to see Astarion well-tended to, however symbiotic they may seem on the surface, and this is the why of it:

Motive is important. He's always argued - staked his very soul on the principle - that intent matters. It's how he's justified seven years in Mizora's service. He signed that contract for the people, and that has to matter, because if it doesn't. If it doesn't, and his soul is damned for naught -

That thought threatens to consume him, or it would if given any chance of flourishing. Wyll does not let it see the light of day. He cannot afford to dwell on such things. So he doesn't.

What does he have that's his? His heart for the Gate, laying there at his father's feet. His soul to the Hells, and now his body: Mizora has taken them both. All he has is his duty to the Coast, and here is someone who needs him, plainly.

He steels himself. Swallows around his shame, and speaks. He owes his friend an explanation - and Astarion is his friend, despite the odds.

"It isn't- I don't want you to think that's why," he starts.

"And whyever not?" Astarion interjects, voice honey-tempered and calm. He is very still, and Wyll feels clumsy, inadequate. He is twenty-four and feels like a foal, stumbling and uncertain. He has never had this conversation before. Hardly understands that which he's so desperate to communicate.

"I want to help you," he says, somewhat helplessly. It feels pathetic. He feels pathetic. But it's-

"But you want it," it's not a question. Astarion's tone is sharp, leaving little room for doubt though his face is not unkind. He nods thoughtfully without waiting for Wyll's response, seeming to have come to some conclusion within himself.

"Yes," Wyll says anyway, because he owes the man an honest answer. It would not do to lie now. He doesn't squirm, but only because he's had a lifetime of uncomfortable confrontations eerily similar to this: he's six years old standing stock still in front of his father, fighting against his trembling legs. He's ten, he's fourteen, he's -

He's seventeen, and Ulder Ravengard says go.

Wyll banishes the thought from his mind, but not before Astarion shoots him a knowing look, surely experiencing echoes of his unwelcome ghosts via the parasites nestled in their heads. He sighs.

"What do you want from me, Astarion? Yes, it's tempting. I don't- it isn't a consideration I want you to place above your own needs. It doesn't matter. We can drop it," he offers.

There is a lengthy pause. He hears only insects in the distant night, his own blood rushing in his ears. There is the faint whisper of his breathing; Astarion's chest is still.

"Or we could not drop it," Astarion responds evenly. Steady. It is a second option. Astarion is giving him a second option.

Something in him buckles, and he takes a step forward. Astarion grins victoriously - excited, gleeful even, the prospect of what's to come lending to his countenance a certain joie de vivre seldom seen on the road. "My dear," he coos, fully stepping into Wyll's space now. "Consider how we might take care of one another." One hand winds about the back of his head, caressing a horn. The other lands on his shoulder and Wyll relaxes into the touch, a familiar gallantry, his arms coming up tentatively to rest on Astarion's waist, earning him a brilliant smile.

It is a peace offering, Wyll recognizes. A familiar script he can follow, and he sighs with relief and gratitude. He has the distinct impression that the other man is indulging him with such pageantry, letting him play the strapping hero come to this poor vampire spawn's rescue in his time of need, offering selflessly of his body, his blood, though it's clear to him now - in his honest heart - that the two of them are offering of one another.

Ebb and flow, he thinks. Like the sea, sure as the steady thrum in his veins.

He feels... quiet. Perhaps it's the thought that if he says it quietly enough, no one but Astarion will know. "Will it hurt?"

Astarion's cool lips are close to his ear. "Only a little, my sweet," he admits, voice soft. "But you may well enjoy that."

Wyll shivers.

"Worry not, O Blade," he says, nosing along what part of Wyll's jaw he can reach from where they stand. "I like that you like it. Do you think I'd rather be where I'm not wanted?" It's not quite a pout in his voice, but something like it. Wyll can hardly argue, so he nods, feeling discordantly shy.

Astarion steps back. Wyll feels suddenly bereft - cold, though his companion's body is not warm by any measure. But he only takes Wyll's hand, leading him out from under the awning and into his tent proper, pulling him down so that they're kneeling together in the faint light of the hanging lantern. Softly instructing Wyll to lay back, sweetling.

He does as he's told. His breath catches. Some monster hunter, he thinks, in a voice not unlike his father's. Considers this moment, considers countless others in his recent and not so recent past. Thinks of the horns on his head and the fork in his tongue.

The tent smells like Astarion. Blankets and pillows especially, but the dusty tomes, the neatly arranged bottles on a shelf are all evidence of his presence. It's not unpleasant. Faint jasmine perfume, and underneath, traces of blood-iron seem to permeate the air and every surface. Evidence of the not-quite-living. Or... no. Perhaps a different, but equally valid form of existing. It makes him shiver.

Wyll's glad they're not doing this in his tent. He can't bear the thought of laying awake every night in a puddle of his own desperate sweat, triggered endlessly by the inescapable scent-memory of this moment. Such occurrences happen often enough already.

He's splayed out like a meal, and with a dull sort of shock remembers he is one. Astarion's leaning over him now, haloed by the glow of the lantern, shadows cast against the canvas walls of their shelter. His pupils are wide and dark.

He's looking at Wyll like he sees him. Wyll meets his gaze, and with a sort of courage that doesn't remind him at all of the Frontiers, tilts his head back to bare his neck.

"How very considerate of you, darling," his companion murmurs. He draws one hand across Wyll's face - across his day old stubble, his chin, down the scarred line of his throat - pausing significantly at his pulse point, which thunders like a war drum, riotously loud in his ears, he can't imagine what Astarion hears - before continuing his trajectory downward to better brace himself against Wyll's shoulder.

Astarion gives it a squeeze before catching Wyll's eye once more. Seeking confirmation - assurance, perhaps, that Wyll is here with him. That he wants this.

He does, desperately. It is too late to play coy; he owes it to Astarion not to attempt such a thing. So he swallows, and nods, and lays an encouraging hand over Astarion's where it rests on his shoulder. For a moment he worries it's too much. Too tenuous a path to tread in this fragile moment, but Astarion does not pull away. The look that it earns him - Wyll cannot put a name to it. It feels tender and put-together, furious and fraying.

"Thank you," Astarion says, simply.

He leans in, and Wyll closes his eyes.

tbc

#they've invaded my brain like mindflayer tadpoles. i grow wyllstarion tentacles as we speak #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #bloodfrontier #wyll ravengard x astarion ancunin #fanfiction #fic

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