#fang the fire-sharpened | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

talesofesther · 4 months

Text

first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story #astarion ancunin

2K notes · View notes

dollwrites · 7 months

Text

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!heartslabyul!reader, established relationship, biting, blood, marking ( all consensual ), lilia is a tease, groping ( clothes on ), all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day twenty-one [ lilia vanrouge + marking ] // two of three very special kinktober fics for very special people in my life 💚 @stellarmagu 🥺 thank you for being the bestie !!!

because Lilia has a marking kink he loves to sink his sharpened fangs into your neck, or drag them in jagged lines over your clavicle. he could write his name with the tip of his tooth, daubing it ever-so-gently in your crimson ink. and it feels good— much too good.

“I have to get back to the dorm…” you breathe out, but make no attempt to move away from him. tucked away in a darkened nook, you can hear your dormmates talking amongst themselves as they head to the hall of mirrors. Trey and Cater’s voices ring out to you, and your face is on fire with a heated blush. if only they knew what position you found yourself in, right on the other side of the wall. “I’m going to be late…”

“You most certainly will. Your Housewarden likes to dole out punishments for everything, I assume tardiness is no exception.” Lilia murmurs, his velvety words muffled against the heat of your flesh. “Hm, speaking of… I wonder what punishment Rosehearts would conjure up if he were to see you like this. Needy and squirmy, being touched all over, kehehe…”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help it that Lilia’s breathy, little chuckle close to your ear always sends a shiver down your spine.

“You enjoy the idea of me being punished just a little too much.”

you mewl, because Lilia bites a fresh section on your collarbone— one deliberately higher than the last, and you suck in a breath. “I won’t be able to cover that one up…” it was almost a whine, but you smile afterwards, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Lilia chuckles again, kissing the two, stinging pin-pricks. he couldn’t deny it, even if he wanted to ( which he didn’t ). “I don’t know why you cover them in the first place,” Lilia teases, his smirk tinted with rubies. “Especially not because you get so wet when I leave them on your sugary-sweet skin. Why not wear them like trophies? Your awards for being such a deliciously good girl.”

svelte, dastardly fingers slip beneath your uniform skirt and Lilia presses two firm pads against your damp panties as if to prove his point, rubbing the lingerie against your core until you let out a breathless whimper.

“So you’ll make me show them off? Bite where I can’t possibly cover them, and let all of Nightraven see how you own me, Lilia Vanrouge?”

Lilia grins deviously, pulling back to press his lips to yours. your eyelids flit at the metallic taste of your blood on his lips, and coating his tongue as he flicks at your couplet, his voice warm and rumbling, breath tickling your countenance. “I would never make you, my dear. That would make me a villain. But, encouraging… I suppose I am encouraging you to wear your marks out where everyone can see whose mouth has been all over you. After all, what is the fun in signing your name if no one gets to marvel at the penmanship?”

#lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x you #lilia Vanrouge smut #lilia #lilia x reader #lilia x you #lilia smut #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x you #twst smut #twst x reader

2K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 3 months

Text

tw - unhealthy relationships, non/con, mentions of overstimulation, dehumanization, semi-public sex, and abuse.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

If Arlecchino had it her way, you think you’d be more of a doll than a person.

Not that it would make much of a difference when it comes to how she treats you. To her, all the world might as well be pieces of a chessboard; playthings to pose and position as she deems fit. Knights are sent into righteous battles, pawns are burnt to ash on first line of fire, and you’re made to watch it all from your place on a glass-enclosed pedestal, where the cruelties of the world are visible, but at a distance. That’s a flaw in her little world that Arlecchino hasn’t realized, yet – your eyes, unlike those of the delicate figurines she favors, are not only painted on.

You suppose you should count yourself lucky, when compared to the rest of her unfortunate collection. Most of her pieces are chipped and scarred, sharpened into fine, deadly points only to be discarded when they begin to dull. You, on the other hand, have proved yourself worthy of her maintenance. Your wardrobe is curated to her particular tastes, every style of bow and pattern of lace hand-selected to suit her preferred aesthetics, and she spends each morning running comb after comb through your hair, brushing rouge onto your cheeks, taking leisurely minutes to decide if she’d rather see you in blue or pink or lilac – always light colors, always gentle. You think, sometimes, that you must look like a groomed dog next to her, pastel and ridiculous next to her monotone elegance. Often, you try not to think about how little of a difference it would make if she added a leash and collar to your daily ensemble.

She rarely lets you leave her sight. Of course, obligation does draw her away from you from time to time (a rarity she laments as often as you pray for), but whenever possible, she has you sitting pretty by her side or, better yet, perched in her lap, straddling her waist and sobbing quietly into her chest as her clever fingers bring you to the brink of climax for the nth time in the past hour. The company she keeps rarely makes a difference when it comes to how or when she touches you – although, you do try not to remember how many of her colleagues have seen you with teary eyes and open legs. A doll’s owner rarely questions the way they choose to handle their toy, and so, she’s content not to think about how she handles you. Her only acknowledgement of your suffering is a quick kiss to the cheek as she coaxes you onto your own feet, a muttered comment about the new stain on the dark fabric of her pants. It’s a miracle that you can bear the humiliation of it, but your endurance is a convenience, not a necessity. There’s no reality in which your limitations alone would be enough to stop her.

Arlecchino does, at least, make the occasional effort to pretend she thinks of you as a partner, rather than a plaything. She’s made it clear that, in her ideal world, you’d happily accept the total loss of your autonomy and thank her for each and every second you spend under the torment of her obsession, but she settles for the occasional, trembling smile when she presents you with a gift or confection you lingered on while passing by an especially charming shop, the tender intimacy of your head resting on her shoulder when yet another meeting proves to be more long-lasting than your attention span. On her best days, she’ll even respond to your timid requests to please not leave another bruise on your neck, another fang shaped indentation on your collarbone with a breath of a laugh and a hushed explanation of why she has to, rather than just an outright, wordless dismissal. You wouldn’t quite say she listens to you, but it’s as close as she comes.

Dolls, after all, are incapable of requesting to be played with in a certain way, or asking their owners to treat them more gently, or speaking up about anything at all.

A doll, Arlecchino’s ideal doll, can only watch with a smile as it’s broken apart.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshinx reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin #genshin #yandere arlecchino #arlecchino x reader

724 notes · View notes

tsireyqs · 1 year

Text

moon song ☾

pairing: jake sully x afab! reader

warnings: smut (18+ only), biting, size kink(?)/difference, oral (fem receiving), handjob, scratching, fingering, belly bulge, pls ignore any errors i’ll get to it eventually, think that's it...

Y/N’s eyes were focused on Jake as he sharpens his knife. Her eyes trail over his body, his biceps flexing as he works. A deep blush paints the high points of her cheeks, then her gaze drifts lower to his toned waist. She chews her lip hard when she notices the subtle pudge, she just wanted to lie him down right there and kiss down his chest lower and lower…

Until her eyes find its place on his thick thighs, his muscles prominent as he squats down. Y/N wanted nothing more than to sink her fangs into them and hear his soft pleas before she took his cock into her mouth. The fire crackling in their hut brought her back to reality; she wipes the drool threatening to spill from her lips and she stands from her spot.

She was light on her feet going up to her mate, her deft hands gently gripping his shoulders from behind. Jake’s ear twitches in response to her touch and he smiles. He takes in the feeling of her hands on him, her fingers dancing across his collarbones. Until she stops her hands to settle at the base of his neck.

His ears flatten against hair, and he finally speaks. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Y/N hums, moving closer to place a kiss on the side of his neck. “You just look too pretty,” her kisses trail down to his shoulder as she scratches down his chest. “Need you so bad.”

Jake’s ears flutter, pressing into her chest and settling into the embrace. “You have me.” he says lowly.

A small smirk lifts the corner of her mouth before she nips at his neck. Her hands trailing lower and lower, leaving faint scratch marks down his torso. She stops once her hands meet the fabric of his loincloth and she taps his thigh, signaling for him to sit.

Tossing his knife to the side, he sits with outstretched legs. He turns his head to the side and nuzzles his nose into her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. A small gasp escapes her mouth and Jake takes her left hand into his, engulfing it completely. His other hand tangles into her hair when she finally undoes the ties of his loincloth.

With a gentle hand, Y/N reaches under the fabric and trails her finger over his hard cock, his back arching under her touch. She lets out a giggle before kissing the corner of his mouth, discarding the fabric. Jake lets out a groan when he sees her small hand wrapped around his cock. Her delicate fingers couldn’t even wrap around his full length. Y/N felt him twitch in her hand before she gave an experimental pump.

“You’re so big, baby,” she purrs. The swipe of her thumb over the head of his cock makes him shudder. He leans further into her chest, his body turning into putty under her touch. “You just needed me to take care of you, huh? Barely have you to myself now…”

Breaths deepen, his nails digging into the back of her hand as she expertly pumps his cock. His lids slid shut, burrowing his face into Y/N’s neck to conceal his moans. She clenches her thighs feeling her wetness soak through the thin fabric that covers her, nearly coating her inner thighs. His hips ruts into her hand faster and she hisses when she feels his fangs against her neck.

“‘M sweet girl, you’re so good to me.” his tongue swipes over the spot he bit and kisses up to her jaw. “Let me take care of you,” then to her ear. “Need your pussy, baby.”

Y/N squeezes his cock in her hand and moans at his words. Her thumb catches the pre-cum gathered at his tip and she brings it into her mouth, giving her mate a doe-eyed stare. She could barely breathe when Jake aggressively grabbed her jaw, pulling her into a deep kiss. “Need you so bad, sweetheart,” he says in between kisses. “Who knew the Olo'eyktan’s lovely lady was such a filthy little harlot.”

Jake guides her to lie on her back. His body completely covering hers as he hovers over her. Y/N wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, his cock grazing over her clothed pussy. They groan in unison, sweat gathering along Y/N’s hairline. “Just fuck me already,” she whines.

Eyes fluttering shut as she feels Jake laugh against her neck. “Need to taste you first, sweet thing.” He kisses down her neck, nipping her collarbone as he goes lower and lower. Skillful fingers untie her top, throwing it to the side. His tongue trails over the valley of her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth while his big hand palms the other.

Y/N moans at the feeling of his mouth on her, hands flying down to tangle into his thick hair. Jake tweaks a nipple before trailing his blunt fingernails down her sides. “You gotta stay quiet, sweetheart. Can’t wake up the kids,” he mumbles against her skin and places a kiss to her hip. “Don’t wanna ruin the fun too early.”

Strong hands glides up Y/N’s thighs, removing the thin fabric that covered her core as they went. His thumbs trail along her inner thighs, narrowly missing where she needs him most. “Stop teasing,”

Jake trails his tongue up her thigh, cleaning up her arousal. “Patience, sweet thing.” he runs a finger through her folds, his thumb circling her clit. “Such a pretty pussy. Always so wet for me.”

“Just for you,” Y/N chokes out, her chest heaving. She glances down at him as he looks up at her through his lashes and she groans softly. “Please Jake,”

“What do you need, baby? Gotta be more specific.” He places a kiss just above her clit.

“Need your mouth…”

His fangs nip her inner thigh. “Use your words.”

Y/N cries out and pulls his head closer to her cunt. “Need your mouth on my pussy.” She shudders when she feels his hot breath against her. “Please,”

“Atta girl.”

Jake drapes her legs over his shoulders, his hands holding her hips down from squirming. And finally, he swipes his tongue over her clit and Y/N sees stars. He grabs one of her hands that was tangled in his hair and holds it, his thumbs tracing over her knuckles.

Y/N’s hips rolls against his face as he works on her cunt, his tongue devouring every inch of her. He shook his face back and forth on her pussy and she gasps when his nose hit her clit. She tugs at his hair with a smirk etched on her face. “Fuckin’ filthy, Jake,”

He groans against her cunt making Y/N’s back arch from the vibration. Jake removes his hand from her hip and places it at the arch of her back, pressing her closer to his mouth. Y/N scratches down his shoulder when he dips his tongue into her wet cunt, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, tucking the stray locks behind his ear. “So close,” she says, her voice quivering.

Jake detangles their hands and easily slips two fingers into her cunt, his lips suckling her clit. Her eyes squeeze shut and her body jolts in his hands, the coil in her belly snapping in an instant. He opened his mouth wide over her pussy wanting to get every drop of her.

Her hands smooth over his hair as she calms down from her orgasm. Jake’s hands caress her thighs as he waits for her. He takes the time to admire her features. The rise and fall of her chest, the way her body glistens under the warm light, and the faint bruise on her hip from his grip. He kisses up her body as she regains her breath. Nuzzling his nose against her neck, he moves her hair away from her face. His lips trail up her jaw and places a kiss on her cheek, to the other, to her forehead and nose, then finally her lips. Jake smiles down at her when she finally opens her eyes. “Hi, pretty,”

Y/N’s nose scrunches. “Hi.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him down into a kiss, humming when she tastes herself on his lips. Her hands rub up and down his sides, wanting to map out every inch of his body. His hard length catches her sensitive cunt and she bites down on his lip. Y/N disconnects her lips from his, looking down to where his cock is nestled between them and she sucks her lip between her teeth.

Jake’s eyes meet hers. Those big, amber eyes made Y/N’s heart stutter. Her hand cups his jaw as her eyes trail down his face, then back up to meet his gaze. He places his hand over hers and gently caresses the back of it. Y/N nearly cried at the intimacy of it all. Never did she think she could hold so much love in her heart.

He kisses her once more before gyrating his hips in between her thighs. Pulling away for a moment, he looks at her making sure she was ready and Y/N nods. Jake encircles his arms around her head, filling her up in one swift motion. He moans into her hair.

Jake slides as deep as he could before pulling out almost completely, making her grip his sides and her tail wrap around him to pull him into her wholly. Y/N bites down hard on his shoulder when he snaps his hips forward. “Feels so good ‘round me, baby,” his husky voice whispers into her ear. “So warm and wet.”

Hips moving at a brutal pace as she tightens her grip around him. His cock kissing the perfect spot inside her, she could have sworn she’d seen stars. She tightens her legs around his waist, pulling him incredibly closer. “Deeper, Jake,”

“Pussy’s squeezing me so tight, honey. My perfect girl, so good for me.” he slurs, resting his forehead against hers. “‘M close,”

Y/N takes his hand in hers beside her head and squeezes her walls around his length. Jake brings his hand down her body, feeling the bulge in her tummy as he slips in and out of her. “Ya feel me, baby? Pretty pussy wants all of my cum, huh?”

She nods her head lazily, bringing him back down into a kiss to stifle her moans. “So close, please…”

Jake moves his hand further in between their bodies, his thumb rubbing over her clit as he feeds her deep strokes. Y/N felt her second release wash over her, toes curling and fingers pulling at her mates sides. His hand grips hers as he releases in her a few moments later, his cum coating her walls. They both could feel their entire world spinning as they try to regain their breath, his heartbeat matching her own.

Y/N looks up at him once she’s brought back to her surroundings and smiles, her thumb rubbing against his cheekbone. “I’ve missed this,” her thumb then dances over his lips and she giggles when he kisses it. “I’ve missed you.”

Jake leans into her touch before leaning down to kiss her lips. “I missed you too,” he nuzzles his nose against hers and cradles her face in his hands. “My sweet girl.”

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #avatar #avatar smut #ari’s works!

2K notes · View notes

deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

Text

The Beast Inside

Werewolf!reader finally! I've been wanting to write a werewolf rampage for quite a while but never quite got around to it until now!!!

Summary: Reader loses control of the wolf and tries to come to terms with the beast inside all whilst taking care of Astarion.

The paladin’s blade comes down, swinging in an arc of light and you stand there, eyes wide with shock as the steel tears through your flesh, carving open your shoulder. Blood sprays from the wound, staining your clothes red with your own blood.

“Y/N!” You can hear the distant shouts of your companions, calling your name. Your wound burns, probably from the infusion of the paladin’s abilities in the strike that connected and blood roars in your ears. All you can think about is how that same paladin had captured Astarion, had their way with him, nearly killed your vampire lover, and the beast inside takes over, roaring in delight.

You will not lose him.

You feel your bones cracking and skin stretching as claws take the place of fingers, fur sprouting from your body. Your jaw lengthens, teeth sharpening into fangs and your nose becomes narrower. The wound in your shoulder begins to seal itself shut, flesh growing back and knitted by furred skin. The sharp metallic scent of blood fills your nose and you inhale it all. You can smell the fear in the air as the paladin shrinks back, greatsword pointed at you but the weapon is rattling.

That sword will never pierce you again.

The paladin’s hands shake as your wild gaze locks onto them, yellow eyes burning with an inhumane thirst for blood, saliva dripping from long thick fangs nestled in powerful jaws. A howl bursts forth from deep within you, claws flexing and you pounce on your prey, sending the paladin crashing to the floor. Armour is ripped apart like paper underneath the werewolf’s claws and jaws snap, crushing the helmet to reveal the paladin’s terrified face.

“Please –” Their cries are cut short as sharp claws tear open their exposed flesh, ripping their face in two. More blood gushes out and the paladin is already dead but the beast keeps going, jaws tearing the paladin’s body into a bloody mess. The werewolf stands back up in the sticky mess of blood and guts, crimson dripping from its muzzle and takes a step towards the paladin’s frightened companions.

The cleric drops to his knees and tries to scuttle away but the werewolf is faster, tearing open his throat with its jaws and devours the chunk of meat torn away. The werewolf snarls, reaching back into the convulsing body and rips away another chunk, sending blood flying everywhere. The body finally stills, having lost too much blood but the werewolf continues to rip at the flesh piece by piece, painting the entire floor a deep red.

Its nostrils flare, blazing yellow eyes turning towards the last member of the paladin’s party. The vampire hunter stares at the beast, shaky hands aiming a crossbow at its head. Its lips curl upwards, almost like a grin as it stalks towards the hunter, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints behind.

“You monster!” An arrow is fired, piercing through the beast’s face and causing it to stumble back, but it regains its footing just as quickly, its head snapping forward. The maniacal grin still remains, with the beast’s blood streaming from the wound. Crimson fangs bare at the hunter, yellow eyes gleaming as the beast reaches up with a clawed hand and rips the arrow free, laughing. The throaty laugh sends shivers up everyone’s spines as it devolves into a howl and claws swipe at the hunter, who barely manages to dodge the blow. The beast snarls, jaws snapping at thin air as the hunter moves out of the way, reloading his crossbow.

Another arrow is fired but the beast dodges in time. Its clawed feet dig into the ceramic floor tiles and it launches itself with terrifying speed at the unprepared hunter. Claws slam into the hunter’s chest, sending him crashing into the wall behind and knocking all breath out of his body. The werewolf bares its bloody fangs, jaws clamping around the hunter’s throat to crush through flesh and bone alike, coating its chest in the blood that sprayed from the fatal wound. It tears into the corpse, ripping it apart with ferocious savagery and gorges itself on the flesh until it is satisfied.

Then it turns to Y/N’s companions.

A soft growl rumbles from its chest and it stalks towards where Astarion lies, curled up and shivering. Lae’zel takes a step towards the beast, ready to strike it down before it can harm the vampire but Halsin holds her back, giving a shake of his head.

It feels its bones cracking and skin stretching once more as its body shrinks back into its human form. Claws shorten back into fingers and toes, its furred chest shrinks back into a female’s chest, its jaw shortening back into a human mouth. Fangs recede, making way for human teeth and pointed ears round themselves again to nestle behind hair.

But the blood remains.

“Astarion,” you whisper, reaching out to him with your bloody hand. He flinches when your fingertips bump into his skin, a quiet whimper escaping his lips and you immediately pull back. You sit on your haunches, at a loss of what to do. You want to help, you want to pull your lover into your arms and hold him tight, whisper away all his pain but you can’t even touch him.

“It’s me, Y/N,” you try again. You ignore the sticky feeling of blood that covers hands, feet and chest and hold out a hand with your palm upturned. “You’re safe now. No one can harm you anymore, I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t look at me,” Astarion croaks. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“It doesn’t make me love you any less,” you say firmly. “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I’ve seen you at your highest, neither has changed the fact that I love you. Nothing ever will.”

You sit there, patiently. “I didn’t want you to see this either. The beast that lives inside me, the real me. I hate it, that part of me. We all have at least one part of ourselves that we hate, maybe we even hate all parts of ourselves, but what we do with that part makes us who we are.”

The rest of your companions quietly make their exit, giving the two of them some time alone. You give them a grateful nod as they leave and turn back to Astarion who hasn’t moved an inch.

“You’re strong, Astarion. Far stronger than you think, far stronger than me. You accept the part you hate about yourself and live with it while I pretend it doesn’t exist, suppressing the beast. I wish I could be like you.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I admire you, and love you no matter how much you despise yourself.”

Astarion curls tighter into a ball, burying his face into his knees. You gently place your blood-stained cloak over him and simply continue to sit there, facing away from him to give him some privacy whilst keeping an eye on him via your sharpened hearing. You hear him drawing shaky breaths out of habit, miniscule sobs slipping past his lips on occasion and your heart breaks. If only you were stronger, faster, more powerful, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to suffer like this, maybe you would have been able to prevent all this from happening.

Your thoughts begin to devour you, thrusting you into a swirling haze of self-hatred and self-doubt. They crowd out everything else, ensnaring you in their web and trapping you in darkness but two quietly spoken words pierce through the cloud and the dark haze begins to part.

“Thank you.”

You sit up with a start, turning to find your vampire lover has shifted into a sitting position, cloak still firmly bundled around him. He looks at you with tear-stained ruby eyes and shuffles closer, leaning against you and burying his face into your shoulder, ignoring the blood that coats it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For yelling at you.”

“All’s been forgiven long ago,” you hum. Your arm hovers around him, unsure of whether he would welcome a hug but he pulls your arm around his waist, washing away all doubt immediately.

Astarion relaxes in your embrace, the warmth a stark contrast to his cold skin and rests his head against your chest. The steady thumping of your heart sends a nice strange feeling surging through him and a soft sigh escapes his lips. He lets you rest your chin on his head and the corners of his lips twitch upwards when he hears a familiar rumbling sound coming from your chest.

You wipe your hand on your pants to try and get rid of the blood before running your fingers through his hair, gently unknotting it as you go along. Your breath hitches, disgust bubbling to the surface when you realise you’re still getting blood on his silver hair despite your best efforts. The wolf had spilled that much blood in one fight. You swallow the bile rising to your throat, Astarion comes first, he is the one who needs to be taken care of, your problems can wait another day.

He shifts slightly, giving you a better angle to comb through his hair but you can still see a hint of trepidation in his eyes.

“If you want me to stop, just say it and I will stop. I promise.” You remove your hand from his hair, concerned. You know Astarion likes to keep things to himself, but so far he has been open about his likes and dislikes to you, understanding that you can take no as an answer.

“I…don’t stop. Please,” he whispers. “I don’t want to associate this with anyone but you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and press a kiss to the top of his head to hide your embarrassment. Despite knowing what you truly are, he still chose you and found safety in your arms. Maybe, if he could accept you as you truly are, one day you could do the same. A vampire spawn and a werewolf, what a couple the two of you made.

“As you wish,” you murmur and the both of you remain like that for some time before Astarion stirs once more, untangling himself from the safety of your bloodstained arms.

“We should get going before the others fall apart trying to settle dinner,” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We don’t have to move if you don’t want to, the others can wait for all I care,” you huff.

“As much as I love you darling, I would much prefer cuddling in a bedroll than on this hard ground.” A small piece of light returns to his eyes when he hears you bark a laugh at his words, his favourite grin of yours splayed on your face.

“Your wish is my command,” you chuckle, giving his hand a small squeeze. He grasps your hand tightly, whispering something inaudible even to your sharp ears before looking at you with a fondness you can’t quite describe.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “For everything.”

“Right back at you, Star.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x werewolf!reader

150 notes · View notes

sweetadonisbutbetter · 2 months

Text

Ur so pretty

A/n: HAI OMG- its been...a while...if anyone read it, I posted the WIP of this like all the way back in November last year. other notes are that there is no use of Y/N, and it is kept gender neutral, but it is implied to be WLW. but since it is no longer in my hands, take it as you will keke hope u enjoy!!!

Upon waking up, you already felt that it was going to be a long day, one that was longer than usual. The sores from numerous fights and hours of walking were ever present from the moment you opened your eyes; the feeling of the Astarion’s fangs wringing your neck numb. You mentally check off the numerous problems before you get out of your tent and set off for the day. Upon leaving the dimly lit tent, you were blinded slightly by the morning light. The smell of breakfast filled the air as idle chatter continued. You take a moment to look at your companions. Gale was the one cooking, making idle chatter with Wyll and Karlach, the latter who was most likely the one who started the fire. Lae’zel was by herself, sharpening one of her many swords. Astarion emerges from his tent, also having just woken up. You continue to scan the camp looking for someone in particular.

‘No sign of her…’ You think to yourself, pouting slightly. From the corner of your eyes, you see Astarion approaching you. Sighing, you reiterate the fact that although the day had just started, you could tell it was going to be a long day.

“Glad to see you didn’t die last night.” He greets you with a smirk. You look at him, already feeling the regret of letting him feed and an oncoming headache. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping it will relieve some tension.

“Well if someone didn’t take any more than he should have, I wouldn’t have passed out.” You quip, to which Astarion lets out a laugh.

“I did not take any more than I normally do. You just lost a lot of blood yesterday.” He says as he crosses his arms and shifts to the side. You look at him blankly for a moment, thinking if it would be worth it to put a stake in his heart. Listing the pros and cons, it seems that keeping him alive has more pros, shockingly. Sighing once more, which was something that happened a lot when Astarion was around, you cast lesser restoration on yourself and begin to walk towards Gale, Karlach, and Wyll. However, before you can even approach the trio, you see Shadowheart emerge from her tent.

Your heart skips a beat as you look at her from afar. From the moment you had seen her while on the nautiloid, you had some sort of feelings stirring for her. Just a glance at her tells you how much of a beauty she is. The way her onyx hair framed her face, her braid that swished and would often rest on her shoulders, and the soft makeup that furthered her beauty in a way that felt almost godlike. Not to mention her eyes. The soft hazel green stood out with her darker eyeshadow, luring in the very person who looked into them. In your mind, she could rival the beauty of the gods and goddesses. However, it wasn’t just her physical beauty that lured you in, it was the subtle beauty that seemingly showed when she wasn’t paying attention. The soft smile that creeps up her face when you were swarmed by children at the grove, or how she plays with Scratch when she thinks no one is paying attention. You would often find yourself looking forward to fights, just to get injured so she could heal you, watching how her hands would tenderly cover the wound. In essence, her mannerisms, voice, and beauty have bewitched you, terribly. Often you were left lying awake late at night, thinking back on any conversation or memories you have of her.

Since the tiefling party a few nights ago, you have had numerous things to think of. Truthfully, you were elated that you had agreed to a drink with her, since in your mind it showed that she had a fraction of attraction towards you. While it was hard to tell how she truly felt since she was sharran and they were sworn to secrecy; you did not need words to know that she enjoyed the moment you two shared. The kiss you two shared, the talking and looking into one another's eyes until either the sun came up or sleep overtook you both. The morning after you two had talked about it, she agreed that there was something between the two of you. However, soon after she began to withdraw herself from you, she would avoid being alone with you, cut the conversation short, and even volunteer to stay behind at camp. It hurt to see her detach herself from any social interaction with you. You even knew that she was avoiding only you, catching glimpses of her talking to the others, chattering with Lae’zel even though they both differed. Rather than getting upset and confronting her, you kept it to yourself. Finding that it was better to give her space, something that she appreciated in the past, though it was turning out to be harder than you wanted it to be.

“You know, it is rude to stare.” A voice cuts you out of your train of thought. Blinking, you look at the voice and see that it is Astarion. Confused as to what he is talking about, you give him a look. He rolls his eyes and smacks his teeth. “You have been staring at Shadowheart’s tent for a good while, my friend. A bit too long, might I add.”

Quietly, you let out an ‘oh’ before you turn towards your tent. You decide to start getting ready for the day, no longer hungry. Stripping your camp wear and donning your armor, you mentally summon all your courage so you can ask Shadowheart to accompany you, Gale, and Karlach. Finishing the knot of your boots, you equip your weapons and leave your tent, the blinding rays of the sun stinging your eyes for a brief moment.

‘Moonmadein please guide me.’ You utter in your thoughts before you make your way to Gale and Karlach. Even though you were nowhere near them, Karalach seemed to notice you were heading their way. Turning her head from her conversation with Gale, she makes eye contact with you. Her face seemingly lights up as small flames rise out of her skin.

“Mornin’ soldier!” She hollers. Gale says something to her in a quiet tone, one that you can’t hear. Whatever he told her caused the flames on her to diminish. Looking back at you, she gives a slightly nervous chuckle and says, “Sorry about that. Just excited to get on the road again.”

“No worries, and good morning to you Karlach. You too Gale.” You reassure Karlach quickly before you greet the wizard. Gale smiles in return and greets a quick ‘morning’ before leaving, presumably to get his stuff for the road. You look back to Karlach and ask, “Have you seen Shadowheart?”

“Oh, I think I saw she went with Scratch into the woods,” Karlach says, her mood seemingly more down. She hesitates for a moment, before asking “Why?”

“I just want to see if she wants to join us on the road. It has been a bit since she left camp.” You explain, hoping you weren't evident in your real reason for talking to her. While it wasn’t a complete lie, it wasn't the whole truth. The half-truth was that you did want her to accompany you and walk around for a while; you did want to know if she wanted to leave camp for a while. You also just wanted a moment alone with her; for when there was a moment where everyone was walking, no direction in mind. It seemed that Karlach bought what you said, as she began to perk up a bit after your answer. However before anything else could be said, the bushes rustled slightly. You and Karlach turn to the noise, however, you don’t need to go and investigate since Scratch jumps from the bushes and runs toward you. He jumps onto your chest, tackling you to the ground before he starts to lick at your face. Laughing at the slightly ticklish feeling, you try to move him off of you, not too keen on smelling like dog breath or even having slobber on you so early in the day. Thankfully he gets off with ease and goes to bother someone else. Still chuckling, you get up from the ground, with the help of Karlach who is laughing with you. The rustling of leaves happens once more, catching your attention once more. This time it was Shadowheart who emerged from the woods. You briefly make eye contact with her, your heart skips a beat, and you move towards her. Though it seemed she noticed you moving, since she looked away first and headed back to her tent, not even uttering a greeting or looking back. Your shoulders sag, clearly dejected at her avoidance. ‘I can’t be like this all day. We have to move forward.’ You think to yourself, quickly shaking the feeling and standing up straighter, putting on the front that you were not bothered by it.

“It seems like she has no intent on leaving today. I suppose we could drag Astarion with us.” You jest lightly to Karlach. Wanting to leave sooner, you readjust your pack and look for Astarion. Thankfully, he seemed to have read your mind and was already in his gear. You look for Gale briefly and see that he is equally as ready. With a nod, the four of you leave camp and begin the day.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Ugh, I feel I can sleep for days,” Karlach groans as she stretches her back. Letting out another exhausted sigh, she falls back. You nod in agreement, the weariness in your bones causing them to ache slightly more than they already were. While trying to stretch your back, you find it more difficult than normal, as you are in your armor. It was a long day, numerous battles and hours of walking. If there were only a handful of fights, you could handle that, however, it felt like it was battle after battle. The mere thought of the battles caused the bruises on your body to feel more prominent. Plopping down on a nearby tree trunk, you let your body relax as much as it can while sitting up. You look to Gale was already cooking, somehow already in his evening wear. The smell of the food made its way into your stomach, causing it to rumble. Looking around, you notice you can’t find Astarion. Assuming that he is relaxing in his tent, you sigh and lean back, still trying to find relief.

However, you begin to become restless. Somehow through the aches and pain, you feel the need for fresh air, which is odd for being outside. Not being able to sit and just wait, you get up and begin to head to your tent. Before you head inside, you turn to Karlach and Gale.

“You two can stay at camp tomorrow. Take the day to rest. I could bring Wyll and Lae’zel instead.” I say to Karlach and Gale. Gale doesn’t comment, rather focused on the meal he was making than what I was saying. I hear a faint groan, which you assume is Astarion. You begin to feel slightly bad, that he can’t get a day of rest, however with the avoidance from Shadowheart, there is bound to be one person who has to travel a little more.

‘Hopefully, she will get over whatever hindrance she is dealing with…hope I didn’t do anything wrong.’ You think before shaking the thought. ‘I shouldn’t think about it too much.’

You rid your thoughts altogether, of what happened, what is, and what was to come; choosing not to think on it too much, you begin to take off your armor. It took you longer than normal, the aches in your body causing you to slow down. Eventually, you were in your evening wear; sitting on the floor, staring at your feet blankly. You didn’t notice how much the day had affected you, to the point you just wanted to seek the warmth of another person and just fall into the deepest sleep you could. However, the person’s warmth you wanted seemingly wanted nothing to do with you. You let out another deep sigh, kick off your boots, and turn to your bed, not wanting to eat.

It seemed that no one noticed that you decided to turn in early for the night, or if they did no one came into your tent. You felt a tad grateful that no one came, feeling that no one's company would be enough. You lie in your tent, trying to sleep. However, no matter how much you slowed your breathing and kept your eyes closed, your body could not find itself to relax. With a sigh, you decide to give up on sleeping and leave your tent. Hastily throwing on your boots and mentally wishing it was late enough, you emerge from your tent and see that the camp is empty. The fire from supper was completely burnt out, and the large pile of dishes piled up near the lake camp was showing that everyone had indeed turned in for the night. Turning your head once again, you see Scratch and the owlbear cub huddled next to one another, sleeping soundly. You smile softly, your heart melting that they are bonding so well with one another. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you leave the camp and head into the nearby forest.

In a moment in time when there were so many new feelings and unfamiliar things around you; from being abducted by illithids, seeing the hells, waking up in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, and having an uninvited guest in your brain, the forest provided comfort. No matter where in Faerûn, trees will always be trees, the dirt path made by countless feet that trekked forward in their journeys, made you feel less alone and confused. Walking over bushes, you decide to mindlessly wander, not worrying about the pain in your feet or where you end up. There weren’t many sounds in the dead of night, other than the wind that shook the leaves and bushes, the distinct animal noises of nocturnal animals, and your footsteps. You don’t pay much attention to it, however, rather you choose to blank entirely. The traveling and battles from earlier in the day left you mentally exhausted, as well as physically but that was neither here nor there since you were always physically tired or sore, your mind was left both restless yet still. An internal paradox that you found yourself in recently. Much of how your relationship with Shadowheart was a paradox in itself. While it was difficult to say that you were in love with the mysterious woman, especially since it had not been too long since you two had met, it wasn’t hard to conclude that a part of you consistently yearned for her. Desired to hear the sound of her voice, to feel her gaze upon you, to comb her hair as it rested upon her shoulders, to have her touch you in ways that no other before has. A part of you dreamed that she could one day let you into her mind, into the deepest darkest parts of her mind, where you would find solace there as just she wormed her way into your mind. A constant plague that you could not rid of, not that you wanted to.

However, that was the lingering problem that shifted the foundation of what could be. The beliefs that you both hold make you enemies by default. The very belief that a sharran and a selunite even being friendly was unheard of. Nevertheless, you befriended one, hell you even kissed one, something that younger you would stress about, wondering if you were turning to the Lady of Loss. Not that you would, you find that the beliefs of your dear moon maiden held were truly a resonate of your own, and you weren’t saying that since you grew up with it. From your very limited understanding of the Lady of Loss, you found the very idea of wallowing in the dark with no hope seemed very unhealthy. From what Shadowheart told you, which was also as limited since her memory was removed, it seemed that Shar was lying to her followers, saying that she was easing their pain when in reality she was just adding to it.

‘How could she worship a goddess that causes her to be left in the dark and pain,’ You wonder, looking at the ground as you walk and begin to pursue your lips. Eventually, you begin to slow down, coming to a full stop at the texture change from under your shoes. You look up and see a lake, one that is possibly connected to camp, as the moon dances on the water, light ripples distorting the image. Breathing in the sight, you consider undressing and wandering into the water, before shaking the thought. While it was tempting, you find that it would be a hassle putting your clothes back on. Instead, you kick off your sandals and roll up the legs of your pants, and wander to the water before seating yourself down, just far enough to where your butt won’t get too wet. There you sat for a while, taking in the sight, smell, and sounds of the area around you. You feel your mind slow down, your eyes getting heavy at the comfort of the water as it rocked and kissed higher on your calf. Just as you were about to leave yourself completely vulnerable to the wilderness and let your mind wander into the night sky, a voice rang through your ears.

“Well, I certainly did not expect you to be so far from camp.”

Your eyes shot up, startling you awake. You don’t know who you were expecting when you turn your head, however, the last person that comes to mind is Shadowheart. Her hair was down from its chain and braid as it rested over her shoulder and draped to her mid-back. With that being the only outlier, Shadowheart looked the same as how she did the night before. Even though you wanted to say something, your mind was too slow to react, so you just looked at her. Embarrassed that you could not utter a sound, you turn your attention back to the lake. She chuckles, a noise that reaches your ears and tickles them ever so slightly, and you feel your ears and face get warm. Focusing solely on the lake and the reflection of the moon, you could only listen as she shuffled behind you. Far too nervous to catch her gaze, but still nipping with curiosity at what she is doing, you look at her from the corner of your eyes.

Not paying you any mind, she sat next to you, albeit a bit away from the water, which you assume was because she was not in favor of getting wet. Nervous that she will catch your gaze, you look away once more as the wind starts to softly blow. The both of you sit there in silence, unaware of what Shadowheart is thinking and you are far too nervous to break the silence, lest you say the wrong thing.

‘Truthfully, what is the wrong thing to say?’ You mentally quip to yourself, ‘Rather…what is the right thing to say…Should I break the silence? Does Shadowheart have something to say? Why is she also out here? Did she foll-’

“Was..there any particular reason you left camp?” Shadowheart asks, her voice stopping your thoughts. You look at her, a stunned look on your face. You were astonished at the fact that she was actively engaging in conversation rather than avoiding it. She is facing forward but looking at you from the corner of her eyes. Feeling your face get warm at her stare, you turn your head once again.

“I just..wanted some fresh air…” You murmur, bringing your knees closer to your chest and hugging them. You didn’t think to elaborate further, finding your reasoning sound enough. If you were completely honest with yourself, you were being slightly petty due to her avoidance. Shadowheart, who seemingly accepted the reasoning, sighed to herself, in a way that could be depicted as relief. Although you found it odd, you didn’t bring attention to it, rather resting your head on your knees. You both sat in silence, the sounds of the surrounding area being the only thing that stopped the moment from being dead quiet. Once again, content with the peace, you feel your eyes drooping once more.

“You didn’t come out here to meet anyone?” Shadowheart asks, breaking the silence and waking you up once more. Confused by her question and unsure if you even heard her correctly, you turn your body and look at her. She was actually looking at you, her head turned in your direction. Although it might have been your mind playing tricks on you or wishful thinking, it seemed that her eyes were a green of jealousy. Nonetheless, she blinks and it seems that she hid whatever emotion she was harboring.

“What? Why would I come out here to meet someone?” You ask her, as she shrugs and turns her head away from you, looking at the lake again. Thinking you weren’t getting an answer in response, your mind begins to wonder with various questions. Trying to make sense of your thoughts, you let one slip past the barriers of your lips.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” You ask, your voice much softer than you wanted it to be. Sounding much more hurt than you wanted to reveal, your mind and voice wanting to show her how her avoidance pained you. Though you hate to admit it, you are sure your face is showing that pain just as much as your voice did. She doesn’t move, mimicking that of a statute; Neither do you, not to turn to look at her, in fear of her seeing your face and you never getting an answer. You both sit there for a moment, your question leaving you feeling like you just shouted into the void and expecting an answer back.

After a moment, she lets out a breath, seemingly holding it in. As if she was not expecting that question and didn’t want to answer it.

“I do not think we can be together.”

Upon hearing her words, you feel as if your very soul was de-rooted so violently, that it took the very foundation of who you were down. The void answered, with a truth that you avoided and did not want. The truth that haunted you after you kissed her under the moonlight and the stars away from the party. Plagued your mind when you would think of who you were and who she was. It seemed to have shattered every thought, every wish, and every dream you had of holding her and that she hold you in return. With all of the shattering going on in your mind, you cannot utter anything else other than a simple, “Oh.”

“It’s just…” Shadowheart trails off, trying to find her words. She seems to struggle for a bit, so you decide to make it easier for her and leave.

With the hurt of your body and heart and the threat of tears in your eyes, you stand up. Not wanting your not-lover to see you cry, you quickly wipe the tears that were threatening to fall out and sniffle. Washing off your feet of any sand, you place your sandals on and head back to camp, not caring that you are leaving her behind. Not noticing Shadowheart pulled her knees to her chest, as she rested her head into her arms. Unknowing of the inner turmoil that was going on between her mind and her heart; the war between her sprouting care and affection for you and the dedication she has to her faith.

The way back was agonizing, your heart heavy with hurt and your mind yelling for sleep while also overthinking every bit of interaction with Shadowheart. The more you walked, the feeling of more tears threatened to fall and let you shed every ounce of heartache and misery. Picking up the pace, you cannot help but think about your reaction.

Surely you could have handled this way better in theory, but in practice? Was Shadowheart so deeply rooted into your mind, that the mere rejection shattered you whole? Did you crave her affection so badly that even the cold sharp end of a knife stab would have felt better than this? No matter how frigid and distant she was, how did you not lose an ounce of interest in her? Would you betray your goddess, just to be within Shadowheart’s gaze?

It seemed that as you asked more questions to yourself, the lack of answers seemed to spiral into more questions. However, you knew that you would never be able to answer the questions that spiraled in your mind. Eventually, you stumbled upon the camp, seeing Astarion was the only one up and about. His eyes turned to you, gaze softening at the sight of you rather than a rabid animal or an enemy trying to attack in the night. Upon seeing your expression, one of anguish and with tears already falling, his face morphs into concern for a moment before blanking.

“Did something happen, o’ fearless leader?” He asked, using the nickname he used to tease you once you were bestowed the mantle of leader. Maybe calling you your nickname was his way of comforting you. Not that you stood around long enough to find out. Rather than answering him, you decide to go straight into your tent. He makes a noise, one that sounds like he wants you to stop, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

Once inside your tent, you head to your sleeping bag and tuck yourself under it. Not wanting to wake everyone, but also needing to let out your emotions, you opt to cry silently into your hands. Trying whatever way to muffle your sobs as they wracked through your body. Curled up into yourself, you eventually fall into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Upon waking up, you immediately notice the sunlight is more prominent through your tent's fabric. Finding this odd, you immediately sit up and try to leave your tent as fast as you can. Crawling to the tent flap, you squint your eyes at the bright light of the day, noticing that it is far past the normal time you awoke. You look up to confirm your suspicions and see that the sun is most definitely showing it was later in the day, almost to the midpoint of the sky. As you crawled out of the tent, emerging from the cocoon of emotions you barracked yourself in last night, you saw Wyll making his way to you. It took you a bit to stand up fully, while your body was mostly recovering from the longer-than-average rest, it was still sore from the battles and wandering you and your party had been doing these past weeks. The horned man was already in front of you by the time you stood tall, patiently waiting.

“Good morning,” He smiles softly at you. You nod back, your mood still somewhat in shambles due to your previous night's adventure. Rather, you had more pressing matters to attend to, such as-

“Why did no one wake me up?”

Wyll doesn’t say anything but stares at you with the same look.

“Astarion told us what happened last night,” He starts. Afraid of where this was going, you feel your heart and stomach plummet through the ground, possibly landing in the Underdark somewhere. Wyll seems to take notice of the mild panic on your face and corrects himself. “Rather, he told us you came back to camp a wreck. He told us he was unsure what could have distressed you so. Karalach and Gale were the ones to suggest that we leave you to rest.”

With his explanation, you start to relax a little bit. Of course, Asartion would tell everyone. Though you know you couldn’t be too angry at him, rather fond of the fact that he was worried. It warmed you a bit that even though the vampire elf kept his emotions to himself for the most part, he ditched that belief for just a moment and expressed worry. You make a mental note to thank him and work towards a better friendship with him. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind along with any residue of yesterday evening, you smile softly at Wyll.

“I appreciate that, thank you.” Your voice sounds way more stable than you thought it would be. “Though, in the future, I would appreciate being woken up, even if there is concern for me. After all, we don’t know how much time we have before the whole tadpole thing turns us into illithids.”

Wyll doesn’t say much, just hums and nods, before being called by Lae’zel. He whips his head before turning back to you with a shy smile, one that you return with your smile and shoo him away. He scampers to Lae’zel, leaving you alone still standing in front of your tent. You sigh and relax your body a bit before you head to go to the stash of food the camp keeps. After not eating much throughout the previous day, it was starting to catch up with you with your stomach growling. At the stash, you begin to look for something quick to fuel you before you attempt to cook anything. Finding nothing that piqued your interest, you decided to head into the forest to see if there was anything edible. As you were heading to leave the camp alone, you passed Karalach, whose back was to you. You step towards her and begin to call out to her, however before you can utter a sound you step on a branch, alerting her to your presence. Turning to the source, Karlach seems to move away from what-who she was interacting with. Just beyond Karalach was Shadowheart, with a look you cannot describe. You spend a while looking at her, so many mixed feelings rushing to you faster than anything you can describe. Before you got swept away in the tidal waves of emotions, Karlach’s voice snapped you out of the trance you were in.

“Hey, soldier! How are you holdin’ up?” While her face had a big smile on it, it also had a look of concern. Turning your attention to the buff tiefling, you put on a strained smile before answering her.

“Better now that I’ve had more than 4 hours of sleep.”

“Really?” Her shock was evident, as she shifted slightly so the front of her body was facing you. She makes a glance to Shadowheart, something you feel you cannot stomach to do at the moment. You nod and respond.

“Yeah…I was just about to head off.”

“All alone?” Shadowheart says for the first time. Her voice rings in your ears as you feel your knees go weak for a moment. You cannot help but want to ignore her, to give her a taste of how she has made you feel; however, you decide against it, being in front of someone else.

‘That doesn’t mean I have to look at her.’ You reason to yourself before looking to the forest, trying not to make it obvious that you were avidly avoiding looking at her. “I wasn’t going to go far. Just wanted something light.”

Nothing is said for a moment before Shadowheart speaks again.

“I’ll go wi-”

“There is no need. I can go alone.” You cut her off, your voice coming off more harshly than you expected it to. However you couldn’t find it in yourself at that moment to apologize, rather you say your quick goodbyes and leave. In your absence was a puzzled Karlach at the thick tension between yourself and Shadowheart. She doesn’t say much, still feeling the tension, quickly making up an excuse before leaving. In her wake was a Shadowheart who was staring off in the direction you took off in. Left in the shadow that she herself had cast upon you.

However this time, the reason for it was known, and she had no one to blame but herself.

#shadowheart x tav #shadow x reader #im going crazy #this took forever #anyways #shadowheart is bad a feelings #like really bad #angst???#at least it's my attempt at it #☾adoniswrites

83 notes · View notes

z3nitsusgf · 11 days

Text

ouroboros

astarion/reader - got sidetracked and wrote angst

tw: ascended astarion :( angst angst angs, mention of c*z*dor

You awake with a blurry vision, a mismatch kaleidoscope of colors swims in your eyes. You expect to be in the cosmos, or a sort of heaven. But it’s not.

It’s all too clear and not clear enough, like you’re looking through sea glass. Dead flayed corpses lay at your feet, strewn in carnage and reeking of death. Your nostrils burn with the overpowering scent of… everything. Down to the molecule.

The scent of damp molded ruins, the smell of vermin crawling around, the irony sickly scent of raw flesh, the smell of Astarion… once so comforting, now a distant memory. He wears the smell of blood like perfume.

Your mind is hazy, like a fuzzy mold on a peach. It’s rotted and tainted, you can’t quite grasp at reality. And you think, for a split second, perhaps you’re watching your own death.

Astarion stands in front of you, his sight a comforting flame. But it feels different… wrong. He reaches up and touches you, a prayer for which no words exist.

You can’t quite tell why until he pulls at your lips, fingers sliding inside your mouth and grazing your gums. His fingertips prod and poke until he feels the sharp razor wire fangs that rest inside your maw. They feel raw, like an exposed nerve.

He looks at the pearlescent bone that glitters in the moonlight. Sharpened to a deadly sight. Strange. Your eyes widen in imminent horror. The realization of what has happened crashing down on you like you’ve been sent to the hells of Avernus.

“Look at the that, aren’t you just glorious?”

You feel that influx of tormented tears well in your eyes. A hateful rage bellows inside of you, gnawing at every aching nerve. You want to bite his fingers off, if only he’d permit you that much.

He does not. He commands you, holding you hostage in your own body. Making you placid and compliant.

“Darling, you’re perfect.”

He whispers into the shell of your ear, voice caressing the inside of your brain. You hiss, an unnatural sound that escapes your throat like a feral animal. That is what you are now. It shocks you more than it scares you.

Vampire spawn.

You bare your teeth, your new form fighting the unseen force that compels you into submission. He is your maker, your undoer, your god.

That is what he thinks.

“What have you done?” You murmur in the most heartbroken tone. Astarion feels only the tiniest pinprick of discomfort at the words. Overturned by his ravenous joy.

You are stuck with him. Forever. And not in the way you desired. You will never grow old, you will never change, you will never die.

You cry out. A wail breaching your heart as you feel that betrayal rip into your soul.

You feel starved, like your stomach has been emptied of any nutrients. Churning in claps of hungered madness. Your esophagus feels drier than the desert. Like unquenchable fire it spills through you, lapping at your organs.

Kicked up with sawdust and dirt. You choke, coughing on the air around you, gripping at your throat like a beast gone mad. Clawing at it, ripping at the skin till he pulls your arms away from your own flesh.

Astarion shushes you, his other hand caressing the side of your face like a doll. His doll.

“Shh, sweetheart, I know. It’ll pass.”

He’s observing you. Looking at your skin that’s grown pallid and lifeless. Smooth as silk and deathly cold. Your hair has turned starlight. Sterling silver and practically glowing, it matches his.

Your eyes have turned an oxblood vermilion. A bloody red, the color of life itself. Draped in heavy wet lashes that make you look most irresistible. Is this how you see him?

“You’re a monster.”

You whisper it, the ghost of your words passing through your lips like hellfire. It holds as much venom as a black widow.

Astarion’s eyes narrow, the once bright joy of his creation turning vile. And he snatches your face in his grip. Digging the pads of his fingers into your cheekbones and squeezing. It would hurt much more if you were mortal.

“How dare you-“

“How dare you!” You screech back, trapped in his hold. Hands gripping his wrist and digging into his flesh. You feel the carpal bone underneath shift and you think to yourself, ‘I could snap it’. You crave to. Dark demented urges calling for you to take your revenge.

“You did this to me, you turned me into a monster-“

“I saved you.” It’s terrifying how he truly believes it.

“You killed me.” That he has, undead beast you are. That life you held so close, so preciously - ripped straight from your hands.

“You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.” He sneers, his own fangs hissing at you from beneath his lips. He’s no privy to your ungrateful little tantrum.

“I am dead.”

He scoffs, “Did you honestly think I’d let you die? That’d I’d subject you to death from an unworthy hand?”

He means him. Only he could truly kill you. And he has.

Tears overflow your lashline, streaming down the plane of your cheeks and onto his palm. They’re chilled, even your crying has no warmth any longer. Lip quivering like a newborn babe.

Sweet, soft, ripe. Like a nectarine in the heat of the summer. Torn to shreds by a cold-blooded vampire because he needed to sedate his hunger for you.

Astarion loved you, that much you knew. Though his love has no bounds. He would rather rip your humanity away than part from you. Condemn you to centuries of suffering than see you gone from this plane of existence. You’re sinking into a sappy web of his love and you can’t get out.

Vampires are not gentle loving creatures. You never wanted to believe that. But now you are t sure what you believe.

“I didn’t want this.” You whimper, hands releasing his arm and dropping to your sides. You realize, you’ll forget everything. Soon enough.

Your childhood, your mother, your father, your companions. They will age and die and dissolve into the ground while you remain. Aging like a stone, withering down until nothing is left.

Who have you become in the wake of all that’s happened here?

Astarion regards you with chilled pity, “You won’t be alone. I’ll be here with you, to help you accustom to this new body.”

He thinks you fear changing without him. You snarl, snapping your jaw at him. He has these lines he won’t cross, but then he crosses them. And suddenly he has the very dangerous insight that he can break the rules with no consequence.

“I don’t want to accustom, I want to be mortal!” Fingers twisting in his blouse and threatening to rip it to shreds. He’ll sew it later if you do. Just like he’s done for centuries.

He rolls his eyes, the audacity. Inside you, something seethes.

“Don’t be so wet behind the ears, darling.”

You want to tear his spine out and beat him with it. Had you known his ascension would lead him to this… you’d have done yourself the favor and killed him before he became his old master.

You can’t fight back. Even if you could, there is a loathing diminutive part of you that still believes in Astarion.

Lover, hunter, friend, enemy.

He is your birth and your death. Your undoing and Armageddon, the beginning to your end. He is the divine creator and destroyer of worlds. He’ll burn the wax you were formed from and dine on your heart. He lives inside you just as you live inside him, a moebius strip, a snake always swallowing its own tail. Mutually assured destruction.

“Don’t you understand,” he murmurs, “our souls are intertwined.”

Your love, your moon and sun. You are his martyr, his religion. His.

Astarion leans into you, letting your shaking body melt into his. He cradles your skull, kissing the bloody puncture marks on your neck. A permanent salacious reminder. He grazes his lips across it, mouthing at the skin like a suckling kitten.

“I’ll always be here, my love.”

It hits you, in this terrible heart-wrenching moment. The cumulative force of it all slams into your chest, right beneath your breastbone and leaves you gasping for air you don’t need. You can never go back, you cannot undo what has been cast on you. It’s not a spell that will wear and fade, it is not an illusion that will glimmer into nothingness.

“Astarion-“ you weep, with nothing else left to do but crumble into yourself and let him build you back up.

You used to be scared of the love you held for him. Fearing that it would ruin you. Now that it has, you want to tear your own heart from your chest and burn it to ash.

Astarion is dead. All that remains is what Cazador left of him. Now all the remains of you is what Astarion has made you.

#val.writes ❦#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 angst #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion angst

62 notes · View notes

arknights-archive · 20 days

Text

Chapter 14: Absolved Will Be The Seekers - CHOEARTH

#logos #w #amiya #civilight eterna #fang #wis'adel #fang the fire-sharpened

69 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 3 months

Text

Seek some release “In the Monster’s Shadow:” Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 2.4k of delicious BDSM (and feelings if you squint)

Summary: Betrayed by her dreams, Shadowheart can’t hide much from him… not when he demands such exhilarating pleasure for her and for him.

CW: total Dom!Astarion, degradation, BDSM, impact play, sensory deprivation, cum play, praise kink, a hint of feelings being revealed.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 4…

🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤

“Spread your legs and climb on…”

The order purred from beside her, Astarion leaning forward, arm gesturing towards the strange saddle before them.

Shadowheart’s skin burned, hotter than a ray of fire, she felt his gaze taking over her skin. Her cheeks were beet red from her dream, she knew it. And he had seen it all, more than she ever would have said.

Little use hiding it now. Perhaps the truth wouldn’t be so horrible…

But then, as she passed him just within reach, he landed a blow on her already abused backside. Even through the soft material of her shift, that riding crop stung. A yelp slipped from her mouth as she flinched more in surprise than pain.

Pain she knew, an old friend. Not like the monster before her who tilted his head back, as if savoring the sound of her cry more than the sweetest music.

“I know you can move faster, princess,” he chuckled, rapping that flap at the end of the crop against his leathers. The steady tap tap of his own beating his leg sent matching pulses to her already thick and swollen folds. “Hurry it up, girl,” he growled, booted feet landing with steady and loud foot falls, giving her chase. Shadowheart hurried just a bit faster, throwing him a withering scowl, even as she braced her hands on the strange apparatus.

Almost a normal saddle, covered in black velvet, smoother than silk and supple. All save for a patch towards the stock at the front. That part, that was covered with little bristles of leather and horsehair. Already her wet and aching folds throbbed, and the sight of that instantly made her clit itch to be touched.

She could feel the sweat gathering on her forehead, watching him lick his lips from the other side of the saddle, crop still tapping his thigh as he waited. A deep breath, and she hoisted herself astride. He tried to keep her face steady as the materials rubbed her cunt in all the right places, tried to keep the grunt of effort and satisfaction quiet as she settled the expanse of leather and velvet between her thighs.

That crop bit in his fangs, Astarion descended on her, careful only to grip her nightshirt, ripping the soft, buttery material in his skilled hands with ease. “Too bad you weren’t thoughtful enough to remove it for yourself, it was a rather flattering cut on your figure, Shadowheart,” he purred, so silken in her ear. Not unlike her dreams. Her waking nightmares.

He yanked it from her body, taking that hem of it in his hands and fangs and ripping a sizable strip. A thick band of softest fabric, he snapped it between his hands, testing it. Careful not to move, not to grind and make that burning between her thighs worse, she reached her wrists out, smiling, confident she was ahead of him in his games.

“Aww,” he mocked with false gratitude. “So thoughtful,” he grabbed her hands in one of his, only to bring that crop down on her outstretched palms with a snap. “But you’ll learn not to attempt to anticipate my desires. You think you know me, Princess, but you’ll find you’ll enjoy that I’m full of surprises.”

His voice was harsh, silken smooth but cutting, not unlike a sharpened blade. “Hold very still,” he ordered, waiting.

Shadowheart paused, looking into his face as the tip of that crop tapped against his side again. His dexterous hands raised and lowered that leather wand on her thigh faster than she could think. “Well?” he hissed. “When I give you a command, what do you say in reply, darling?”

“Ow!”’ she whined, baring her teeth in ire.

“No, we say…” he promoted, hand raised again with that leather ready to flick again.

“Yes,” she grumbled.

Smack! It landed on her thigh, another red spot on top of the first. “Care to try again?” he smirked, a fang biting his lips slowly as he smirked.

“Yes…” she sneered, angry, and yet totally hot from the inside out, “…master.”

“My, my,” his brows raised in tickled compunction. “It can obey… she can learn something after all. Obedience will look good on you, Princess.” He closed the distance on her, his scent enveloping her first, deadening all her other senses to anything apart from his presence.

His proximity. He flicked her one last desirous smirk before the fabric covered her eyes, before it was cinched tightly around her head.

“Fuck you, Astarion,” she hissed, his fingers not leaving her skin.

Two long, smooth digits stuffed her mouth to silence her. “Careful, or I’ll tear another one for a gag… A shame that would be, given your dreams, you’d rather have something else keeping that dirty mouth of yours busy than cloth.” He jerked her by her mouth closer. She could tell from the intensity of his scent. “Isn’t that right?”

She mumbled around his fingers.

“Oh, nevermind, my little Shade, your body’s already given you away many times over,” his lips brushed her short pointed ear; and she knew he was right. Her body shivered and quaked to be touched, to feel his warm breath sweep down her neck. “You want me to kiss you,” he paused, barely touching those lips to her skin again, “don’t you?”

Fingers pulled out abruptly from her mouth to let her reply. “No,” she bit, even as her body arched closer. Tempted and pulled by his allure.

“Liar,” he hissed, bringing that tip of his crop on top of her thigh. A perfect shot to hit the same spot as before. Another one on the heels of the first. “And what do we say when you speak to me?” His nose brushed down her neck, breathing over the line of her artery.

“No, master. I don’t want your kiss,” she groaned, hand rubbing over the spot that stung from his crop. She was glad to be blinded to how pink it had turned.

“Don’t fret,” he purred, swishing that leather wand in the air fast enough to make her flinch and his and dread its next place of landing. “I’ll find a way to busy your mouth soon, I’m sure…”

Something cool and smooth pressed on her shoulder, that end of his crop she guessed, given the scent of leather near her face. Shadowheart didn’t mind the blindfold; the darkness was her oldest friend. It only served to heighten her other abilities, the other senses that swirled through her body. And right now, all the rest of her attention narrowed down to the ghosting dance of that leather lower and crooked over her back.

His breathing whistled through his teeth, as if he smiled too wide at the sight of her before him to shut those irritating lips. Her back arched under that leather touch as it swept from her hips to her thigh, the one that still remained a blank canvas for his pleasure. Gasping, she couldn’t hold still any longer as that flap of his crop stuck into her folds, playing in the slick and teasing her clit on its wide flap. Hips bucked unbidden, and she braced herself for a smack.

But no punishment came, only more strokes of that leather right where she burned for it.

For him.

Thoughts twisted at the passing words in her mind, trying to rebel, but failing. Failing so hard to hate the idea of wanting him anymore. She arched as that crop withdrew, dragging her slick up her thigh to sweep over the rounded softness of her ass.

“Why don’t you picture a pleasant scene while you ride, darling?” he crooned right beside her ear. “A merry little jaunt through the same wilds we once trekked. Just you… and me…”

The leather landed with a mild smack on her right ass cheek.

“Now ride,” he ordered.

First she hissed, then bucked on the stimulating fabric of the saddle, and finally she sighed her response for him. “Yes, master.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. Teasing that crop back toward the crest of her thighs, he stuck it just right that her clit caught on the windings of the tip with every buck. “What do you see?” he purred.

“Emerald trees, moonlight…” she panted as he raised it harder beneath her. The extra friction of the velvet made her positively soak the saddle between her legs.

“And?” he added, pulling that crop out. Another quick strike on her ass to make her beat faster before he returned it so perfectly in the same spot.

Another moan of bliss as heat flooded her legs, her core ignited with more desire than she ever recalled. “You…” she let the single word slip from her lips. Shame colored her cheeks even redder, she was sure. And the way he chuckled, low and deliciously dark, only made her buck harder and faster, little jerks of her hips to catch more of his wand.

“I do so like the sound of that,” he purred, and she could hear him hissing in delight, the snap and rustle of his clothing reached her ear, she guessed.

All that fabric noise was soon followed by the subtle, almost imperceptible beat of flesh in his hand. As he pleasured himself. “What of me do you see?” he growled, throat tight and teeth gritted, she was sure. Just from his ravenous tone. From the dry beat of his fist on his cock.

Two could play this game, as fun as it was. She would drag him down with her too. If he insisted on taking pleasure from her, she could draw it from him with equal fervor. Her lips smiled as she turned in the direction of his voice. Her hands slunk from where they braced on the saddle before her. One clutched at her breast kneading it and rolling it, the other she braced behind her.

Her hips splayed apart, widening more. Giving him a better view she hoped.

“I see you on the mossy forest floor,” she groaned. “It’s you I am riding, not some steed, some senseless, biting beast.”

“Hgnf,” he growled, voice drawn closer, that feral sound almost maybe inches from her face. “It’s my hand gripping your breast, isn’t it?”

“Yes, master,” she purred back, demonstrating a good hard squeeze on its softness, hard enough to make her own flesh pillow between her fingers.

“It’s my cock buried in your sweet, wet cunt, isn’t it? My hips you clutch between your heated thighs…”

“Yes, master…”

That crop left her flesh so quickly. At first she groaned at its absence. Until two long, silken digits thrust hard inside her, forcing her to lean so much further back in her seat as she kept her constant and erratic rhythm. As she rode something inside her at last, that internal friction was so satisfying at long, long last.

Her teeth bit her tongue, keeping the way his name was about to slip from her mouth as she coiled harder than before, as her muscles clenched and burned.

Bursting, she could hear the shoot of her slick coating her mount, slipping under the pressure of her thighs. He groaned just after her. As her body shook in her climax, she felt sticky, warm liquid coating her breasts. That hand pulled from her clit, ripping her blindfold from her head. Blinking, she quickly scanned the sight before her. The sight of her. The darkened leather of the saddle stained with her cum, the red welts on her thigh, matching the ones on her ass surely.

The pearlescent slick of his cum dripping down her chest, running in sticky rivulets slowly to her breasts.

And then, only then, she looked in his face.

So sharp and hungry, he leered happily at her, body caving just a bit inward. As if he fought to not collapse into her shoulders, her painted chest. His lip twisted in that devilish half-smile as she looked at his cock finally. Hard and blushed at the tip and still dripping his cum as he finally tried to catch his breath. His hand gave it a few slow strokes, each one drawing just a bit more of his spend to drop to the floor. Fingers gripped the back of her neck, that weight bringing her mouth closer as he hissed, “Now, clean it, and be a good girl.”

Better than her dream, she sucked in his length, the bitter tang, the salt of his sweat, it instantly made her wetter once more. And from the way his hips gave little rolls to try and deepen her suck, she knew that this new hold he had on her was growing into something strangely… mutual.

Her tongue lapped and licked until she could feel only velvet skin in her mouth. Until she sucked off his tip with one hard pop.

Astarion’s crimson eyes burned, blazing with the aftermath of his pleasure, softened at the corners with something unspoken, she could sense.

“What is it?” she dared to whisper.

He took a long inhale. “You’re the only one that came back for me at all, you know. After all that time.”

She froze. Waiting for more. His jaw tweaked, as if he fought to swallow more of his words, his traitorous thoughts back into the hollow dark inside him.

Quieter than her ears could barely make out, he managed one last sentence to slip in that moment. “Even if it was to kill me in my sleep, little Shade, you’re the only one.” His eyes instantly hardened again, that sneer and air of the Ascendant returning full force over his demeanor. His shoulders squared, hand releasing from the back of her neck as his eyes narrowed with wicked intent. “The only one not to fear the monster in his lair,” he chuckled.

“Astarion,” she breathed, yet unwilling to lose sight of that softness she had once glimpsed in that same face, long ago. But she was only rewarded for her gentle caress of his name on her tongue with his seed-slicked fingers clawed around her throat.

“Master,” he hissed. A snarl on his lips, and he drew her mouth to his. His kiss was forceful and hungry. Crushing and biting her lip until she tasted her own blood. Until his fingers released her windpipe as she gasped from the ferocity of it. “Clean yourself, and you can venture into the gardens at first light, if you wish. After all, you did please me so.”

His back turned towards her, Shadowheart caught merely a glimpse of his scarlet stare for a second before he vanished into mist once more.

64 notes · View notes

comfortless · 5 months

Note

pls sir,,,, more dungeoneer konig and knight gf,,,, pls,,,,

why do you guys like seeing him suffer… part 3 of this guy i suppose! what are the sillies up to now….

dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: injury, violence, does it count as animal death if a gnoll dies i wonder…

She’s not entirely as adept as he is with these things, at least, that’s what he’s believed thus far. How could she be? A woman like her belongs in painted portraits adorning castle walls, not down in the dark with rarely little more than blades and sprays of blood for company.

Despite his assessment, when a particularly nasty gnoll manages to land a deep bite into König’s shoulder, it’s her that saves him. The pain is instant, warm salivating fangs digging past all defenses and pushing straight into muscle. The gnoll even has the audacity to huff out what sounds like a whine of delight when warm blood spurts straight into its maw. Perhaps, had he not been so focused on the lady knight, he wouldn’t have made such an error. Even now, rather than moving to overpower his aggressor, he watches her as she weaves through the debris of the tight corridor, her rapier readied at her side.

He’s fortunate that she reacts immediately, driving the sword so deeply into the beast’s guts that König could almost swear he feels the sharpened tip brush over his own tunic before she presses her boot to the gnoll’s spine and pivots backwards to free her blade, now glistening in crimson. It’s gruesome and foul but the look in her eyes is anything but— only tender.

“Thought he went for your neck…” The concern in her voice rings out clear, her hands trembling when she sheaths the blade and takes his arm into both of her own to lead him out of the decrepit dungeon. There’s nothing here apart from cobwebs and enraged monsters, no signs of a treasure promised. It was foolish of him to even drag her out here and now she’s.. caring for him. Oddly enough, this is the first time in a long stretch he’s had any woman willingly do just that without pity or disdain.

He tries to protest; the wound isn’t that bad, just a few punctures where fangs met flesh. Still, she props him against a sturdy oak, straddles his lap as she takes a dagger to begin tearing away his clothes.

“You don’t need to…” He trails off when she begins to clean the wounds, a little hiss of breath from the sudden sting of some pungent alcohol she’s produced from her bag, a sigh of relief when she smears the balm and wraps the wound tightly with a length of silk.

She’s not as indifferent to him as she pretends to be. Not at all.

More often than not his longing stares are met with a curious glance from her, maybe a soft huff of breath when she turns to look away. After his injury, König finds she’s quite affectionate too. She forces him down to kneel in shallow water while she meticulously cleans him, fusses over the wound as though it were her own, telling him he should not move too much lest he irritates it and draws out other beasts with the scent of his blood. She even gives him an almost imperceptible kiss on the cheek once she’s finished.

Come nightfall, she’s migrated from her bed to his own. There are no inns this far out, only rolling fields and forests. They’re camped out in the open, a horrid idea in the event of bandits, but she insists on watching over him through the night— if anyone comes, they’ll be struck down by this cocky, vigilant lady. He doesn’t doubt her ability anymore.

Their torches have long since burned out, and seeing as she won’t allow him to do so much as brush his hair from his face, stoking a fire seems out of the question. The glow of the moon provides enough visibility for her to see he isn’t clammy and feverish from infection, and that’s satisfying enough for her.

When dawn rises, a soft yellow glow dimmed by pillowy white clouds, König finds her not awake, but curled against his side, still wearing that heavy armor. Though there’s still a dull ache in his shoulder, one that screams he’ll be reprimanded if caught, he diligently works at the straps and buckles to free it from all but her chest before she stirs. When those eyes stare up at him, his heart flutters in a way he’s not so sure it ever had before. There’s always a tingle during an invigorating battle or the wave of excitement that washes over him when he takes his first step to descend into a dark crypt.

This is different.

He finds that it’s not just a blistering lust he feels for her anymore, but an unwavering sense of belonging at her side.

“… told you not to move,” she grumbles, batting his hands away as they rest over the straps along her shoulders. He could never fully place why she looks so different without heavy steel securing her, like a drab cocoon cracking open to reveal an achingly beautiful butterfly. “You should still be sleeping.”

“Ja, but you looked uncomfortable.”

“I’m not even supposed to be asleep.” Follows it up with a laugh that breezes like the most gentle song to his ears.

When they begin to gather their things to move on to the next destination, a small village near the coast, he realizes just what this bizarre feeling is. It’s love, or at least the closest to it that he still believes in.

“Is it against your code to marry?,” he asks, nonchalant as their next journey begins.

She’s busying herself looking over the map, her fingertips ghosting over the weathered parchment ad if the carve a path. The question doesn’t register for a moment, but when it does, her brow raises slightly in confusion.

“You know that I’m not a knight, König.”

“You are to me.”

She pauses for a moment, nearly dropping the map as her steps come to a sudden halt. She rolls the parchment back up, glancing away from him then.

“Then no, I suppose it’s not.”

#dungeoneer!könig #könig x reader

120 notes · View notes

kiaqtexistuku · 2 years

Text

˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄Canine Therian Tipz *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

I've been a canine therian for years so I thought I'd share some things I use/have used.

⸙͎۪۫ buying dog toys/ accessories: you can go to any pet store and get chew stim toys which are also dog toys, those are fun. I personally like ropes more than rubber because sensory, but you can get whatever you like and if they question it, just say it's for your dog. as for accessories, obviously collars and leashes or anything else you can find.

⸙͎۪۫ playing fetch: I did this before I knew I was a therian, just me and my friends having fun but you can work on your quadratics (if u do that) or just feel more animalistic with the grass against your body. either way it's fun.

⸙͎۪۫ tails, furs, bones ext.: if you are into taxidermy you can easy get things like this to make you feel more animalistic, bone hunting is a fun activity as well. it gives an excuse to go outside as well.

⸙͎۪۫ making dens in the woods: me and my friends often go into the woods near us and build forts and dens. staying for hours and sitting around a fire or running around outside. it makes you feel much more animalistic. slowly working on building a shelter and den can make a good safe place to shift.

⸙͎۪۫ makeup: if you use makeup, you can accentuate your animalistic features through makeup, dirty brown tones and make fangs ext.

⸙͎۪۫ sharpening nails: you can either shave your real nails or use fake nails but giving yourself claw like nails can make you feel more like your kintype, be careful not to make them too long though as they might get caught when doing quadratics.

#therian #otherkin #caninekin #kin #dogkin #coyotekin #wolfkin #wolf therian #dog therian #coyote therian #therianthropy #alterhuman

739 notes · View notes

trulycertain · 2 months

Text

Blankets

In which the shadow-cursed lands are freezing, Lora's undead boyfriend is shivering, and she decides there's only one solution: hug that vampire. And bring blankets. Meanwhile, Astarion gets to further discover the joys of non-sexual intimacy.

Sappy fluff on those lines Astarion has about cuddling, and about missing his partner's body heat. Act 2, after his big "I like you" confession. 3.1k. Ao3

The shadow-cursed lands have a certain character. It's a menacing, get-the-fuck-out-of-here character, but it's definitely a character. The dark and the weather - or lack of it - have a feel all their own.

"Who gave this place permission to be so damned freezing?" Astarion's trying to keep his usual stiff-necked poise, even slouched by the fire, but the cold's starting to defeat him. Hunting helped for a while, it was obvious, and it'd probably be a lot worse if he hadn't fed, but nothing seems to keep the cold at bay for long. His mouth is working as he tries not to let his teeth chatter - probably a lot worse with fangs.

"Blame Shar," Gale mutters, daring to without Shadowheart close by, and Lae’zel snorts. “But tonight is frigid even for this cursed place.”

Astarion pulls the blanket tighter round himself - worn but thick wool, with a little embellished, almost fleur-de-lys border in delicate gold thread. Somehow that hasn't unravelled. The rest is drabber than his usual style, though needs must, Lora supposes. But there's a pink patch, one she swears she sewed more haphazardly...

Wait. Lora knows that blanket. It used to be one of hers. It's the worn one she dropped outside his tent the first night they camped together - when he'd spent the journey muttering about the mud and the lack of baths, she'd spent it letting his snotty insults roll off her back, and she'd woken up the next morning to find said blanket had... mysteriously disappeared. That was months ago.

The thread's new.

“Damn this,” Astarion mutters, before she can muck everything up by saying something. “I'm turning in. Wake me up if we're all eaten by shadow undead.” And then he stalks to his tent, blanket thrown over his shoulders like a stereotypical vampire's cape; she watches him go in concern.

“Goodnight?” Gale manages.

Silence falls, even more than usual in the Shadowlands. Gale coughs. Wyll stirs the fire with a stick. Lae’zel sharpens her sword just a little more pointedly.

Lora lasts perhaps two minutes before she's grabbing a fur and an extra blanket from her tent - firmly ignoring the curious amusement she can feel from the other side of the fire - and sidling into Astarion's vaguely hedonistic lair, stepping past blood jars and haphazard books.

Astarion’s already reclining on an elbow, of course; he heard her coming. “Oh? Didn't know you were feeling frisky. At least it might warm us both up.”

Even though it's a joke, any coquettish effect is mostly ruined by the three layers he's wearing - undershirt peeking out from under his collar, another shirt, and some kind of robe he must have stolen along the way - and his miserable little nest of blankets. And the subtle redness to his nose, the tension in his shoulders to stop the shakes. Gods, there’s barely anything here, for all the treasure trove outside his tent. He’s all but slee – trancing on the ground. Elf or not, he’s got to be freezing.

Lora shakes her head, sliding to her knees next to him. “You're shivering.”

“Of course I'm not. Am I?” Astarion looks down at himself and sighs. “I suppose I am.” He is. Vigorously. “How are you not?” he adds, in confused disgust.

Lora throws the extra covers over him. And then she wriggles half out of his tent, ignoring the fact that Wyll is now leaning round Gale to watch, and returns with half of Astarion’s cushion stash.

“Is that why you're here? To make a delivery?” That arch voice is muffled through wool, until a pale hand pulls it away from his face and Astarion blinks at her owlishly. Well, half owl, half very disgruntled sheep. The pomade’s starting to lose the fight against blanket friction, flyaway curls sneaking back into shape. It’s... sweet.

“If you want. But I thought I'd ask if we could share,” she says, gesturing to his bedroll.

He blinks at her, sobering. “I thought we'd spoken about, ah…”

Is it patronising to be proud of him? Probably. It doesn't change the fact she is, terribly, even while guilt for how they started is trying to squeeze the breath out of her.

A hand to her heart, Lora says, “No funny business. On my mother's life.”

Astarion squints at her, amused but with the tiniest hint of wariness underneath. “You don't have a mother.”

Sombrely now, eyes steady on his, she says, “On my lyre.”

Those little lines start around his brows - he's frowning, trying to work her out. And then, like so many small moments over this journey, she sees the second he decides to trust her. With an incline of his head, Astarion says, “Accepted.” He blinks, and snorts. “But darling, it's not as if I have an excess of body heat to give. If anything, quite the opposite. I'll, ah, leech from you.” He tries to grin fangily through the shivers, and then it occurs to him. “...Ah. You were trying to save my dignity, weren't you?” He sighs, and untucks a corner of his blanket pile, dragging a cushion or two under his head and turning away from her. It's the nearest to an invitation she's likely to get.

Unable to watch him in his misery any more, Lora swiftly ties the tent flaps, tries not to bolt into his absurd nest of cushions, and tucks herself in. “Oh. These are soft,” she says, plumping one. Silk. Shouldn't even ruin her hair too badly.

Astarion huffs a laugh at that - mostly silent, but she spots the movement of his shoulders.

Slowly, loudly, she shuffles closer and puts an arm round him; Hells, below wool and linen, he's absolute ice. He makes the smallest noise and stiffens, shoulder blades like shelves against her.

Lora lets go, instantly - but there's a hand snaking to her hip before she can shuffle backwards, pulling her to him.

Astarion murmurs, “I was just startled, that's all. You're so warm.” His tone is wondering - and then embarrassment at himself catches up with him. He goes tense all over again, but Lora just re-wraps an arm round him; curls the rest of herself round him too, knees against his knees, hips against his hips, chest to back.

It's the softest breath he lets out, almost inaudible. He tries, “This is ridiculous. It's not as if we're in some snowy wasteland.”

She says, “No light. No heat.”

“Hm. You know, once I would have said something like, ‘You're all the light I need. A lone star in the darkness.’”

With a laugh, she puts her nose against his shoulder. “Isn't that meant to be you? Considering the name, and all.”

“Shh. Don't ruin my metaphor. It took me a whole five seconds to think of it.” It's a slow thaw, the way he's melting against her as he speaks: bit by bit, inch by inch.

Lora sniggers against his robe.

Where her hand rests on his chest, she feels slim, strong, freezing fingers join it. Astarion says, softly, “I won't say I don't miss the sun. But you… help. You're so - ugh - colourful. And warm.” His head ducks, and then her hand’s being lifted to cool, gentle lips. He lays a kiss to her knuckles.

Lora’s chest fills with something that makes her realise she's a terrible bard, because she's uncertain how to describe so very much. She kisses a pointed ear - it twitches the tiniest bit in his surprise, barely there and in a way that would likely irritate him if he knew.

“It's probably the big glowing mace,” Astarion grumbles, carefully ruining the compliment - belied by how gently his hand’s still holding hers. That first time is still fresh and new: the way he took her hand like it was a precious thing. How pleased he was just to hold and be held. His grousing is relaxed, half swallowed by his pillow.

Many wouldn't say he's an ideal partner for cuddling: he's all sharp angles and sharper elbows, albeit ones dulled by his clothing. He's freezing marble except for where his hair tickles her nose. But his toes twitch against her shins and his voice is a low rumble where she rests, and he fits in her arms like they were made for it. Lora knew these strong shoulders and these long limbs would be good for something, and apparently that something was holding a short, slowly warming undead elf.

For all he's not tall, he's long, somehow: elegant limbs with a deceptive amount of strength hidden underneath. She'd thought the first time they slept together he was all lean muscle and sinew; now she realises he was starving. It just takes longer in a vampire. There's a solidity to him now under her hands: his shoulders are the slightest bit broader, his thighs a little less skinny. Lora wants, all over again, to tell the man she met in that clearing not to do this: to go hunting with her instead. To ask for a bit of her blood. To take her hand. Not that he would have listened.

“You've gone all tense,” Astarion remarks. “Have I done something?” His voice is on the knife-edge of casual.

Yes. No.

She swallows. “It's so quiet here. The birds don't sing. I feel exposed when I do. The silence leaves you with your thoughts - not always the good ones.”

“Mm.” All at once there's a small hurricane of movement next to her - before she quite knows what's happening, he's eeled out of her grasp and turned to face her. “Luminis,” he says, softly, all cut-glass enunciation; close to where they've bedded down, a jar - empty, thankfully - illuminates. He takes his fingers away from it.

Scarlet eyes search her face. It felt easier to hide in the half-dark, even though he could see her perfectly well… Oh. The light isn't for him, is it? His fragile mortal lover, so small in the grand scheme of things.

The words spill from her mouth unbidden, and she wonders, for far from the first time, how she ever became a bard. “I, ah, I get on edge, in this place. You said I was… colourful.”

“It's a bard thing, I'm sure.” Astarion’s voice is wry, but there's a crease of what looks like concern between his brows; he’d be appalled if it was pointed out.

“Here, that feels like I'm a target. I feel watched all the time.”

Grimacing, he says, “Ugh. Awful, isn't it? It's not just you.” But it's less theatrical than it would be with the others. More honest.

Astarion eases closer to her, hair falling over his forehead but eyes still dark and curious on hers - and something like realisation is dawning on his face. He always knows someone's soft spots. Lora wants to crawl away, to make some pleasant joke to distract them both; she makes herself be brave and stay, instead.

He places a hand on her arm, lightly, uncertainly, as if real tenderness is a song he's heard so many times but he isn't sure how to play by ear - and then he cups her face, still with a tentative hand. There's no laughter in his voice when he speaks. “Lora, darling, are you scared?”

“Aren't you?” she says, sounding small and helpless and hating every second of it.

Astarion barks a laugh, seeming to startle them both. “Love, we're all terrified of this place. Karlach’s spent half the journey quaking in her fiery little boots. Gale seems to be reading so he doesn't scream. But you're always so… cheerful.” He strokes his thumb over her cheek, again with a slow lightness to it, as if he's ready to move away the moment she says something, as if he might be overstaying his welcome. As if it isn't keeping her grounded. Sadness is in the tight lines around his eyes, his mouth. “I thought you'd sublimated it all into jokes and anger. Or perhaps that's just me.” He gives her a grin that's almost sheepish, by his pointedly-confident standards. Sobering, he says, “I should have seen through a fellow liar.” That's too gentle, too worried to have any sting to it.

The words are so hard to find. “Having someone with me helps. To watch this place back. You've got the fastest eye of any of us.”

Amusement flits over his face, his eyes skating to her throat. “I didn't think you'd want these fangs so close to your neck.” Double-edged, with the barest hint of real fear under there, the way so many of his offhand jokes are.

“They have been enough times before. You” - she clears her throat, and tries not to feel ridiculous - “you look after me?”

Astarion blinks a moment, eyes widening. “I do, do I?” He's trying for wryness, but his voice has something else to it. Something raw, but she can't tell if it's good or bad.

Lora says, hastily, with a demented kind of mildness, “Usually by stabbing things that are trying to kill me. And you can see in the dark, and I can't. And you slee - trance less.” And the shadows are less frightening when met with a wry voice and flamboyant arm-waving. And she's learned to feel him at her back, even when she can't see him.

She wants to squirm, but he's leaning to catch her eye. He says, with a disbelieving half-smile, “My dear, are you saying you feel safe with me?”

Lora sighs explosively, ready to be laughed at -

“Gods, I really have taken up with a madwoman.” But the words are softer than they should be, and he… tugs her into his arms, and holds her tightly.

Oh.

Lora freezes - he does, too, as if scared he might have overstepped his bounds. She wraps an arm round his waist before he can decide that she must hate this and he should run away again, her head settling onto his shoulder. He's warmer, she's glad to note, the shivers gone entirely. Still not as warm as someone alive, but getting closer to his normal.

Astarion says, “I'll keep the shadows at bay. You just focus on keeping me warm.”

“I can do that,” she says, faintly.

“Can I take away the light?”

“Sure. It's not the dark that worries me. It's… being alone, in the silence.”

Astarion throws the tent back into darkness with a whispered word - and then stays there: chest against hers and legs tangled, breathing every so often out of habit instead of necessity. A hundred little sounds even in a man as consummately quiet as him, from that to the brush of his clothes against pillows. Lora feels him start to stroke her hair with that careful touch, uncertain of his welcome; she hums happily, and he keeps it up. It's worth a little extra work in the morning for this.

A memory winds slowly back into her head: a man who'd give her florid nicknames and yet all but flee after sex, their arrangement going mostly unspoken. The second time, and that touch on her hair, so oddly uncertain for a man that confident in bed. She hadn't understood it at the time.

All I had to do was not fall for you.

Astarion turns his head, breath cool on her ear. “Lora?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhm." It's vague, said into his hair.

She feels him laugh faintly against her.

When Lora wakes to the morning light, she's somehow spooning him again; his forearm is wrapped around hers, holding her there, but he’s contorted himself to lean a book next to him so he can read.

Wait. That wasn’t in his tent last night. Lora tries to get her mind around the image of him sneaking out of bed, getting a book, and sneaking himself back in under her arm. Somehow, it makes a worrying amount of sense.

Astarion lets go of her the moment he senses she's awake, saying idly, “Have you ever considered a second career as a backpack?”

“How long have you been thinking of that one?” she mumbles, only realising she's nuzzling her nose into his hair when she gets tickled.

The book snaps shut, and Astarion pushes it aside with three fingers. “Is your pillow talk always so cynical? What's wrong with a good sweet nothing?” But he turns to her, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

For a moment Lora just lies there in some sort of disbelief, because she knows how nights with Astarion end. She wakes up alone, with only a bite mark to say anything happened at all, or there’s some convenient excuse he pulls out to sneak away.

But there’s a man in her arms, now, running a little cool for a mortal but not the block of ice he was – his hair wildly curly, his movements soft and slow and easy, the tiniest satisfied hum running through him as he eases into her embrace. “Gale is skulking about, making breakfast,” he says into her shoulder.

“Sounds good.”

“No, it sounds terrible. You’re better than a furnace. The bastard can show off to everyone else, but I’m keeping you.”

“Just for warmth,” Lora says.

“Obviously.”

“Are you warmer?”

His voice is a wry drawl, but something content is sneaking in around the edges. “Toasty, darling.”

Lora strokes a hand over Astarion’s back, over the layers of nightshirts and robes. For the barest moment he tenses – whether it’s because of his scars, or whether he thinks she’ll touch him somewhere less innocent, try to push his limits. She doesn’t, and he makes that faint content sound under his breath and goes loose again, his nose against her neck, curls tickling her cheek. It all feels like an impossibility that’s half a dream, like capturing the moon in a bucket of water, or...

A throat’s cleared outside the tent.

“Gale?” Lora says.

Through the tent, a wizardish shadow gazes awkwardly up at the sky. “I see. I shan’t ask if you’re decent in there. I somehow doubt I wish to know.”

Astarion mumbles, mouth still half against her skin, “If you untie that tent flap, I will kill you.”

“Ahem. It occurs to me that only one of you needs food – well, until I perfect that Waterdhavian blood pudding recipe. All the same, I’ve made a porridge with honey and almonds. Whenever you’re ready.”

Lora’s stomach growls just at the sound of that; she tries not to be embarrassed.

Astarion says, with the faintest fond undertone to it, “Ugh, mortals.” Rolling away from her, he adds, “Go, darling. It’s best never to deny your hunger.” He grins at her, and it’s full of teeth – but it softens as he adds, “And if you need further protection from the night’s shadows, you know where I am.”

She does. But it’s Astarion who sneaks into her tent the next night, a couple of ragged blankets tossed round his shoulders. She shifts to make room, opens her arms, and he fits himself between them like it was where he was always meant to be. Perhaps it was.

#tav x astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #Tav #gale of waterdeep #Lora mctavish #baldur's gate 3 #My fic

46 notes · View notes