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to eden | chapter four

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Another compliment? Why, I’m going to have to start keeping count.” She’s pinned by his gaze like a butterfly on a board, unable to look away from him even if she wanted to, Astarion’s thumb brushing against her skin where he holds her chin.

“Feel free to write them down so you don’t forget.”

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of previous sexual scenarios (minor descriptions), sexual tension, frottage? (kind of).

𝒶/𝓃: hello! I'm back with chapter 4! this chapter turned out way longer than I had initially planned, but I think it turned out well. hopefully it's a fun and enjoyable read, if nothing else! please let me know if i forgot any warnings, I'm posting this so much later than I normally do and my brain is not computing. I hope you enjoy reading and please let me know what you think <3!

ao3 here

masterlist

Waukeen’s Rest was, to put it lightly, a fucking mess.

Rin knew there was to be a first time for everything, however she would gladly pass on a second experience of running through a burning building in search of a certain Grand Duke by the name of Ulder Ravengard, who then had the gall to not be inside and instead have been kidnapped by a group of Drow and spirited away to…well, no one was quite sure yet.

She did manage to come out on top with the rescuing of one Counsellor Florrick, who it would seem was the next best thing to said Duke himself.

With a long suffering sigh, Rin couldn’t help but wonder how it always just so happened that everywhere they seemed to set foot, trouble somehow managed to appear as if summoned by some all-knowing, omnipotent force set on inconveniencing them.

Counsellor Florrick, all pointy ears and high slit robe with nary a hair out of place on her head, finishes her speech with little flourish, despite her begging of them to continue the search for the Grand Duke in a way that seemed quite no nonsense for a woman who had just been stuck inside of a fiery building on the brink of collapse.

“Well, Counsellor, I suppose we can add rescuing the Duke to our little to-do list. What’s one more task?” Rin gives Counsellor Florrick her most charming smile, hoping it will cover the latent sarcasm of the words. The last thing she wanted was one more task on their ever-expanding list, but alas, it would seem that their current path had other plans.

“Thank you. And should your courage falter, remember the Duke’s generosity.” And with that, Counsellor Florrick dismisses them with a turn towards her legion of Fists, doling out orders with enviable authority.

While Rin had little to do with the politics of Baldur’s Gate (or much of anything, really, unless it involved the frequenting of taverns or petty criminal activity) she wasn’t quite so dim as to have not heard the name Ravengard before and know of the weight it carried.

Rin’s mind briefly drifts under the weight of their growing responsibilities, and it’s the stench of burning hair that drags her back to reality—it wasn’t hers, was it?—as she grabs a lock of hair, bringing it to her face to inspect the ends for any singed pieces.

“I know he’s a Duke and all, but must we really rescue him?”

Rin shoots Astarion a pointed look as she drops the hair in her hands and turns, eyebrow arched quizzically. “Would you want to have been kidnapped by a group of angry Drow and taken off to Gods-know-where?”

The scowl on Astarion’s face is answer enough as he huffs, attention moving instead to flick at the tiny bits of ash clinging to his dark leather armor as he mutters under his breath something along the lines of ‘they better pay us for this’.

“I agree, it is the right thing to do. Perhaps if we are able to rescue Ravengard, he may be able to assist us in some way or another. Having the Council and the Fists on our side could prove useful.” Gale’s hand comes up to his mouth and his eyes narrow in consideration, the picture of a scholarly wizard deep in thought.

“Those tin buckets aren’t useful for much of anything, Gale,” Rin looks at one of the many members of the Flaming Fist wandering around the yard amidst the chaos. “But I do find the allure of the Grand Duke’s numerous connections and apparently deep pockets to be worth the trouble.”

Gale heaves a sigh at that but says nothing in defiance to Rin’s quite salient point, at least in her own opinion.

“Oi. Not to spoil the fun, but this thing on my back is getting heavy. Let’s get a move on and find the hideout, yeah?” Despite her complaint, Karlach looks at ease with the extra weight and it certainly wasn’t stopping her from running around and bashing through flaming walls and doors only moments ago.

And to think that they merely ended up here on the behest of a member of the Zhentarim, of all organizations, in search for their hideout to return a quite cumbersome chest currently in Karlach’s possession.

“You heard the woman. We can argue all about the merits of saving the Duke back at camp.” Rin gestures towards the grounds around them, tufts of grass still burning here and there. “Let’s get on with it, I’m sure the hideout will be full of delights.”

And with that, they search.

The entrance to the basement is embarrassingly easy to find once they actually begin to look, stepping over the charred wooden boards and still smoldering piles of ash strewn about the yard only to come across several too perfectly placed crates in front of a door, laughable in its utter simplicity.

“Karlach, would you like to do the honors?” Rin turns towards the Tiefling, who seems all too eager for the chance at more bashing, picking up the crates one by one before throwing them off to the side, bits of wood splintering as they collide with the ground.

Karlach wrenches the door open once the path is clear and Rin steps inside what seems to be a perfectly normal store room, eyes scanning the periphery before noticing the man crouching low behind a supply shelf, a summoned flame dancing as he cups it in a gloved palm.

Rin looks at the man expectantly as she gauges the threat he poses, not yet pulling the rapier from its place on her back, her eyes darting swiftly from the fireball blazing to life to the surprisingly shocked expression he wears.

Behind her, she recognizes the now familiar sounds of her companions—the quiet slide of one of Astarion’s blades being freed from a sheathe barely a whisper in the silence, the beginnings of an incantation waiting to be spoken into existence by Gale, Karlach’s fist tightening around her great axe as she readies a swing.

“Well, that’s not any way to treat a friend, now is it?” She eyes the fiery orb with a nod, the man’s own eyes flicking to it as if he had forgotten it was there.

“Th-that’s not the password!” The man seems ill-suited to such a job, as jumpy as he was, the fireball only growing larger in time with his apparent fear.

“Not one for conversation, I see. Fine then, have it your way: Little serpent, long shadow.”

The man seems instantly relieved the minute he hears the passphrase, flame sputtering out of existence as he stands upright. “Oh, Helm’s orbs. I thought you were the Flaming Fist.”

“We most certainly are not, I can assure you.” Astarion is quick to answer, his dislike at being remotely likened to a member the Fist palpable as he sheathes his dagger.

“Ah, well, anyway. The entrance is behind the wardrobe—here’s the key.” Rin accepts it quickly, eager to be done with this errand and wash her hands of it as soon as possible as they walk towards the wardrobe on the far wall.

Rin inserts the key and turns it, the lock clicking open audibly as the door swings towards her, creaking on its hinges. She peeks her head in, noting the ladder leading down into the depths much to her displeasure.

“A bloody wardrobe? What in the hells do they think is this, a book for children?”

Astarion isn’t exactly wrong, it was quite ridiculous.

“It’s a bit on the nose, I agree,” Gale adds in, anchoring his staff back to his back in preparation to go down.

“At least it’s more creative than a hatch in the floor.” Rin steps inside the wardrobe first, turning around to begin her descent as she steps onto the first rung, lowering herself down.

Karlach audibly moans, shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of both the chest and her axe. “Aw hells, don’t tell me we have to go down another ladder?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The Zhentarim hideout left little to be desired with its dusty floors and cavernous ceilings and beady-eyed members watching their every move. While they may have been coined “Friends of the Zhentarim” by Zarys herself, Rin found the hospitality to be decidedly lacking in quality.

“Is it—“ Gale starts, eyes shifting side to side as he looks at their surroundings and the Zhentarim nearby, voice a whisper of trepidation. “is it wise to be stealing from thieves?”

“It’s rather unwise, I should think. But thank the Gods that we have such a powerful mage on our side should the worst happen.” Rin gives Gale a friendly pat on the back, hoping the flattery with soothe over any errant nerves he may have. “Besides, the danger is half of the fun. Isn’t it, Astarion?”

She turns to glance at where Astarion stands unbothered next to a small table, pocketing something small and shiny before looking up to meet Gale’s eyes with a wide smile that has the wizard loosing a breath of exasperation. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Alright let’s split up and search this place. Astarion, you’re with me. I want to see if there’s anything fun hiding around here.” Rin keeps her voice low. While they may technically be around ‘friends’, she didn’t trust a one of them. “Gale, Karlach: you two can do…well, whatever you want but try your best to not be suspicious, Astarion is good enough at that for all of us. I trust you’ll know if we get ourselves into trouble?”

“Don’t worry soldier, we’ll follow the directions of the screams when we hear them.” Karlach’s voice bellows out, drawing several sets of narrowed eyes their way.

With a last little wave in their direction Rin turns away to look around the hideout, eyes perusing the hustle and bustle around them before choosing a direction at random, not waiting for Astarion to follow as she sets forth.

“So, are we looking for anything in particular or are you just taking me on a little pleasure stroll?” She had only taken a few steps before Astarion’s voice reaches her, the vampire clearly not waiting more than a moment before trailing after.

Rin glances over her shoulder, amusement written over her features as Astarion catches up with light, graceful steps, easily matching her pace and he settles in next to her on the narrow pathway, linking their arms together as if they were a pair of lovers breezing through Bloomridge Park on a sunny afternoon.

Her feet catch on a rock and she barely manages to save herself from tripping over it in her surprise, eyes darting down to where Astarion’s arm loops through her own as he strolls casually next to her, perfectly at ease as his eyes drift around the basement in boredom.

She rights herself, ignoring the little smile of victory Astarion wears at her little stumble. “Do you take many of them down in the depths of the earth in dusty criminal hideouts with terrible security measures, Astarion?”

“I’m not picky if it means getting to spend a little more time with you, darling.” His words are far too smooth to be spoken in such a place, and Rin immediately lets out a soft laugh at the ridiculousness of them.

“Do you use that line on every Half-Elf bard you meet, or did you save it just for me?”

“Why, I would never reuse a line, darling. How dare you.” Mock outrage colors his tone, the arm not linked with hers dramatically crossing his chest to rest over the place where his heart used to beat.

“Such protest is a little much, don’t you think?” Rin glances at him out of the corner of her eye, his dramatics endlessly amusing as she tugs at the arm wrapped around her own. The closeness of his body is more pleasant than she would like to admit, the weight of his arm through hers easy and strangely comforting.

“It’s the perfect amount, I assure you. You’re insulting my art.”

Arm in arm they amble, dust blooming around their feet with every step as they wind through the basement, everything thoroughly unremarkable until they round a corner and come upon a rather large set of doors at the end of the chamber, several agents and a pair of fearsome wolves stationed in front of it with weapons at the ready.

“Well, well. I think we found the fun, don’t you?” Astarion looks to Rin as he waits for her answer, eyebrows raised in interest as he calculates whether the four of them could take the guards ahead.

“So it would seem.”

She spots a little enclave off to the side of the pathway, unguarded and perfectly placed for her to hatch a plan and poke around a little, the room just out of eyesight of the guards. It was unlikely anything of real importance was inside, but it what was the harm in checking when they happened to already be there?

With a slight pull, she leads Astarion to the room he had no doubt already taken note of and he follows easily, their heads held high with imaginary authority on show for anyone who happened to be looking their way.

The room is admittedly not much, Rin notes, as their eyes take stock of the several jars and baskets hiding away in the corners of the room and dilapidated shelves lining the walls.

“Plan?” Astarion looks to Rin, his deference to her opinion still a strange thing she wasn’t sure how to feel about quite yet.

“Give me a minute and I’ll think of one. Let’s look around in the meantime.”

Astarion’s arm drops away from hers with little preamble and Rin starts at the sudden absence of it—of him—as he saunters away towards the far corner of the room, beginning to rummage through a set of old, mouldering baskets sitting lopsided on the ground.

She shakes the feeling away as she walks towards a rickety table situated in the far corner underneath a set of the shelves, the warped wooden top covered with objects of little value—several letters, a copper ring long tarnished with spots of green and white, and a chipped knife with an ordinary wooden handle.

Rin lifts one of the letters off the tabletop, fingers quick to break the thin, waxy seal before scanning the contents. With a huff she tosses the parchment aside, gossip of who was sleeping with who the only information to be found inside.

With a glance towards the ceiling she rises up on the toes of her worn leather boots, an arm outstretched high above as she reaches for the precariously hung shelf above, a gleaming iron bottle sitting just out of reach of her fingertips as they disrupt old dust with every brush against the shelf.

“Oh, come on.” Rin’s feet leave the ground as she gives a little leap into the air to no avail, hand returning with a perfect coating of dust on each fingertip. She swipes her fingers across the table, leaving streaks of dingy white against the greying wood.

Astarion barely makes a sound as he crosses the dirt floor, and it’s not until Rin smells the now familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot fill the air that she realizes Astarion is behind her.

Before she can turn her head to look his way Astarion leans in towards her, the thick leather of his chest pressing her rapier into the space between her shoulder blades. Gauntleted hands find their way to her hips, settling on the soft swell of them as he runs his lips along the shell of a pointed ear, her breath catching in her throat at the feeling of his cool lips on her skin.

“Need some help, darling?”

He speaks in a dulcet tone that has a shiver running down Rin’s spine, irrepressible after visions from their shared escapade run across her thoughts, memories of that voice whispering far more scandalous things into her ear and those hands mapping every inch of her naked body.

Oh, how she had worried about this—that she had made some terrible, horrible miscalculation in sleeping with Astarion those nights ago.

And it seems that she may have been right.

It was already becoming almost impossible to look at him without vivid memories of their night together jumping out at her when she least expected it, a fact Astarion was all too pleased to make worse with every knowingly flirtatious look he sends her over his shoulder as he saunters about disarming traps and picking locks and aiming his bow; every subtle flick of his nimble fingers nothing but a reminder of how they felt gliding across her skin and pressing deep inside her cunt, every sardonic quirk of his lips sending images flooding into her mind of how exactly that mouth of his looked glistening with her essence as it busied itself between her legs.

She had thought—hoped—that scratching the proverbial itch would clear her mind and cleanse her soul of him, but instead it had only made her crave him more.

His words, his attention, all of it.

Rin swallows down a breath, her back held straight despite her traitorous body whispering its want to lean her weight into him and melt into his embrace. “I can figure it out on my own, I think.”

“You know, it’s an utter shame there’s so many layers between us.” His lips map the line of her jaw as he leans in further, the words fluttering across her skin as she revels in the feeling of his lips.

“So you could do what, exactly?” Rin doesn’t give him time to answer, spinning in his arms so that they could stand face to face, on equal ground. She leans her weight back against the table, Astarion’s hands still gripping around her waist as she raises her brow despite the blush she knows has already begun to spread across her cheeks.

“Do you need me to spell it out for you, darling?” Astarion’s mouth twists into an amused smile, eyes heating with the barest beginnings of lust as they flick down to watch as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

His insinuation has the flush on Rin’s cheeks darkening, heat beginning to pool low in her stomach as she runs her gloved fingers over his chest and up, the touch so light she doubts whether he can even feel it through the thick leather he wears before wrapping them around his neck. “Maybe I’d just rather hear you say it.”

She tilts her head as her gaze flicks up to his own, her loosely tied hair swaying with the movement.

The motion captures Astarion’s attention, a hand coming up from her waist to run through the thick waves, the strands flowing around his fingers like liquid gold. With a frown, he gently tugs a tendril away from the rest, examining the locks before running his thumb over a soot-darkened smudge, expression unreadable as he wipes the darkness away with an uncharacteristic care that has her breath catching in her chest.

“I—thank you.” Rin watches him curiously, the heat Astarion had set aflame inside her changing, softening, as her mind works to put together the puzzle of the sudden tenderness of the action.

With a last, final brush Astarion lets the strands slip through his fingers, falling like water as join back with the rest of her sinuous waves. He brushes the soot staining his hand along the collar of his armor to clean them before moving them underneath Rin’s chin, lifting her face towards his own.

“I hate to see such pretty hair sullied.” The words have her heart skipping a beat in a way that has nothing to do with their earlier flirtations.

“Another compliment? Why, I’m going to have to start keeping count.” She’s pinned by his gaze like a butterfly on a board, unable to look away from him even if she wanted to, Astarion’s thumb brushing against her skin where he holds her chin.

“Feel free to write them down so you don’t forget.” Astarion lowers his head to her own, capturing her lips in an unexpected kiss.

His lips soft as her lashes flutter shut, Rin leaning into Astarion as he kisses her. She tightens her arms around his neck, bringing herself closer to him as she luxuriates in the simple feeling of his lips on hers.

This kiss is different than the others they’d shared, all desperation and urgency and hunger absent. It was a feeling that was all too easy for Rin to lose herself in, the lightness of his kiss and the strange affection she feels rushing into her chest as the outside world fades away to nothing as she focuses solely on him.

She feels his tongue brush against her lips, asking for entry which she is quick to grant, parting her lips for him eagerly. He tastes her leisurely as his tongue brushes against her own, a small noise escaping her throat at the feeling.

It ends all too soon, Astarion breaking away first as he leaves Rin panting, catching her breath as he drags his mouth away from hers to kiss a line up and over her cheek instead, working his way back towards her ear.

“Do you really want to know what I would do?” Any hint of lingering softness dissipates from his voice, replaced instead with that seductive tone perfected for one purpose and one purpose only.

Astarion abandons his earlier tenderness as ardent hands run down from her waist and over the curve of her behind, cupping her bottom in his hands as he pulls her hips closer to his own, slipping a thigh in between her own.

“Yes.” A terrible and familiar want pulses through her body as she whispers it, and in that moment Rin is quite sure she would let him fuck her here, however he wanted, if he so desired. She had left her dignity discarded next to her ruined underwear on the forest floor when she had let him do whatever he wanted then, too.

And it was a good thing she never had much dignity to begin with, she thinks, as Astarion draws a quiet gasp from her throat as his thigh presses hard enough for her to feel, even through all the layers of leather and metal.

“Well, that’s too bad,” He speaks low against her skin and Rin can feel the sensual smirk that he presses against her temple. “I think I’ll make you wait to find out instead, darling.”

Astarion’s hands squeeze her ass through her armor once before traveling back up to rest at her waist once more, the leg wedged between her own retreating back to join his other as he stands upright once more.

It feels akin to something like whiplash as Rin withholds a small noise at the loss of his very intentionally placed leg and from the pleased smile on his face she knows that he knows, Astarion no doubt reveling in her frazzled state and the blush that still sits high on her cheeks.

“You’re impossible, you know that, right?” She swallows before letting out a breath, forcing the want that pulses deep in her body to melt into nothing as she shoots him a look.

“Darling, I count on it.”

She needed to get this back on track before he find other ways to tease her, and Rin had no doubt that if given the opportunity Astarion would find other ways.

“Astarion, what do you think it is they’re hiding behind that suspiciously large door over there?” Rin looks over his shoulder, fingers carding through the curling locks at his nape as she shifts the focus with as much grace as she can manage, still feeling the residual heat that Astarion had left simmering. He’s still so close to her, his body pressed up against her own as his arms rest comfortably around her waist.

His smile turns vicious at the thought, body suddenly humming with an anticipation that she can feel in the lines of his neck. “Do we go in with blades out or no? It’s been awhile since we’ve killed anything and I’m getting antsy. It’s your call, darling.”

“Oh, keep it in your pants, Astarion. It’s unbecoming.” She hazards a glance down, his armor hiding anything he may have on display much to her disappointment.

“How strange, I don’t remember you saying that the last time I had my arms around you.”

He was far too amused by his own cleverness judging by the delight evident in his eyes, Rin’s own rolling in response. “I was talking about your knives, obviously. Now, shall we go see if there’s anything for you to kill?”

“By all means. We should get going then, yes?” Astarion keeps his eyes locked on Rin’s as he reaches up above her, effortlessly grabbing the potion she had been reaching for all along off the shelf with quick fingers.

He dangles the bottle above her head just out of her reach, the opaque crimson liquid inside swishing from side to side as he takes a graceful step backwards out of the circle of her arms, taking the potion with him with a victorious smirk.

“Astarion, don’t you dare!” Indignation alights along Rin’s face as her mouth opens in disbelief, arms propping themselves on her hips as he deposits the potion into his pouch before gesturing towards the doorway with an outstretched hand.

“Lead the way, dearest.”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

It had turned out, in fact, that the Underdarkis what lay in wait behind those overlarge doors fitted into the stone of the wall—a giant, wooden lift ready to take them down, down, down into a world of darkness and luminous grace Rin had only ever heard stories of.

Gruesome stories.

Rin suppresses a shiver as she makes her way out of her tent in wonderfully fresh clothes, every smudge of soot cleaned away by a nearby stream, the smell of ash and burning wood rinsed and replaced instead with scented oils of jasmine and honey diligently rubbed into her sun-warmed skin.

The moon rises above camp, a whisper thin crescent half covered by hazy clouds drifting slowly across the sky as Rin steps out of her tent in search of her dearest companions and even dearer bottles of wine.

But as she takes a step towards the roaring fire a small flash of silver catches the corner of her eye, her head turning at the brightness of something like quicksilver as she pauses mid-step to take stock of what exactly it is she sees.

There in front of his tent stands Astarion, hand held aloft as he turns an ornately decorated hand mirror to and fro, staring into the mirrored glass with an expression that can only be characterized as troubled.

The sight of such a look of distress on his face has Rin padding over the ground towards him, feet moving across the softly trodden grass before her mind allows as her inquisitive nature gets the better of her once again.

Her own image grows larger in the mirror as she nears, though something very obvious is missing from the scene, the space where his features should be next to her own in the glazed oval empty.

His reflection was missing. The realization dawns on Rin as she comes up behind him, her mind turning with the knowledge.

“Looking at something?” He calls out to her before she has time to think any further on it, Astarion angling the mirror towards her as he waits for her answer.

“I’m looking at you. What exactly is it that you’re doing, Astarion?” Rin smiles at the mirror, the curving of her lips perfectly captured as she tucks an errant curl behind a pointed ear.

“I’m looking too, but not seeing very much.” Astarion heaves a heavy sigh that has her taking another step towards him as he turns to face her, Rin’s own smile faltering at the sound of it. “Another quirk of my…affliction.”

Ah. She had often wondered where the line between fact and fiction regarding vampires was, the stories and myths numerous and often incongruent between one another.

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?” The words are out before she can hold them back, the honesty of them less finessed than she would prefer as she winces at her own curiosity.

“Preening in a looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.” His mouth downturns in upset, bitterness coloring the words as he spits them out and his eyes narrow in obvious dismay. The sight of it has her heart constricting in her chest, the thought of what was yet another thing taken from him one she does not relish adding to the list of the ones she already knows of.

Rin was still unable to fully reconcile the many horrors he had faced, the things he had confided to her of on their evenings sitting together under darkened skies in the moments when peace was unwilling to allow either of them a reprieve from reality—he with his endless mending and she with her scrawling words on paper, a bottle of wine shared between them by the warmth of the fire.

And then there were those scars she had seen on his back that morning, his arms outstretched towards the sun as warming rays of light beamed down onto his marble-pale skin, face upturned towards the light, expression a lesson in misery for the mere moment she was able to glimpse it before he realized she had awoken and put his ever-present mask back in place.

Rin was thoroughly unsure of how exactly to categorize Astarion—a companion, certainly. Maybe a lover? Perhaps even a…friend?

But one thing she did know was that seeing such open distraught on his face, that bitter discontent taking hold of him, has her heart aching more and more with every piece of his misery she collected.

Rin didn’t have terribly many skills, but if anything she was talented at two particular things: amusing people and angering them.

She’ll just have to hope that amusement wins over anger.

It was, at the very least, one surefire way to take his mind off of his plight.

“I suppose you would be the type to have lovingly gazed at your own reflection.” She gives an overdramatic sigh, mimicking him as best as she can with a sly smile. “Though it may be for the best. I hate to say it, but you’re not exactly aging, well…gracefully.”

It gets Astarion’s attention, if nothing else.

“Aging?! What do you mean ‘aging’? I’m a vampire—forever young. And an Elf, for that matter!” Outrage blooms across his face as he stares at her, open mouthed and horrified, a hand coming up to touch the skin in question as he searches for evidence of wrinkles.

Rin should have known that anger would triumph over amusement, but thankfully this is a hurt she can soothe with words that come far too easily for her own comfort.

"I’m teasing, Astarion. You look great. You always do, I promise.” She laughs as Astarion blinks once, twice; his building anger rapidly disappearing as he puts her words together and lowers his hand.

“Oh, really? Anything in particular?” Astarion turns around a slow, dramatic circle with the mirror still in hand as he eyes her, a small smirk already back in place as he shamelessly fishes for a compliment.

Rin leans in towards him, letting her eyes run slowly over the features she never allows herself to look at so openly and without reservation, her gaze flitting from his soft curls to his expressive eyes before moving down along the bridge of his strong nose to rest upon expectant lips waiting for her reply.

“I am quite partial to that dangerous smile of yours, I must admit.” Her eyes drag back up his face to meet his eyes once more before adding mischievously, “Your eyes aren’t half-bad either, I guess.”

“My eyes aren’t half-bad? Gods, I would have thought you’d be better at this.” Astarion huffs out a breath of annoyance despite the curling of his lips upwards with something like enjoyment as he gives Rin a dismissive wave perfectly punctuated with a roll of his eyes. “Now, just tell me I’m beautiful and we can call it a day”

“Oh? Is it just shallow praise that you want, then? No poetic metaphors for your hair or long-reaching similes to describe the exact shade of your eyes?” Rin could easily list them, all the things about him she finds beautiful from the elegance of his features to the quirks that had been growing on her each day she spends in his presence, but she doesn’t.

It would be too much to lay her cards out on the table so readily like that for him to devour right in front of her.

“Hardly. There’s also gold, sex, revenge—quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I will always settle for shallow praise.” He counts them out on long fingers, that clever little smile of his still perfectly in place on his lips.

“Well, I think I can facilitate at least two of those things for you.” It’s an easy offer for Rin to make, the flirtation obvious.

“Not all four? Where’s your vision, darling?” The sound of him teasing her is music to her ears, the morose words of minutes ago long gone.

“I could have said your skin was wrinkled like an old woman or that you had an unsightly mole, you know. Be glad I was at least truthful.”

Astarion crosses his arms in front of his chest as he looks at Rin with reproach. “You’re a little menace, you know, what with your teasing.”

Rin preens at him, her smile wide as she flutters her lashes prettily. “You know, I came across a wonderful vintage earlier today, I’ll give you a little taste. Think of it as…a reparation.”

She slowly backs away, taking step by step towards the roaring fire behind them as she beckons Astarion to follow her.

“Such charity from our fearless leader.” He sighs but smiles nonetheless as he trails after her for a second time that day. “Fine. But I want more than just a little taste. Give me half, at least.”

“I’m sure we can come to an understanding, Astarion.” With that, Rin twirls around to face forward, golden hair illuminated by the growing fire against the darkness of the night.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

It took only half a bottle of the wine she had promised Astarion for the idea to come to her, growing from nothing more than an inkling of a thought to a full-fledged plan in mere minutes, not even bothering to finish her portion before momentarily excusing herself from the center of camp to breeze back to the privacy of her own tent.

Rin sits on her bedroll with legs crossed, leather bound journal balanced precariously on a knee as a bottle of dark ink sits on the dusty ground next to her. Her quill scribbles the words onto the bound parchment as her lips move around silent words left unsaid earlier in the evening.

Dearest Astarion,

I feel as though apologize for my teasing, though I am somewhat unsure as to why (perhaps it is that wine, I told you it was a good vintage).

But if you insist on knowing what the world sees when they gaze upon you, I suppose you should hear it from me. I will be your mirror, and you may preen all you wish at your reflection within the looking glass of my eyes.

Shall I bore you with poetics? I did promise you metaphors and similes, after all.

I do wonder what you would actually want to hear about first. Would it be your eyes, with their pomegranate glow that alights in the darkness? Or would it be your mouth, the way your plush lips curve while those ever elegant hands of yours twist your blade right before you throw it.

Or maybe I should tell you about the way your hair curls perfectly into the loveliest little wisps around your ears, the color of the freshest snow.

Rampant poeticism aside, I think you’re beautiful.

It wouldn’t become you to forget such a thing, so I guess I will have to be the one to remind you then, won’t I?

- Rin

She blows at the glossy ink, careful to not disturb the still-wet letters. With hasty fingers she rips the page from the journal, folding it thrice before using the wax from a nearby candle to seal the letter.

The thought wouldn’t leave her alone—maybe she should have told him of all the things she finds beautiful about him because maybe he deserves to know them after all he’s been through. Her letter can be her small kindness to him in a world where he has not had much.

Maybe Astarion wouldn’t even read it, choosing to burn it to cinders instead. But it was worth a try. She had already written the words, anyway.

Holding it between two quick fingers, she exits, using every bit of the stealth she possesses to work her way around the edge of camp towards Astarion’s tent, the subject of her little mission blessedly still sitting on the outskirts of the fire as Wyll regales the group with colorful tales befitting of the Blade of Frontiers.

Rin places the letter on top of the same silver mirror sitting face down on his side table, its shine reflected in the moonlight. She has no doubt that Astarion and his ever-observant eyes will notice it the moment he returns to his tent for the evening.

Satisfied, Rin wanders back over to the warmth of the fire, picking up a new bottle of wine and bringing it to her lips with a pleasant smile as she sits next to Shadowheart, falling back into the conversation with an easy grace.

The moon is low on the horizon when she finally makes the walk back to her tent for the evening, her companions all long since retired; the impeding trek down into the depths of the Underdark looming above her despite the wine that swims in her head.

With a yawn she shoulders past the flap, stripping off her pants and not bothering to change her tunic as she plops onto her bedroll, stretching her arms high over her head. As she turns to reach for the glass decanter of water next to her bedroll she spies it: a small, rectangular piece of paper wedged underneath the chipped ceramic mug, the fresh flowers leaning slightly to one side.

Rin carefully removes it from its hidden spot, fingers brushing over the smooth vellum as she unfolds it to read.

The response contains only a few words, written in a scrolling script indicative of one person and one person only, though he leaves no signature. Her eyes scan the letters, piecing them together as a smile alights her lips, a tiny noise of joy leaving her mouth as she reads.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing. I have 200 years of my reflection to catch up on, after all.

#random reblog because why not

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verbenaa · 19 hours

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what if I said I was working on a modern day AU as well ☕️

#would anyone read it?

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verbenaa · 21 hours

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✨️ask game✨️

random emoji-based questions to sate your curiosity

personal

👁 eye colour

🇪🇺 nationality

🏳️‍🌈 sexuality

🏳️‍⚧️ gender identity

🛐 religion

faves

☕️ hot drink

🧃 cold drink

🍜 dish

🍉 fruit

🥦 veggie

🎉 holiday

🎲 game

🏐 sport

🐈‍⬛ animal

🌻 flower

🌦 weather

🌍 place

🚙 means of transport

fandom faves

😇 blorbo

😈 meow meow

👥️ otp

📺 tv show

🎬 movie

📚 book

🎶 musical artist

#ooooh I love ask games!!!

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verbenaa · 1 day

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i've had three cups of coffee, two cups of green tea, only a scone to eat and i'm trying to write during my lunch break MY BRAIN IS SHORT CIRCUITING FRIENDS

#and you best believe my mental health jazz is playing in the background as I walk in circles around my table trying to think #someone please stop me

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verbenaa · 1 day

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drawing his hair is pure disaster for me 🥲

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verbenaa · 2 days

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wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so

everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian

#wyllllllll #i love this so much

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verbenaa · 2 days

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writing fics be like

#😭

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verbenaa · 2 days

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in the club getting psychosexual

#this was me in my 20s

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verbenaa · 3 days

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Hunger for Blood

Astarion and the Dark Urge find they have a hunger for each other and a hunger for blood.

Read in full on AO3 or see all tumblr chapter links in my masterlist!

Rating: Explicit (Explicit Sexual Content; Violence) Relationship Tags: Astarion/The Dark Urge; Astarion/Reader Key Tags: Romance; FWB to Lovers; Explicit Sexual Content/Smut; Banter and Sexual Tension; Canon-Typical Violence; The Dark Urge Resists The Urge; Act 1 Astarion Being Act 1 Astarion; Vampire Bites/Blood Drinking; Intrusive Thoughts; Past Trauma/Past Sexual Assault; The Dark Urge Flirts With Everyone; Female Dark Urge/Reader; AFAB Dark Urge/Reader

Chapter 8: Do-Gooders and Duergar (AO3 Link; Word count: 3.1k)

“I didn’t say a word,” Astarion sniffed. “But since you bring it up, darling, we’ll never get to Moonrise if we stop to help every little lost lamb along the way.”

“The lake is the direction we need to go, anyway, and we know the Absolute cult has taken captives before. They may be related.” You kicked at a loose rock. “And we are not stopping to help everyone.”

“Whatever you say, of course.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m happy to play along, especially if it gives me the opportunity to taste a new flavor of blood. But I don’t understand why you insist on being such a…” – his lip curled – “… a do-gooder.”

In the Underdark, there were no stars to gaze at when you couldn’t sleep. There were giant mushrooms, of course, and strange lights in the distance, but there were no stars or the promise of a sunrise to reassure you at the end of painful night. After two days of traveling, the fragile joy you had found atop the cliffs slipped away. The darkness became oppressive. Your surroundings were achingly beautiful at times, a landscape painted in phosphorescence and stone, but that beauty did nothing to alleviate the renewed sense of dread inside of you. You had to agree with Astarion: you missed the sun.

Your group had pieced together a campsite in narrow spaces in between clusters of giant mushrooms because any open spaces were likely to draw trouble. When you couldn’t sleep, you forged a winding path throughout the campsite, exchanging nods with your fellow travelers who were still awake and passing silently past the tents of the sleeping.

Once you reached Astarion’s tent, you did neither. You glimpsed him sitting just inside with the flaps still open, seemingly unaware of your presence. He was shirtless, and he muttered under his breath while reaching to touch the scars on his back.

You hesitated. You had asked about his scars only once: when you awoke after sleeping together for the first time. When he spoke about them, Astarion’s voice had become strained; you vividly remembered the way he spat out the name of his vampire master. Astarion rarely mentioned his past, and you weren’t sure if the others even knew about his scars. Interrupting him now was inviting trouble.

And yet, when you caught some of his words, you knew he was struggling to identify the shapes and decipher their meaning. His quiet desperation pulled at your heart.

“A line with a fork,” he muttered, pressing his fingers against his skin. “One – two – three dots?” He exhaled in a huff. “Bloody Infernal. How is anyone meant to read this garbage?”

You steeled yourself and stepped forward. “It’s easy for some of us.”

He startled, proving that he truly had been lost in thought. “What are you doing?” he snapped.

You crouched down near the entrance of his tent, staying a few paces away. “I’m just offering to help, Astarion,” you said quietly. “I can tell you what it says, if you want.”

“I-” You watched as Astarion swallowed his hostility. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” You inched forward and sat on the ground. He shifted, turning away from you to give you a better look at his back.

The jagged script was familiar. You murmured the syllables under your breath without meaning to. For a moment, you tried again to remember learning it; had your parents taught you? Had you studied the Nine Hells in an academy somewhere? But, as always, you recalled nothing.

Unease slid down your spine as you sorted through the words. You felt certain this was no poem. Even though the words did not form complete sentences, they referenced binding oaths and the fires below, all of which pointed to a quintessential kind of Infernal text: a devil’s pact.

“And?” Astarion said impatiently, turning to look at you. “What does it say?”

You swallowed. “Well… it’s not a poem. It might be part of a devil’s pact.” You glanced away as you said it, as if softening your delivery would make it less likely to be true.

“An infernal pact? But not even the whole text?” He scowled. “What was that bastard up to?”

“You really have no idea what this is?” you asked cautiously.

“None at all.” His crimson eyes were far away. “Cazador was only figuratively hellish – there were never any devils hanging about the crypt. Whatever he’s left carved in my flesh, it’s a mystery to me.”

A mystery he didn’t seem eager to talk about. You rose to your knees, preparing to climb to your feet, when Astarion reached towards you and stopped just short of touching your arm.

“Thank you, by the way,” he murmured. Now his eyes almost pulled you towards him with their earnestness. “This is… well, it’s something.”

You sucked in a breath. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.” As soon as you spoke, you saw his face change as he slid back into skepticism.

“Will we. How… sweet,” he said, his voice dipping into the slightest purr on the last word. You could feel your pulse quicken as he looked at you, but some of the feeling coursing through you was frustration. You curled your hands into fists as you stood.

“Can’t you believe me for once? And if you think I’m being naïve, I’m fully aware that the most likely scenarios require tearing Cazador to shreds.”

Astarion stared at you blankly, processing your words and the sudden flare of your temper, and you turned away before he could say anything. You were aware that you needed sleep. You needed comfort, but you didn’t know if that meant touch, reassurance, or violence.

You thought that he might have called your name when you turned around a crook in the path, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t come after you. Thinking of a few nights ago on the cliffs, you wished he would. His company somehow made the tasks ahead of you feel lighter. At the same time, you were tired of wondering if he even liked your company.

In the morning, you felt his eyes on you as you both readied for the day. Each time that you glanced in his direction, he appeared to be fully focused on another task: sharpening a dagger, cleaning his boots, paging through a book. But while you ate the breakfast Gale cooked and donned your armor, you knew he watched. Neither of you spoke.

The day’s travels led you into a myconid colony. The mushroom-like beings were alien to you in almost every way, from their fungal appearance to their collective consciousness. But when you conversed with their chief, you learned that even these creatures hungered for violence. For vengeance, for blood. The chief referred to it as “cleansing the rot,” but the meaning was clear. A group of Duergar slavers had encroached on their territory and attacked their people, so the myconid chief wanted the Duergar dead.

You could do that. A purpose, even a temporary one, cleared your head.

Before leaving the colony, you stopped to talk to a deep gnome who lay curled up on the ground. The svirfneblin woman’s eyes were fierce even as she clutched her belly in pain. Through gritted teeth, she told you that her name was Thulla and she was injured when the Duergar attacked her and her kin. Although she had escaped, she lay in agony and sweat beaded on her dark blue forehead. A quick glance over her form told you that her visible wounds were superficial; most likely, poison had coated the blade and now raced through her, triggering a fever and painful cramping as her body fought against it. Somehow you knew that there were hundreds of different poisons used in Faerûn– but the most common poisons, including those favored by the Duergar, could be negated with a simple antitoxin potion.

Like your recollection of Infernal script, that knowledge came to your mind effortlessly and confidently. You could think of only a few reasons why someone would be so familiar with poisons. With the way your mind frequently called for violence and death, you doubted that you had been a healer. No, you hoped that you had not been a healer if you had always felt such urges.

But you could be one now, or close enough. You stayed crouched on the ground, sorting through your pack until you found an antitoxin potion. While Thulla grimaced as she swallowed the potion, her breathing eased almost immediately.

Behind you, Astarion sighed impatiently.

You ignored him. Thulla soon shared more about the Duergar: they had taken her kin captive and sailed away across the lake. You promised to rescue them in Thulla’s stead, and she promised you a reward.

As you left the colony, you felt calm and focused. Karlach bounded ahead of you with Wyll following close behind, both fairly eager for a fight and even more eager for a heroic rescue. While they ran ahead, you slowed your pace until you were walking side by side with Astarion. The vampire spawn practically radiated disapproval.

“Didn’t you hear her say that they’ll pay us? Or are you annoyed that I agreed to fight the Duergar in the first place?” you asked wearily.

“I didn’t say a word,” he sniffed. “But since you bring it up, darling, we’ll never get to Moonrise if we stop to help every little lost lamb along the way.”

You stopped walking and looked at him. You expected that your nearly sleepless night still showed on your face, and you decided to stop your attempt to hide the dread that was eating away at your mind. “Well, being a do-gooder makes me feel better about all the horrible things that I’ve done,” you said.

Astarion stilled and composed his features into a neutral expression. He paused, then spoke in a tone that could almost be called gentle. “Darling, you’ve said many times that you don’t remember your life before the Nautiloid. You don’t know that you’ve done a damn thing.”

You shook your head slowly. “I don’t remember, you’re right. But I know. I just know. A normal person – a good person – doesn’t know this much about killing.” Your voice almost cracked as you said it, and you turned your head away from him, afraid that tears were building in your eyes.

Your words were met with silence. You forced yourself to breathe deeply. When you opened your mouth to offer some excuse to move on, Astarion spoke first.

“Whatever you’ve done, I’m sure there are others who did far worse,” he said stiffly. “Regardless, you don’t owe the world anything.” You blinked several times and then turned back to him. His normally pouting lips were pressed into a thin line. When your eyes met, his gaze softened slightly.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, but helping people… It helps me feel better,” you said. You sighed and gazed into the distance. Karlach and Wyll had turned a corner around a stone outcropping. “And, in all honesty, the prospect of a battle appeals to me. A fight always seems to clear my mind. It quiets my thoughts.”

“Ha! There’s my bloodthirsty friend. Now, that is a sentiment that I can agree with.” You looked at Astarion again, and he gave you a small smirk. A ghost of a smile flickered across your face. At least he didn’t think you had lost your senses completely. Or if you had, he was lost along with you.

You remained like that until Astarion sighed and gestured at the path ahead. “Come along, darling. We’d better catch up if we don’t want those other two do-gooders to persuade the Duergar to repent and change their ways before we get to kill them.”

You huffed a laugh and hurried forward.

After another hour of walking, the four of you crept through an abandoned village towards the lakeshore. The entire place seemed to be built from rotting wood and forsaken dreams: roofs had crumbled, personal possessions lay scattered, and grime coated the walls. The occasional scent of decomposing fish added to the unsettling ambiance. It was hard to imagine anyone living here.

The Duergar slavers were no fools: a few scouts lurked in the shadows, keeping watch for any approaching threats. Their dark armor and blue-gray skin concealed them well. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t the only creatures made for slinking through the dark. Astarion snuck through a decrepit building until he was close enough to thrust his rapier through one Duergar’s ribs, and the battle began.

They were brutal fighters, using a combination of blades, magic, and reanimated corpses against you. But the symbol of the Absolute gleamed on their chests, and even a horde of undead could not stand against the vicious, righteous fury you unleashed. Karlach roared each time she swung her greataxe, while Wyll was quieter but no less efficient with his sword. Astarion seemed to be everywhere at once, slipping in and out of the shadows. All you needed to do was let go. Your instincts took over, and you wielded both steel and spells with ease.

When you paralyzed an enemy with a whispered invocation, it gave you a moment to catch your breath. You glanced around as you did so, alert for danger, and found that only a few Duergar remained. Astarion was locked in combat with one of them, not ten paces away from you. As you watched, he drove a dagger into the Duergar’s back, wrenched the dwarf’s head to the side, and bit down on his neck.

Astarion drank deeply but briefly. When he pulled away, the Duergar crumpled to the ground. Astarion grinned, blood dripping from his mouth. In the dim light, it looked black as ink. You watched, mesmerized, as he ran one elegant finger over his chin to wipe away the excess blood and return it to his mouth. It was unfair how beautiful he was, even when he was being irritating, or petty or foul-tempered, though perhaps it was more unfair that he could both be so beautiful and still make you laugh –

You slammed into the ground and pain burst across your back. The Duergar you had thought was still stunned loomed over you, raising his weapon. You twisted, reaching for the sword that had clattered to the ground next to you. You hurried to raise it.

Before you could parry the blow, the Duergar staggered to the side: Astarion had practically slammed into him while jabbing a dagger into the dwarf’s arm.

“Careful, darling,” he quipped, smirking in your direction.

While your enemy attempted to regain his balance, you scrambled to your feet. You ducked his clumsy swing and slashed your sword across his abdomen in response. Your blade sliced through his gambeson and into his body. His blood splattered across your body as he fell.

You barely glanced at the Duergar dying on the ground. You looked at Astarion’s still-present smirk instead. “I had it under control,” you said, breathing heavily.

“Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry,” Astarion drawled. “Did I inconvenience you by saving your life?” When he was this close to you, you could actually see the crimson of his eyes and the equally red stain around his mouth. He grinned devilishly. “Really, where would you be without me?”

“My white knight,” you said dryly. Astarion made a face, prompting your own grin.

“Hardly! I’m sure you meant to say that I’m a dashing scoundrel.” Astarion leaned towards you, looking over your blood-covered armor and face. His eyes gleamed with hunger. “You are an absolute mess, by the way-”

You put your hand on his shoulder and kissed him.

You could feel his surprise; for a moment Astarion froze, his mouth unmoving against yours. You shifted your weight back on your heels and pulled back, uncertain, but your lips had barely left his when he brushed his hand down your arm and returned the kiss.

The coolness of his mouth had once felt strange to you, but now it revived you, like drinking from a clear mountain stream. You wanted more. Astarion seemed to agree, as both of you shifted forward and his hand found your waist. A thrill ran down your spine when he touched you, and you pressed yourself against him.

A piercing wolf-whistle cut through your thoughts. Both of you immediately jumped back, startled, to find Karlach standing nearby and grinning so broadly you thought her face might crack in two.

“I knew it!” she crowed, loud enough to make you wince. “I fucking knew it! I knew you two weren’t just flirting – oy, Wyll!” Your tiefling friend turned, looking around for the last member of your group.

“Karlach! Please, keep it down,” you said, feeling a flush spread across your face.

“Will you be quiet,” Astarion hissed at the same time.

Karlach was positively beaming, and she bounced in place while her gaze searched. She waved enthusiastically when you all spotted Wyll jogging towards you and sheathing his sword. The rest of the battlefield was still and silent.

“Mind your tongue, Karlach, or I will mind it for you,” Astarion said menacingly.

“Is that what you were doing, Fangs? Minding her tongue?” Karlach would not stop grinning at the two of you. You lightly hit Astarion in the arm to prevent whatever vicious retort he was about to unleash as Wyll reached your group.

“Well done, friends,” the warlock said with a small smile. “A brutal fight, but worthwhile to ensure fewer innocents are enslaved by the Absolute. You called for me?”

“It’s nothing,” you squeaked out before Karlach could speak. Wyll blinked, and you cleared your throat. “We just wanted to see if you were ready to head back to the colony. Are you hurt?”

Wyll looked from your flushed face to the bouncing, beaming Karlach and finally Astarion’s fierce scowl. “I’m quite alright, thank you,” he said mildly, glancing at you all again.

“Great!” you said with too much enthusiasm. You weren’t even certain why you felt such extreme embarrassment, but the prospect of your entire party further teasing you made you want to launch yourself into the lake. From Astarion’s current hostility, you could only imagine how he would react. No, it was better to delay that conversation as long as possible.

“Wyll, why don’t you and Astarion scout the perimeter to make sure we haven’t attracted any danger?” you continued. “Karlach and I will see if we can find anything useful, and then we’ll head back.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Karlach said, waggling her eyebrows.

“Don’t just stand there,” Astarion barked at Wyll. He strode away into the darkness without another word.

Wyll’s good eye revealed a spark of amusement as he looked at you all once again, but he was ever the gentleman. He nodded at you in acknowledgment and walked after Astarion with a suppressed smile.

As soon as they rounded the corner, you put your head in your hands and groaned. “Don’t say a word,” you muttered to Karlach.

“Did you know that both of you have blood smeared all around your mouths?” Karlach asked cheerfully. You groaned again, rubbing at your face, and you swore her uproarious laughter echoed across the entirety of the Underdark.

#durgestarion #if you love a nice bloody kiss you should read this!!!!#fic rec

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verbenaa · 3 days

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i mean, he's not wrong...

#I love these lines SO MUCH #he’s so silly here and honestly seems like he’s enjoying himself

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verbenaa · 3 days

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not to sound like a medieval peasant or a catholic but i resent anti-carb propaganda so much like bread will never be evil it is holy it is divine it is one of life’s most simple yet decadent pleasures. love is stored in the bread

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verbenaa · 3 days

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Underdark🍄

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