Astarion Acunin - Tumblr Posts

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

Lord I love thee❤️❤️❤️❤️

few clips ive gathered of astarion being worried/protective

>:) @surely-sims Yacht Club suit is very nice.

I’m so Glad I Redid my Starion Sim Cause “Brother Ewwwwww ?!? What’s That ?!? What’s That Brother?!?”

✨

He is sitting down. In the middle of a fight.

elf on the shelf or sth

idk im not american

every time i come home i see astarion's statue doing something weird

Astarion | Die Unstillbare Gier (the insatiable greed)

my bg3 brainrot has progressed to me playing around clips like dolls in my head. 

Whenever I reach toward life, only nothingness remains.

I want to burst into flames and turn to ash,

but I could never burn.

I want to soar ever higher, but I’m stuck

Being nothing but this lowly creature,

Forever craving what I cannot have.

Most of the clips used here are from youtube, although a couple are from my own playthroughs. miight update it if I have the energy to get all the clips here myself. might

clips used: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zyI0rKDGgk https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1RBuKRmGR28 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDfhLLTILj4 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQsAwKkJPQc https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trR7n58kNi0 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmNDGksk33I https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9O54rjYXaxM

Endlessly

Astarion x plus size! Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: insecurities, yelling, self deprecation, fluff on fluff on fluff, Astarion being a big sap, loveeeeee

Part 2

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You and Astarion had been together for 8 bliss filled months. You knew you were in love with him the day he asked you to be his. Yet you never said it. He hadn’t said it either. Honestly, you were still amazed he was with you. You knew your size wasn’t perceived as conventionally attractive or desirable. It used to bother you, but you were quite comfortable in yourself now. Until it came to Astarion. It was like you were trying to hide any and all fat on your body when he was around. He had never made any negative remarks, quite the opposite actually. You just knew one day he would wake up and see through the honeyed fog of lust and find somebody who matched him. Somebody perfect, just like him. 

You watched as Karlach played in the stream, she had such a child-like wonder about her. It made you happy to just be in her presence. Shadowheart sat on the shore with you, meditating. Everyone else was back at camp. 

“Come on Y/N! Come play!” Karlach yelled, splashing a bit of water at you. 

You got up wading into the water up to your knees. Thankfully you wore shorts and a massively oversized top. You felt comfortable enough around everyone to be seen like this. You and Karlach flicked water at each other, finding rocks and shells to take back to camp. You talked about nothing and everything. Gale and Wyll made their way down, even Lae’zel. The weather was just too good to not enjoy your little beach. You didn’t see Astarion make his way down the hill. He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You lurched forwards, not used to touching as you were still nervous about it - especially when he touches your waist/stomach. Your foot slipped on the soft mud beneath you, you fell forwards. You caught yourself, avoiding any injury but you were soaked. Your clothes clung to you, your body on full display. You scrambled up, crossing your arms over your torso. You pushed past Astarion as he held a hand out to you. You rushed up the hill and to your tent, stripping your clothes off. 

“Darling? May I come in?” Astarion said from the front of your tent.

“Not right now Star.” You tried hard to hide the waiver in your voice, or the subtle sniffles you were letting out. You layered on clothes, wanting to hide within yourself somehow. 

“Love…” he said, barely peeking inside.

“I said not now! Please just go away…” you yelled, sounding harsher than you intended. You laid on your bedroll, curling into yourself. You cried until you fell asleep, the moment earlier exhausting and overwhelming you. 

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Astarion backed away from your tent. He had never heard you yell before, much less at him. He racked his brain, not exactly sure what he did wrong. It clicked after a moment, he touched you. You two had never established boundaries verbally but you knew he was ok with touching. You, however, were only ok with light touches that didn’t really invade your person. Holding hands, a kiss, caressing your face - all things he had done before that you seemed to be happy with. But today, perhaps he had overstepped. When he saw you and your radiant smile, so full of joy to just exist in the moment looking for shells and splashing about with Karlach. He acted on instinct, without even properly thinking it through. He felt positively wretched. Out of everyone he understood most how awful it is to have physical boundaries crossed, and he crossed yours. He walked to his tent glumly. He would seek you out later, right now he wanted to give you the space you deserved. 

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You woke up later. The crickets outside chirped and you could hear the campfire crackling. You rubbed your eyes. A blanket had been thrown over you, a note was folded up on your table. You got up and snatched it. “Find me when you wake - A” You sighed, closing your eyes. The way you yelled at him echoed in your mind. You were flustered, you hadn’t meant for it to sound so mean. You peeled off your coat, feeling hot and constricted in all the layers you had piled on. You left your tent in a sweater and pants. You felt less anxious than you had earlier, knowing your campmates didn’t care what you looked like. All you cared about was that Astarion had touched your stomach, the spot you were most insecure about. You couldn’t act like it wasn’t there anymore, you had to face him. You willed back your misty eyes, preparing for the worst. You softly called his name outside of his tent, waiting for him to call you in. He did, and he looked just as nervous as you felt. Your stomach dropped but you tried not to show it.

You sat rather far from him, wanting to have space between you both. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” you spoke first.

“I’m not worried about that darling… I am worried about the fact that I hurt you.” he spoke softly but you could hear the guilt in his tone.

You looked at him, confusion dripping from your face. “I wasn’t thinking… and I know that isn’t an excuse, but I’m sorry I crossed your boundary. It won't happen again… that being said, we need to have a talk.”

Your blood ran cold, a cold sweat covering your back. This was it. You nodded stoically, convincing yourself not to cry. 

“I would like to know where you are comfortable with me touching you. I, personally, am comfortable with you touching me wherever, whenever.” he smiled at you gently, a simple twitch up the corners of his mouth.

Well… this is not where you thought the conversation was going. “I…” you tried to collect your thoughts, “I do like your touch. I want you to know that. I love it, in fact. What happened earlier wasn’t anything to do with you, I just…” you paused, unsure if you should even tell him. 

He looked at you with his big pleading eyes, you had to tell him or this wall would intrude upon your relationship.

“I am insecure about my… size… my weight. I know you have had many diviner conquests, and you yourself are a vision… I just… I don’t know… I don’t want to disappoint y-” you were cut off by his lips melding into yours. They were soft but you could feel a fire behind them. 

“Respectfully, darling, shut up.” he kissed you again, deeply. As if trying to convey a multitude of feelings at once. “You are perfect. And you are not a conquest, you are the one I…” he paused, his eyes flicking between yours before he spoke again. “You are the one I love. And I love all of you.”

You were shocked, you were sure you felt everything about your relationship deeper than he did. And yet, here he was saying he loves you. “I love you… I’m so sorry about this whole thing.” you scooted closer to him, reaching for his hand. 

“Don’t be sorry. I understand insecurities, nasty little thoughts that cannibalize you from within.” he cupped your cheek, “You have nothing to worry about. You are perfect, I love everything about you.” 

He sounded so sincere you couldn’t help but tear up. “Can we… work on expanding my boundaries? I want to touch you, and have you touch me… I just need some time to get comfortable. Get out of my head, ya know?” you asked, picking at your nails. You hadn’t talked about intimacy with anyone else before, not like this. 

“Of course little love… we’ll go at your pace. Honestly, I’m excited to do this with you.” he smiled, his fangs making an appearance. “I love you, endlessly.” he said as he kissed your cheeks before landing on your lips. The kiss was sweet, almost like it was sealing a promise.

“I love you, endlessly.” you spoke on his lips before connecting your mouths once again.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope everyone enjoys, I haven't seen too many plus size reader inserts with Astarion so here is my shot at it. As a plus size person I think this kind of representation is important and very validating. Post again soon, love you guys!! Thanks for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests!! XOXOXOXO

Used

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, trauma, Astarion's past mentioned, betrayal, hurt/comfort

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“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive…” Astarion spoke.

As soon as he said those words your ears started ringing. Your breath hitched and you could feel you eyes well up with tears. He used you. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. Your fists balled up and before you knew it your legs were stomping towards Astarion. His face flashed with confusion before your fist collided with him. He stumbled back, you pushed him even more so he would fall down. He looked up at you as he held his aching cheek and bloodied lip. 

“How could you?” you asked in a shaky whisper. You felt the tears slip down your cheeks despite the hurt and angry resolve your face held. You looked at him, waiting for an answer. 

His eyes were soft, he wanted to apologize. He wanted to beg for you to listen, to understand. But how could he? He had hurt you the same way people had hurt him for 200 years. How were you supposed to forgive him when he would never forgive those who had hurt him this way? “I’m sorry…” he spoke softly. 

“Not good enough.” you said to him, shrugging in defeat before you walked away.

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“Y/N, you need to eat…” Karlach said quietly as she slid the new platter of food next to the untouched one from the day before. 

You kept your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep so you didn’t have to endure a lecture. 

Karlach sighed before pulling your blanket over your shoulders. She brushed a few hairs out of your face before placing a kiss on your forehead. Her hand caressed your cheek for a moment before she walked out, leaving you to rest. 

Your eyes attached themselves to the ceiling as you laid there. This was day 6 of rotting in your bedroll. You pulled gently at a flap in the tent, ever so slightly letting a beam of light radiate in. You raised your hand to it, letting the warmth hit your dull skin. 

“Y/N?” said Astarion from the entrance of your tent. 

“Go away Astarion.” you said back plainly. 

“Please, I’m begging you, let me explain.” he said. You could hear the need in his voice, the need to be understood. 

You sat up swiftly, “What is there to explain? You fucked me so I would keep you safe. End of story.” your eyes were sharp and narrowed in on him. 

“You’re right…” Astarion said, inching himself into the tent a bit more.

Your eyebrows raised, you expected excuses to flow out of him. But this? 

“You’re right and I am so sorry… so ashamed. You have every right to be angry. I used you and caused you pain that I can never take back. I know what it’s like to be a victim like that. And… in the moment, it just seemed like the logical thing to do.” Astarion’s eyes held so much sincerity, you had never seen them so genuine and vulnerable. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness, but I just needed you to know how sorry I am.” 

You nodded at him, the lump in your throat preventing you from verbalizing anything. You laid back down, rolling to face away from him. You heard him walk away after a few moments. 

Karlach returned to your tent after Astarion had left. “I know you’re not asleep.” she said, sitting down next to you. 

“Maybe I just enjoy you tucking me in.” you said, cracking a smile at her. 

She chuckled at you, pushing stray hair from your eyes after you sat up. “He is sorry. I’m not saying forgive him, what he did was beyond shitty. But I may or may not have given him Scopo Wisp in his tea last night, he’s telling the truth.”

“You drugged him for me, how thoughtful.” you said sarcastically. 

“Oh spare me. You act like I was digging for dirt, all he spoke about was you and how much he regrets everything. How much he…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking up to yours.

“How much he…?” you reiterated questioningly. 

“You just need to talk to each other. Preferably without punching him in the face.” 

You shrugged, “No promises.” You stood slowly, your bones popping and muscles stretching. 

“Good luck soldier!” she said encouragingly. 

You walked to Astarion’s tent and heard… sniffling? You peeked inside. Astarion had his legs drawn up to his chest. His arms held himself close and his chin rested on his knees. You could see the tears on his cheeks despite how far you were from him. You quietly cast a spell, having purple shimmers fall around him. Astarion yawned before he laid down, falling into a pleasant and much needed slumber. You walked inside, pulling his blanket over him. You brushed a few white curls from his face.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. 

“Shhhh, you’re alright. Go to sleep.” you ghosted your hand over his cheek, trying to comfort him. 

Astarion’s breathing returned to normal. You watched him for ages, eventually laying down next to him. “I was furious with you, ya know? I wanted to do way more than punch you. But now… now I’m just a little hurt. I understand you, but that doesn’t take away the pain I feel.” you let out a sigh, trying to convey your feelings to the sleeping elf. 

“I just… I was… starting to fall in love with you. Foolish, I know. And… I think I still do. Love you, that is. I’m not sure what to do with all these conflicting feelings but… Just know, I don’t hate you.” you finished, playing with a loose thread on your top, venting to him. 

Your chin was tilted up gently, taking your breath away. Astarion placed a ghostly kiss upon your lips. Barely touching and yet you felt what he was trying to convey. “I’m so sorry.” he whispered onto your lips. 

You shook your head slightly before you moved to hold his face, “Leave it in the past?” you asked, searching his eyes.

He nodded fervently, “Thank you, little love.” 

You smiled at him, “Can I stay?” you whispered. 

He nodded, holding your hand before his breathing evened out. You quickly followed, sleeping soundly after the many days of tossing and turning. 

“I love you, my sweet.” he said, kissing your forehead. Now he just needs to work up the courage to tell you while you were awake. 

Little did he know, your heart doubled in size at his confession.

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Naboo's Note:

FUCK I am so sleep deprived. Hope this is a good one y'all. I'm about to go have a Xanax (PRESCRIBED) induced coma and it's going to be glorious. Will try to write again soon, work is busy af rn tho so pleaseeeeeeeeeee be patient. Thanks as always for the likes, comments, reblogs and requests!

Humanity

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: TW!! self harm, blood, cutting, soft Astarion, not glorifying self harm it is a real problem people struggle with myself included, angst, hurt/comfort

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Astarion constantly smelt blood when he was around you. Given all the adventuring and your general clumsiness he assumed you always had a scrape somewhere. You were quite odd to him. Skittish, afraid of the world. And yet, you were kind as could be. Always helping, sometimes to your detriment. He couldn’t quite discern what he felt towards you. You annoyed him beyond belief. But heaven forbid anyone say anything remotely negative about you and suddenly he had a knife at their throat. You were… complicated. To say the least. 

He saw the pain in your eyes, the same pain Abdirak mentioned the day Astarion met you. He knew how introverted you were and how the smallest things could have you blushing. He often used it to his advantage when he needed to persuade the others. You almost always sided with him, naively. He couldn’t tell what you felt for him, which frustrated him further. You never fell for the obvious seduction. Even when he asked you to his bedroll at the tiefling party; you blushed violently before stuttering an excuse to get away from him. He didn’t see you the rest of the night and when you were at camp the next morning he thought nothing of it. He noticed how often you were alone, how distant your face looked when you thought nobody was looking. He could always see the lack of sleep under your eyes, the hollowing of your cheeks as your eating was disordered. You had an air of melancholy around you when you weren't actively being the sunshine of camp. He never knew how to approach you when you were so obviously in pain. He wanted to care, but he himself was afraid of what caring for you might stir inside him. 

Tonight he sat at his tent, reading and drinking his usual red. Everyone had seemingly retired for the night, only his and your tents remained illuminated by candles. He glanced at your tent every now and then, wondering what you were up to. Suddenly, he watched you walk out of your tent, you headed for the lake. Astarion assumed you were going to wash so he left you be. That was until he smelled your blood, fresh. So fresh you were likely still bleeding. He listened closely as he stood to make his way to you. Your heart beat was even. How were you so calm if you were bleeding? He made his way to the lake stealthily. Not wanting to alert whatever was hurting you so he would have an advantage over it. 

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. There you sat, your legs partially in the lake while you sliced little cuts into your right thigh. With each new cut you watched the blood trickle and ooze before splashing your leg with water and repeating the process. He could hear your random sniffles, he could see the tears that flowed down your cheeks shine in the dim moonlight. 

“Oh my sweet…” he gasped out before cautiously making his way to you. 

You heard a twig snap a few feet from behind you. Your first instinct took over and you immediately cast sanctuary on yourself. There was no way you could fight something with muscle right now. All you had was your magic. Your eyes widened in horror when they met Astarion’s. 

He tried not to look, he really did. But your flowy white night shirt was seeping up the blood from your upper thigh, while the lower cuts bled down your leg. He was horrified in his own way. The purest soul, so selfless and sweet, insufferably kind - was hurting themself. He opened his mouth before shutting it again, not knowing what to say. He tore his eyes from your leg. Your eyes were round and full of fear. Your waterline was ready to burst with tears but you willed them to stay put. 

“Please don’t tell the others.” you whispered after a moment. 

Everything was so still, except you. You were shaking. Astarion carefully stepped towards you. When you didn’t retreat, which he fully expected you to do, he softly held your arms. Supporting you physically, he could feel the way you trembled. You reminded him of a frightened animal. And here you were being supported by a natural predator. His throat clenched despite him having no intention of biting you or drinking from you. His pupils dilated, the smell alone called to his savage, vampiric nature. 

“I won’t.” He said back sincerely. “What happened, little love?”

You nudge your head into his chest, unable to speak with the current lump in your throat. You weren’t brave enough to look at him. You didn’t want to see the pity, or disgust. Astarion slowly walked you back a few paces to sit you on a rock. 

“Stay.” he said before you watched him use transmutation to blink to gods know where. He vanished for only a moment before he reappeared in the very same fashion he vanished. He held a small parcel in his hand. You shifted your legs facing them away from him. He put a gentle, cold hand on your knee, tilting you to face him. 

His fingers worked diligently. He focused on the larger cuts before the smaller ones. “You wont need any stitches…” he said, mostly to himself but smiled slightly when he saw you watching him. 

You closed your eyes, slightly relieved. “I… I’ve been doing this since I was 12. But this is the first time someone else has… seen them. I thought I was so clever…” you finished with a watery laugh. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation, darling. Pain is pain. It manifests differently in us all.” he whispered as he laid the large pad of gauze over your cuts. You winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “I know, I know sweetheart. Just breathe for me…” he said, holding your leg in place as he gently but quickly wrapped your leg in gauze. Your small whimpers that you tried to hold back were like a hammer to his heart, cracking a little more with every whine. 

“All done.” he said, letting go of you. You hissed as you pulled your knees up. 

You felt the angry red skin beneath the bandages, heat radiating from it. You nodded at him, “Thank you…” you mumbled. 

Astarion finally felt his thirst subside slightly. He sat across from you, waiting for you to speak, if you wanted to. 

“I feel like I’m getting the bad out when I do it. All the hate and malice and pain… just goes with each cut.” you mumbled, not looking at him, your hands fidgeting with your sleeves. 

“I understand. I think most people hurt themselves in one way or another to relieve themselves. Life is too difficult not to. Your preferred method is just a bit more obvious than others. This doesn’t make you bad or unworthy. This just makes you… human.” Astarion said, sincerity laced every word. 

You stifled a small laugh, you weren’t human, but you understood the sentiment. He understood your humanity. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all this…” you said, your heart hurt just thinking about how strange and possibly traumatic this is for Astarion. 

He waved his hand absentmindedly, “Think nothing of it, darling. I am always happy to be here for you, in any way you need me.” he gently took your hand. 

You smiled at him. He stood before he picked you up bridal style, his inhuman strength on full display as he carried you back to camp. You watched him look between your tents before he walked to yours. Placing you gently on the bedroll, careful not to bump your sensitive leg. He started to get up but your hand caught his wrist. 

“Could you stay?” you asked, not entirely sure why. 

“Of course. Sleep now, and in the morning I’ll buy you a delicious little health potion and…” he said, eyeing you to see what else you could want.

“Cake?” you said.

Ah, your sweet tooth, another trait he secretly adored. “Cake it is, dear one.” he watched you wrap yourself around his waist before drifting off rather quickly. He watched you fondly, moving a bit of hair from your face every once in a while.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello all! I hope everyone is well. This is a bit of a heavier fic but I think it might be a new personal favorite. Quite a bit of the behaviors described are derived from reality. Felt a little therapeutic to write this somehow? Idk if it is weird let me know an I'll take it down ASAP. Thanks for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. XOXOXOXO!

#starry comp

Yall don’t understand. I started scream laughing when this happened 💀

"The River"

Astarion x Hébée short comic -

Took me a long time to finish it, but I love how sappy it ended up being.

Good reading!

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tensions rise before the unlikely travelers enter the monastery.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 19: Gods

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 5.5k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

I write this in haste as the githyanki attack. 

Our forces have been exhausted and we will all be dead by day’s light.

The lance has failed and so have our pleas.

Kind stranger, if you find this note, please know I have prayed for you. 

— Novice Monk, last words written on his inner forearm in ink

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Folklores have a knack for possibly foretelling a person’s future, molded with lessons in mind. Sketched orations implanted within the mind’s eye, traditionally passed down. 

But, what lessons—what excuses—were to be instilled after the atrocities the Crèche Y’llek githyanki inflicted on Rosymorn Monastery, especially when there were no survivors left to tell the tale?

Death had abounded and it claimed more than the previous worshiping inhabitants. It came for the wall mosaics whose chipped pigments had fallen into lifeless heaps upon skeletal laps following their demise. Its veil, hushed away lost voices that chanted as lamp wicks were lit. Even toppled over cups of wine, that soaked and stained neglected tables, were unable to escape the vagarious phantom’s euthanizing stroke.

“This place is deader than I am,” Astarion mused, kicking aside what appeared to be a femur bone with the tip of his boot. “Shame, I was looking forward to a livelier welcome.”

He found himself stalking around a statue dedicated to Lathander, situated in front of the old monastic building portico, wondering if this god had been one of the many that didn’t respond to his prayers while he was being psychologically marred and beaten endlessly. Nearly forgotten generations seemed to be lost to another version of himself as he disdainfully stared up at the stoned infant with a gold metal sun orbiting its body affixed in the dawn lord’s grasp, signifying renewed births. His eyes traveled lower, to the end of the god form’s flawless marble tunic folds, noticing a carved skull pressed heroically beneath its foot. He briefly turned his head away, scoffing at the absurdity of such a visual odium.

Even the undead must suffer your ruling that they are unworthy of saving, Astarion thought, frowning. It was pointless to beseech the mute supreme vessel, knowing not even a rebuttal would be granted to his rightful questions over the gods lack of mercy. 

Inferior soul, how do you cry out,

Knowing no one will hear you.

With blurred light and seeping dark, 

Hope dangling on words that do not reach. 

His attention turned to Lae’zel as she maneuvered her body in front of an upright banner she discovered, tracing her sinewy fingers along symbols drawn into its hide. “Tir’su script. Kin is close,” she noted ,”Perhaps further inside this insipid place.”

Shadowheart cast a subdued yellowish light—enough to read the script—on top of the hanging animal skin. “Your language. What does it say?”

“Vlaakith’ka sivim hrath krash’ht. Only in Vlaakith may we find light,” Lae’zel responded with pride, letting her fingers loiter above the scrawlings.

Astarion abandoned his quest cursing the Morninglord, approaching the two women in a sly stride. “So, the gith replaced those doing works for one god, with their own. I suppose our civilizations aren’t totally incomparable in that regard. We all do have a tendency to make everyone acknowledge that in which we worship, don’t we?” he wise cracked.

“Githyanki do not worship any gods nor follow religion. We venerate Vlaakith and to forsake her means we become the blood and meat for which she sates her dragons,” Lae’zel corrected. “The people here didn’t survive because they were weak. Weak minded and weak of brawn. Not because my people meant to ideologize them to our credence.”

His arms folded against his chest, deviously rising a thick brow. “Oh dearest Lae’zel, you don’t have to belong to a religion to be religious. Whatever that you hold in highest faith is your god.”

The gith fighter growled as she fiercely advanced towards Astarion, her cinnamon hair vibrant in the sun’s path. She pointed a single elongated nail at him. “Argh! You know nothing of what you speak anymore than you know about my queen! And you are wasting time by casting your ideas about this world’s ideologies into our conversation!”

Up close, her slitted irises seemed to open wider, like a crack in the earth beckoning him into a citrine mine. It was oddly riveting to the spawn how naïve the githyanki were about the material plane despite them using it to cultivate their crèches. Prematurely in their journey, Lae’zel informed the crew this was because they chose to disengage entirely from other ethnicities due to them possibly “tainting” their society. Everything to the gith became a means to an end, including their propensity to be certifiably evil by most standards.

But for all the destruction the slender astral plane-dwellers committed on the living plane, they proved to be the only race capable of continually decimating illithids, halting their grand design. 

However, a part of him could not—albeit infelicitous—wholly begrudge them for their attitude involving strangers. The gith had only known the claws of enslavement to the mind flayers for generations until their subjugated chains were broken, a situation all too familiar to him. He understood how trust can turn into an abstraction under those conditions, eavesdropping like a floating dandelion seed on its conceptual edge. 

“I think that’s quite enough,” Shadowheart intervened with ambivalence laced in her tone. A dispelled cantrip, that was assuredly prepared for them if they persisted in their bickering, fizzled out in her palm. “In case you’ve both forgotten, we are being hunted by the same people that may also have a cure for these cursed worms in our heads. Time is not on our side, so either we shut up and work together or we might as well do ourselves a favor and kill each other off now.”

He viewed the cleric from his peripherals, scarlet irises aglow in jouissance. “As you wish. Thinking outside the box isn’t for everyone anyways,” he mumbled in a gibe.

Shadowheart disregarded the vampire, refocusing their conversation onto more productive measures. “Lae’zel, what can we expect once inside this crèche?”

Lae’zel herded her concentration sluggishly away from Astarion. “They will be on high alert, probably seeking information about the artifact weapon. Your presence alone is going to cause skepticism, so do not expect them to have mercy if you get out of line.”

The healer nodded, patting the purse containing the icosahedron prism fastened onto her hip. “And how exactly are we to safely enter without them attacking on sight?” 

“They will receive me with no issue, but you three will have to roleplay as my servants if we are to peruse their compound,” Lae’zel decisively advised, gesticulating between Shadowheart, him, and the bard that was in the near distance behind him. 

Now that Astarion pondered it, Tav had remained eerily quiet since they reached the derelict building. His ears perked back, listening for any signs of movement from her.

Ah. There. 

The songtress’s lissome boot soles reverently landed, crunching over the littered ground, likely scrounging about on one of her many humanitarian crusades examining the obvious holy edifice’s monstrosities. Really, he had come to distinguish all his traveling allies' footsteps apart, but he would only find himself drollingly smirking particularly at Tav’s beats. While she held tightly onto her deepest inner thoughts like a hyper judgemental woman clutching her pearls, her mood was always evident through her footfalls. A heavy scuff typically meant she was angered. Soft quick pitterings were often created during her busiest chores in camp. Or, the most curious of them all: the choreo-esque silken soar of her feet as she played the lute. Curious because she rejected the idea of dancing, but it was so prevalent in the way she moved—the way she fought. 

Tav’s familiar heartbeat meandered closer to them, out in that stygian sea upon the unpleasant waters of her thoughts. Those numerous abnormal pulses that led nowhere, on the outskirts from where he was positioned. Sounds that made his mouth a watering delinquent portal to which he almost lacked the discipline to stop himself from placing the flat of his ravening tongue against her chirring arteries.

“Servants?! I am certainly not agog over that,” the vamp spluttered out as he indignantly threw up his arms. 

“‘Star,” Tav greeted him quietly as pewter shaded buckles from her rapier scabbard faintly brushed against his side when she finally appeared.

He rotated his head, studying Tav’s profile carefully. Her skin, still somewhat wan from his earlier feeding, held onto fresh drizzly beads of sweat along her hairline. A sunken seam deepend horizontally on her forehead as her gaze epoxied itself to Lae’zel. Something was on her mind, cysts filled with fluidic profundities that began to gestate as they embarked into the monastery. 

Leftover wafting traces of coppery blackberries from his bite wound on Tav, rose from her flesh like an exorcism, injecting into his nostrils when he inhaled. There was a certain amount of pride he felt as a man, knowing his fang marks were seated into her delicate neck. A consensual hunter and prey dynamic that tickled his nightly creature’s base instincts imagining her running beautifully through a thick forest for him to capture, her sighing and sighing and sighing his name. Perhaps he would ask her one day to—gods, he must still be reeling off the potency from her stimulative blood.

“And where have you been, songbird? Leaving me all on my own to babysit these two bores, tsk,” he teased, inflecting his tone an octave higher.

“You can take it out of your blood tax later,” the bard suggested, struggling to exert a fleeting chuckle. She looked up at him. “Mind if I cut in?”

Grateful for the interruption, he nodded. “Then, how could I say no? By all means.” He held out his gloved hand, palm up, giving her the opportunity to purge her mentations.

Tav sucked in a breath, then gradually released it. “They’re all…dead. Every monk, every pilgrim—deceased. And this was all done for the sake of constructing a crèche?” she steadily broached, wasting no time in getting straight to what was disturbing her. “Lae’zel, what did the people here do to deserve such a sentence?” 

Discovering in person just what the githyanki were capable of, coupled with a drafty air that had coagulated with whistling gusts leading the imagination to believe it was the spirit's moaning screams yet wandering the monastery’s halls, would change the dialogue for anyone—especially Tav. Astarion realized how dangerously stupid it was for her meddlesome lectures to take precedence now when there wasn’t a godsdamned thing they could do about the age-old murderous scene. Repeatedly poking the wasp’s nest—Lae’zel included—meant that a remorseless horde of gith would be released upon them sooner rather than later. 

He leaned down, lips an inch away from the backside of Tav’s ear. “What are you doing?!” he breathed through gritted teeth.

Tav didn’t respond, but instead knocked her hip into his, pushing him aside. He scudded back a couple feet from the force, leaving him at a loss for words. If she is hellbent on being stubborn, then she can deal with her crippling demise on her own, he chided to himself.

Lae’zel’s sight narrowed at the elf. “It had nothing to do with what they deserved, but everything to do with being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let’s hope your next words are sharper than your mind,” she clucked loudly.

“Insulting me while I’m trying to understand what happened here isn’t going to deter me,” Tav replied, her reddening ears poking out from her messy updo in a curbed anger hidden to everyone except Astarion. “Travelers came here searching for answers to their prayers and the explanation they received was their lives snuffed out by a race that feels as superior as false gods.”

“Tav, you’re—“ Shadowheart cautiously began, stepping forward.

“I’m what?! Going too far?” Tav mocked, shifting her body weight onto another leg. 

Those leaden fissures Tav tried to keep knitted closed, had volleyed the bitter dark within her that had been progressively increasing for weeks. She never treated people this way—patience rarely thinned—and Astarion understood his judgment about the burdens she carried that changed the formulaic taste of her crimson, were correct. Her annoying kindness suited her more than this unseemly behavior. In the aery realm that housed her encumbrances, she paid for his and their companion’s indiscretions to demonic toll-houses without question. A regretful muscle twitched in his cheek, recognizing he played a part in her present suffering. Birds like Tavelle were meant to fly, but everyone took advantage of her tender mercy, devoid of thinking about how shattered her wings would become under their own roods. 

“I know you’re upset—and you should be—but Lae’zel had nothing to do with Y’llek’s aggressions. Your blame is misplaced,” Shadowheart tried again after removing a stray hair that had crept into her mouth. 

Tav turned her head, overcome with embarrassment that flushed the roundest parts of her cheeks. 

The gith puffed out a short breath, rolling her war torn eyes. “What would you have me say? Attaining somewhere on the material plane we deem to be safe for our young and unhatched to develop is completely normal in our culture.“

Dense air sourly blew through the bard’s nose. “But at the cost of our plane’s lives, right? What is normal to your kind is not normal to ours. Have you ever thought about that?” she contended more politely, refacing Lae’zel. “This is wrong to us! If only your people would try seeking help from ours, rather than raiding their homes and murdering innocents immediately, you may be surprised how many would be willing to offer their aid.“

“And should that mean something to me?” Lae’zel bit out emotionless. “Githyanki do what is necessary to survive.” She held a balled up fist tightly against her chest as she drew a path into Tav’s personal space. “When I was still but a welp in training, I had already felled three of my comrades. Was I praised or reprimanded for such feats? No. They died proud, honored to have served Vlaakith and the cause of her people. Can you say in good faith that most of Faerûn would do the same?”

All three companions regarded Lae’zel glumly. Her accusations against their continent’s residents was an uncomfortable realization that nobody in their sane mind could refute. How many other adventurer’s were actually out there at this very second willing to brave their own lives to end the corruption of The Absolute and mind flayers alike? How many would risk confronting that disquieting underbelly of fears that the gods they forfeited everything to, would never intervene, even as a holocaust roared throughout the lands? The hard truth was that most would rather go with the flow in their complacency than try to act out of real conviction.

That kolk whirling behind Tav’s blue-steel eyes from their boiling exchange, began to become little more than a single stir by a divine empress’s gilded spoon in a favorite cup of tea. By the way she sucked in her cheek, Astarion knew she had grabbed a chunk of wetted flesh to gnaw upon, calming herself from making a rash remark. Her mouth unlatched. “I will not disagree with your sentiments about how disunified Faerûn remains, but it’s still our choice to make. Ripping that away from us because the githyanki feel it’s okay, is no different from the control the illithid held over your race, it’s just executed differently.” 

Was she prepared for the aftermath if she kept pushing?

“Hey.” Shadowheart discreetly tapped on the spawn’s shoulder. He turned around, vaguely listening to Tav and Lae’zel resume their argument, mouthing an irritated “what” as voicelessly as he could muster.

“We are about to enter enemy territory and I have a stolen treasure from them in my bag,” the Sharran healer whispered. Her anxiety was evident in the way her glassy blown pupils stared back at him, nearly twitching with fright over what lay in store for them. “If you think for even a second they’re going to allow us to enter their crèche while tensions are high, then prepare to be beheaded for sport.”

He shrugged his shoulders, still mildly irked at Tav. “Then I guess we’ll have to wait until they both stow this fribblish nonsense or one of them incapacitates the other,” Astarion hushed in return. 

Shadowheart shook her head, her perfectly styled ponytail accessories moving in tandem with her movement. “Or you could be their mediator,” she suggested with a crafty smile.

“Have you gone and smacked your moody undersized head on a Selûne statue?!” he snapped louder than intended. A silver curl uncoiled in haste, matching his incredulity. “You saw how Tav reacted when we tried to reason with them.” He instinctually peeked beyond his arm, checking to see if the others overheard them. 

“For god’s sake, would you at least try?! I don’t care if you have to throw Tav over your shoulder like some neanderthal to drag her away, but they need to be separated so they can both cool down!” Shadowheart uncharacteristically begged while the other two women continued their squabble. Her lips pouted together. “And my head isn’t ‘undersized.’ I didn’t ask to be born as a half-elf you know,” she added, self-consciously touching her crown.

Astarion’s fingers rubbed at his temples. This was wholly Tav’s fault! In a moment of weakness, fantasizing about drinking her blood earlier, the cunning vixen snuck in and somehow persuaded him to accompany them to this devil-ridden location. And now, he’s expected to wave a wand like some magical fairy eldmother to make everything cheery bright rainbows again?!

No matter how inconvenient this was, he definitely wasn’t interested in perishing so early on into his attained freedom. He understood that Tav would be the easier of the two lionness’s pouncing on each other to lure away given her affinity towards him. She may be pissed at him afterwards, but it was the lesser risk between that and Lae’zel hanging his head as an ornament above her tent. “Ugh, do I have to do everything around here?” he flung out, feigning a yawn. 

He scratched at his jaw, trying to wrinkle the matter in his brain together from its usual smoothness. Which tactical options did he have? Flirtily suggesting a threesome while a plethora of vacant skeletal crania’s watched, seemed inappropriate for their dilemma. He could pull out a knife and threaten them to cease, but knowing Lae’zel’s temper, she would stake his ribs the moment she saw it. Blackmail? Hmm, no, that was out of the question too. Tav barely offered up anything about her private life and Lae’zel could escape to the astral world whenever she pleased. Fuck he hated details and sticky complicated plans. 

Alright, fine, he’d just go with ole reliable: winging it. 

“I’ll stand by in case things go…amiss,” Shadowheart said placidly. “Good luck.”

He briefly shut his eyes, hand sailing through his waves to refix the stray hair coil tarrying on his forehead, and readied himself as acting liaison to enter the mine field exploding behind him. 

Lae’zel stepped inward near Tav, armor clanking around her midsection. “It’s no wonder Astarion finally decided to leave your bed,” she maliciously taunted, ”With all your unceasing blathering, it leaves little room for warmth.” She slanted further in, speaking directly into her rival’s ear. “Tell me which is true: that you actually duped yourself into believing you gave him gratification or he faked it the entire time because he pitied your loneliness?”

Astarion instantly squinted at Lae’zel, revulsed at her upturned sneer. He despised her obtrusiveness, remembering how she made it clear she only desired his body at one time to satisfy herself. The back of his neck felt clammy imagining how her gropes would have branded his raw flesh like every other person he pressured himself into fucking. 

He dragged his vision to chance peering at Tav, dismissing the muffled constriction that surged through his chest at the sight of her. She stood utterly silent, vocal cords snipped from the seething woman’s comment. Without a tourniquet to halt Lae’zel’s gashes, her lips had heated to a bolder pinkish plum shade, doe eyes rapidly blinking aside a misty haze. Astarion heard her heart chambers clamp tightly, fractured by the usurped recollection of their flawed and failed relationship pricking into her like a pincushion. 

A pleased grin spread across Lae’zel’s mouth as she scanned the bard’s reaction. Her pitch coal grease paint, thumbed onto the scope of her face, appeared glossy from the sunlight beaming on her. “If this ishtik falls apart at the slightest mention of her inadequacies, then she is unfit to lead us,” she snarled.

Despite him refusing to divulge the specifics from his trauma, sex had become a sensitive subject for both him and Tav. Centuries long transgressions that damned him every waking second. They shared a vulnerability—an elegy to pleasurable touch—that connected them in an unexpected and broken manner initiated by different needs. 

Messy flashbacks of his sexual encounters with Tav that had already been fading—as they often did with his lovers—percolated throughout the vampire’s mind. As vehemently as he tried to bury it, one memory resisted against the gravitational pull from the black hole within his soul: her giggles as florets spilled like dove feathers from her hair while they were intimate against a tree. A rare innocent pause that counterbalanced his despair but for a few moments.

In his restless trances, those flowers would sometimes arrive, each hidden in inconspicuous locations within his dreams to find. They were often accompanied by Tav’s sweet laughter that he caused. It dawned on him how often he would chase after that sound until he woke, trying to relive that brief interim of genuine mirth he summoned from her throat. He ignored it until now, but he had never generated that kind of joy from a sole creature in his entire undeath. Regardless if that night in the woods had led to them sleeping together or not, she would have still had the same reaction if he made those trite blooms flounce out of her hair in any other way.

He suddenly found himself wanting to protect those epiphanies and the peculiar agreeable sensation within his life-deserted body that he was aghast to identify. When did his general antipathy towards Tav start to evolve into him not quite disliking her as much anymore?

Astarion pretended to cough into his fist, cutting through their quarrel. “I do believe you and I need to exchange a few unpleasantries,” he firmly stated with a guileful tug at his mouth. 

“Do we? Then speak,” Lae’zel growled in her usual raspy tone, spindly hands landing onto her hips. She squinted her left eye at him.

“I’ll make this quick.” The ground held unwavering paces as he sidled up to the astral soldier. He tilted his head to the side, rubbing his impeccable jawline with his thumb peeking out from his fingerless gauntlets. “Don’t you perhaps think you should be more concerned about why it was I who rejected you that day after our spar when you practically begged me to take you back to my bedroll for a romp?” he blatantly expressed, glaring at her through darkened eyes. “Pity Tav? Ha! No, darling. I pitied you and that’s why I let you down as politely as I did.”

The hammering from behind Shadowheart’s breast clogged his ears. An “ah, shit” drawled off her tongue, shocked and worried. 

Tav's hand covered a gasp as her enlarged eyes sharply turned to gaze at him, exerting no amusement at his smug jab. 

As for Lae’zel’s reaction, she gnashed her teeth so raucously together, she could have broken through a mollusk's shell. Astarion staggered back just as a flurry of words in her native language raced from her voice box, faltering but once to catch her breath. She pointed at the group: cursing, spitting, putting her hand onto the lengthy grip of her sword, removing it, until she angrily threw her arms up in defeat. “After we extract the tadpoles,” she heaved, “I never want to see any of you ever again. Be grateful I will allow you to live yet.” Neglecting to wait for their responses, she tilled her battle sandals into the ground, disappearing into an unventured area adjacent to the portico. 

Frowning, Shadowheart cleared her throat. “Tav, mind if I borrow Astarion for a minute?” 

“Sure,” Tav croaked out. She looked past the cleric at the nondescript foreboding entrance into the monastery, giving the doors a simple head flick to notify them where she planned on retreating. 

He clocked Tav as she weaved a route through scattered rubble, leaving their vicinity. “Who knew I had such natural chops as a peace—”

Shadowheart twisted to meet him, rabidly grabbing at the straps attached to his breastplate and pulled downwards. “You donkey!’

His hands flew up on either side of his head. “Whoa! What exactly is the problem? You should be thanking me. Per your request: they aren't fighting anymore.”

“I didn’t ask you to make it worse!” Shadowheart exclaimed, tightening her hold. “I don’t know if your meal ticket from earlier super infused your bluntness, but with the utmost generosity, would you kindly fuck off for a bit so I can think about how to resolve this? Go check on Tav.” She released the straps, propelling him backwards.

“How rude! You know, all this excitement has made me work up another appetite and I can’t feed on Tav again until she’s rested. What do you have to say for yourself?” Astarion taunted, letting his fangs poke out beneath his weasel’s smile.

“GO!” Shadowheart shouted, balling her fists.

The songstress was leaning against a cool stoned wall, embellished with grayish tiles, when he eventually made his way to her after refitting the crookedness in his chest piece. “The gall of that woman, honestly,” he complained, sending an accusatory glance over his shoulder at a pacing Shadowheart. “You do a favor for someone and when it’s not exactly how they would have done it, they blame you for the outcome.” 

Tav knocked her thumb knuckles together, nails clicking in unison. “Why did you stick up for me with Lae’zel?”

“I wanted to help?” 

“Don’t lie to me,” she said, raising her head to scrutinize him. 

Astarion cocked his hip out, resting his hand on it. He had no intentions disclosing to her what was stroking his dead heart, that palpable echo of flowers and laughter betraying him. “Can’t you just appreciate that I probably saved you from becoming a ‘minced bard pie’? I don’t see why you have to make this more complicated than it already was,” he groused.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning her neck. “I do appreciate what you did back there, it just wasn’t…expected, I suppose.”

“I can be generous,” he asserted, crossing his arms. 

Tav gave a snide chuckle. “News to me.”

“See, if you needed further proof that you need some time to release all those built up gremlins inside you, that was it,” he smirked, playfully tapping the tip of her shoe with his boot. 

A simper quivered at the corners of her lips, one she seemed like she was trying to hide by immediately squatting down near the doors next to them, hovering over two pairs of remains. She reached down to pick up an age-tarnished prayer book that was loosely crammed between one of the skeleton’s fingers. 

Tav stood back up, smile replaced with a distant melancholy. She patted the book’s front cover. “May I read something to you?” 

“Are you going to read a prayer for my salvation?” the pale elf mused, indenting his index into the middle of his chin. 

The book opened with her diligent fingers. Pages turned with crisp crackles, frictioning against old endpaper glue, as she read its contents to him. “Glory to you, Bringer of the Dawn! My wife and I have been trying to conceive for nearly two years now with no luck. We’ve long been followers of your blessed creed, and visit Rosymorn every tenday to worship at your altar.” 

She took a breath, then continued. “Please Lord, I know you’ve given us a lot already, but if you hear our prayer, grant us this one wish, and you will find us in your service tenfold. This is all that now stands between ourselves and everlasting joy. We have faith in you, Lathander, and are grateful for the many blessings of your light.”

Astarion hoisted his right eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t tell me that’s what rattled you? All that drama earlier because you read a flimsy supplication from some dust-covered bones?”

“It wasn’t my intention for things to get out of hand as they did with Lae’zel,” she lamented. Beneath every pronounced word, a shakiness started to emerge in her voice. “But the contents of this book had nothing to do with my disagreement with her.”

He padded closer to her. “Then, what was the purpose of reading that husband and wife’s prayer to me? They’re dead and it’s apparent that the gods couldn’t have cared less about granting that couple their wishes,” Astarion mentioned, glimpsing down at the deteriorating book. “I should know; I prayed to them all.”

“This isn’t about the damned gods!” Tav blurted out in frustration. She let the prayer book slip from her grasp, landing askew onto a bed of pebbles. “Years ago, I had to accept—“ she stalled. 

He inspected her, tilting his head curiously. The visage that took place on her face was similar to when she spoke to Mayrina shortly after they sent Auntie Ethel to the hells: an intense, almost withdrawn, stare. He recognized that expression, how rigid her whole person had become that day. How different she acted after seeing Mayrina’s belly round with child. “‘Had to accept’ what?” he asked.

Clenching her eyes shut, she shook her head. “Nobody knows what happened to me that day. I just want somebody to know,” she managed to whisper, contrite over her verbally collected thoughts.

“Darling, I have to admit, your whole mysterious lady act is going way over my head this time,” he said, perplexed. Respecting their terms to avoid touching each other as minimally as possible, he skimmed just the tips of his fingers along the outer edge of Tav’s shoulder, bidding her to look at him. 

Under his contact, she jerked ever so slightly as if finally noticing his proximity. “S-sorry. Gods, I must sound crazy,” she huffed nervously, lungs stammering as her breathing increased. “Astarion, I want to trust someone so badly that I ache, b-but I can’t. Even now, as I tried, everything still turned to ash on my tongue.”

Her admission stunned him, never being one to divulge the weaknesses she kept at bay. “Hold on. Take a few deep breaths.”

Lash after lash lifted, revealing Tav’s set of bleary dilated vesseling eyes that bore into his. Her sternum rose and fell, respiring their common air. “I wanted somebody—no, not somebody—I wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

Tav’s hand moved in a way like she wanted to grab his hand, but instead let it slink back. “Because you’re the only one I’ve ever felt might understand,” she confessed.

Stricken with a salvelike buzz dawning through his consciousness, Astarion couldn’t resist tucking dark brown hair strands behind her ear. Red eyes traced a  circular outline of her freckles that mesmerized him so. His pitch lowered to a woolly undertone unnatural to him, balmy and wicking her ills. “You really are reckless, aren’t you?”

The upper bow of Tav’s lips parted from the bottom, a blush rushing northward into her cheekbones. He could feel her lukewarm breath exhale into the dip of his clavicle while she examined his face, provoking a tense quake descending his spine. “Is that your way of saying you’re concerned about me?” she crooned. 

“Stupid boy,” Cazador’s taunt resounded in his brain. 

Emotions careened through him as dead leaves being whisked aside by an autumn wind, reluctantly revealing a new growth until being blanketed in death once more. Astarion’s hand quickly retracted, realizing he made a vital mistake. “I—,” he began, flustered, unsuccessfully quelling the contortions in his stomach. Anxiety raged through him, tingling his skin in a domino effect. “Will you just go shove off somewhere for a bit?!” 

Tav backed away. Crestfallen. Betrayed. Shifting her eyes back and forth as her skin pinched between her brows. He dipped his chin, shunning himself for every time he felt a modicum of emotion towards her. 

Her back turned on him, beginning to trudge in the direction of a broken stained-glass pane. “Don’t follow me,” she insisted, tears filling the lower ridge of her eyelids as she pivoted halfway to observe him. “I mean it.” 

As she left, Astarion’s vision floated to the prayer book that lay deserted next to where Tav once stood, unable to shake the thought that whatever she lost, the gods must've forsaken her too.

Promised Protector

Sypnosis - When a particularly pushy Araj begins to make Astarion revert to a past self that he had been trying so desperately to grow from, it leaves you to step in. It leaves Astarion with a small realization -- you did care for him, really truly cared for him.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, mentions of abuse (physical and sexual), Araj being an ass, slightly OOC Astarion

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N - Trying my hand at BG3 fanfiction. I have yet to actually play the game, so I'm going purely based off of the playthroughs of others and random clips that I've found sprinkled around YouTube. I do plan to write more for this little vampiric shit, so y'all can leave requests for him as well!

“Must we be here darling? I’m not rather fond of dungeons with … medieval torture devices.”

You bite back the breathy chuckle in your throat as you continue forward, eyes expertly searching your surroundings to ensure that no creature in the dark would ambush you or Astarion. 

“For a creature that usually prefers the dark, you’re quite the complainer,” you bite back, tilting your head to cast a glance at the vampire over your shoulder. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shooting you a warning glare – one that you laugh off. 

“And for a creature as clumsy as yourself, you’re doing quite well in avoiding any potential traps.” Astarion’s eyebrow raises as you now shoot him a glare. His shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug as he moves to walk in sync with you, scarlet eyes scanning his surroundings before they allow themselves to return to you.

“I am not clumsy. It was one time,” you roll your eyes, continuing forward and clenching your jaw as Astarion dares to chuckle at your side. “Rich coming from the one who threw a tantrum even after I revived him.”

“Darling, need I remind you that you dropped an entire building on my head?” Astarion whips his head to the side to face you, his eyes narrowed now in a pointed glare that only brings a wide smile to your face. In any other situation, he too would have smiled simply at the sight of your own, but your revealed teeth only make his chest twist in faux anger. 

“And need I remind you that it was an accident?” 

“In what world is dropping a building on someone an accident?” Astarion murmurs under his breath, stopping when you do. Your eyes flicker to a figure standing just a few feet in front of you – a drow. 

She turns as your footsteps and Astarion’s become more audible, curiosity painting itself onto your face as you both approach. Her eyebrows raise, and you’re not sure if her expression is one of intrigue. 

“Hello,” you say politely, bowing your head in greeting as the drow eyes you curiously, irises raking over the entirety of your figure before they curiously flicker to peer at Astarion. 

“Araj Obladra, a pleasure,” the drow returns just as politely as you, her head dipping in the same bow that you had offered her. “How nice it is to stand in the presence of a True Soul … and her paled companion.”

Astarion’s eyes roll at the nickname, you catch it just out of the corner of your eye. But you choose to ignore it for the sake of not wanting to stir up any unnecessary drama – you had come to Araj for a reason, after all. 

“I’ve traveled to inquire about your services if you’re willing to provide them,” you explain, already noticing a glint in Araj’s eye. You’re not quite sure what expression it’s meant to convey, but from the way that she shifts from one foot to another, your gut tells you that it may not be the most positive. 

Another thing you notice … how her gaze continuously flickers to Astarion. 

“But of course,” Araj replies without hesitation, angling her body so that it faces Astarion rather than you. Your eyes narrow, brows momentarily pinching together. Just what was she playing at?

“You seem … interested in my pale friend here,” you think aloud, immediately wishing that you could swallow your words the moment that you register both Astarion and Araj’s reactions. 

“It is not every day that one encounters a vampire spawn,” Araj notes, the term bringing a disgusting taste to Astarion’s tongue. His nose scrunches in that same disgust, and for a moment, a flicker of anger dares to flare up within the depths of your chest. “After all, in exchange for blood, I craft potions.”

A hum rumbles in your throat, though you say nothing. Araj continues, choosing to ignore the expression you wear – the anger that you so clearly display. 

“All I truly need is a single drop, and then whatever potion you require … well, I can brew it,” she explains, finally moving from where she stands to circle you and Astarion. It reminds you of a predatory lion, one with slit-like pupils that eyes its prey before promptly pouncing on it. 

“And with the rest of it?” you prompt with a raise of your eyebrow. “My blood, I mean.”

“I shall keep it for myself … other potions need to be crafted, as you well know.”

She steps forward, extending her hand and holding her palm out to you. For a moment, you simply think, pondering whether or not you should even trust the drow – especially considering how her eyes still dared to flicker to Astarion. Why was she so interested in him?

You can sense Astarion’s worry from over your shoulder, the feeling rippling off of him like rolling ocean waves. But even with it, you lay your palm over Araj’s. 

“There, finished,” Araj says, already stepping back from you the moment that your skin comes into contact with her own. Her eyes, once again, meet Astarion’s. 

“And now wh—“

Araj’s attention turns completely now to Astarion, who momentarily falters underneath her gaze. His worry for you morphs silently into disgust directed at the drow. 

“There’s still much to discuss,” Araj comments, a smirk just barely pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Such as your paled companion.”

Astarion glances at you, and in return, he’s met with an expression of suppressed anger and jealousy — that would be a conversation for later, he dictates. 

“He’s a vampire, is he not? Or vampire spawn?” Araj’s eyes wander over Astarion, drifting down his entire body and ignoring the way that his eyes narrow in a glare at her. She turns then back to you, once again choosing to ignore the fury that glints in the depths of your eyes. 

“He belongs to you, am I correct?”

If you weren’t angry before, you were now. Your eyes flicker to Astarion, his expression a mixture of hurt and shock – it was one that you had never seen him wear before, and with the way it made your heart positively crack, you never wanted to see it again. 

“The last I checked, he was his own person,” you turn to Araj angrily, “he does not belong to anyone.” 

Araj bites back the chuckle that threatens to crawl up her throat, lifting a hand in front of her mouth as she laughs breathily into the skin of her palm. Your teeth grind against each other, jaw setting into place as the drow regains herself. 

“Oh, you were serious?” Her eyebrow lifts, the sight of it taking everything in you to not lunge at her and promptly wedge the blade of your dagger into the skin of her neck. “It’s adorable really … if he truly believes you, that is.”

Astarion swears he could hear one of your teeth chip with how roughly you set your jaw into place. His eyes wander down to your hands, taking note of how they clench into white-knuckled fists. Your fingers itch towards the blade in its holster, but you fight the urge to remove it. 

“Does your spawn have a name?” Araj shifts her attention back to Astarion, eyeing him once again. He opens his mouth to speak, but with a speed that feels almost inhuman, you answer for him. 

“His name is Astarion, and if you dare to call him my spawn again, I will surely–”

“Now, now darling!” Astarion’s hand closes around your mouth, palm pressing to your lips as he flashes you a too-sweet smile – hoping to whatever God was above him that you wouldn’t turn your anger onto him and plunge a dagger between his eyebrows. “Let’s be civil, yes?”

You bite back the angered insult that bubbles up in your chest, swallowing your words and settling back on your feet. Astarion nods, slowly removing his hand from your mouth before he turns to Araj.

“It’s been quite the dream of mine, being bit by a vampire … spawn or the like,” Araj explains, her tone taking on an almost dream-like lull. You can already feel the bile rising in your throat.

And it seems that Astarion shares your sentiment, what with the way that his eyebrows raised and his lips curled in that adorable little scowl. 

“I’ll have to decline,” Astarion is quick to answer, shaking his head and taking a tentative step away from Araj, almost as if he’s trying to hide his body behind your own. You allow it, going so far as to then sidestep him and stand protectively in front of him – an action that he smiles gently at. 

“I’ll compensate–”

“He said no, thank you very much,” you butt in, glaring down your nose at the overbearing drow. She falters on her feet for a moment, but just as quickly, she recollects herself. “We’ll be going now.”

You turn on your heel, reaching swiftly for Astarion’s hand before promptly leaving – not once sparing a glance to the disappointed drow over your shoulder. 

< … >

“Darling?” Astarion hesitantly lifts the flap of your tent, ducking beneath it and entering. You hum from where you sit at your desk, tilting your head slightly to show your acknowledgment. “Are you alright? Your lively presence was missed. You left me to deal with … them … on my own.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you turn in your seat to look at Astarion. At the sight of your face, he falters, his expression softening. 

“You’re still upset over that vile drow, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am Astarion!” you rise from your place, throwing your hands up. He flinches, not having expected a violent outburst from you. 

“She … she thought that I had ownership of you! All because of what, the fact that you’re a spawn and not a vampire? The nerve of some creatures disgusts me! I mean honestly–!”

“Darling.”

You pause, head lifting so that your gaze finally meets Astarion’s awaiting gaze. His eyes are soft as they gaze at you, lips turned upward in a smile of equal softness. He approaches you, offering his hands to you – which you take without hesitation. 

“I want you to know that I … appreciate what you did for me today,” Astarion admits quietly, speaking low enough that you could barely hear him. “It has been many years since I was able to choose my own.”

You soften, squeezing at his hands. “Astarion, you deserve to have your own voice. Nobody should be able to control what you do besides … well … you.”

He draws you closer to his chest, arms locking around your waist as his face buries itself into your hair. You chuckle lightly, returning his embrace and laying your face against his shoulder. 

For 200 years, Astarion had never known the sound of his own voice. 

But now?

Now he knew the sound of it, and he knew that it mattered. 

Can you write one where Astarion realizes that Tav is acting strangely because it's actually Orin and the actual Tav is kidnapped by her?? Thank you so much and I love your work!!

A/N - Oh my god I absolutely adore the trope of kidnapped lover being rescued (the parasites in me crave the angst). I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun writing it! So thank you @fanficlov-3-r <3

I Know You

Preview - "And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, '(Y/N) isn't amongst us.'"

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, canon BG3 violence

Word Count - 3.9k

Astarion prided himself on his ability to have memorized everything about you, from how your nose scrunched when you saw something you disliked to how your eyes sparkled when you noticed him staring at you from across the fire. It was those little things that simply made you … well … you. 

Which was why he found it very offputting when he noticed your excessive alcohol intake while attending a Tiefling party. Yes, you liked to indulge in a glass of wine or two while you chatted happily with Astarion or any of your other companions – but never had he seen you cradle an entire bottle of wine to yourself and drink it in its entirety. 

But that behavior was only one of multiple that he had noticed throughout the night; you were dancing with any Tiefling who offered their hand, you seemed to stray away from him and the others throughout the night, and the smile you wore did not reach your eyes in the slightest. It seemed fake, similar to the smiles that Astarion had once flashed at you to get your clothes off. 

“Is it just me or does (Y/N) seem a little … off?” Shadowheart comments, her eyebrow raising as she watches you indulge another Tiefling in a drunken dance. You stumble over both your feet and his own, a detail that both she and Astarion narrow their eyes at. 

For an oh-so-grateful leader, you were being careless tonight. 

Astarion’s eyes follow those of Shadowheart’s, landing on you just as you are finishing a dance with your fifth Tiefling of the night. He bows to you shakily, and in return, you curtsy – another move that Astarion had never thought he would see you perform. 

“I must say that I agree with Shadowheart. Excuse me for a moment,” Astarion abandons his half-empty wine glass, sliding it across the bar. The bartender raises a brow at Astarion, but says nothing. 

You chuckle heartily as a Tiefling female approaches you, in her hands a sparkling glass of champagne. You take it from her the moment it’s offered, just about to bring it to your lips before a pale hand clasps over your shoulder. 

“Ah-ah darling, I think that’s enough with the drinking for one night,” Astarion says with a fanged smile, angling himself so that he’s able to pluck the champagne glass from your hands quickly. You turn to him, eyebrows pinched together in an expression that mixes frustration and shock – as if you had been caught doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Come off Astarion, I can indulge if I so choose,” you retort quickly, fingers extending towards your glass. Astarion lifts his arm, the glass just barely out of your reach. “You are indulging tonight, are you not?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling against your shoulder as his scarlet eyes rake over your figure. Something was wrong, it wasn’t just your general composure – it was everything down to the very way that you stood on your own two feet. 

“While that is true, I am watching what I indulge in,” Astarion says, already glancing at Shadowheart, who nods knowingly. She mumbles something inaudibly then to Gale, and soon a secret message is relayed over all of your companions. 

The Tiefling female had long since left your side, only adding to your annoyance that Astarion had come to your side. You turn sharply to face him, eyes narrowing at him. 

“And just explain to me why you thought it necessary to disrupt my fun?” you snap, glaring daggers into the vampire who stands in front of you. Astarion merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. His eyes flicker over you again, and it is in that moment that he realizes something … you were most certainly not you. 

And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, “(Y/N) isn’t amongst us.” 

“Because I know you (Y/N), and right now,” Astarion pauses only to yank you closer, lowering his lips to your ear. “You are not who you say that you are.”

You freeze in his arms, eyes flickering to look at him. The crease in your eyebrows vanishes, your expression of frustration replaced now by one of shock. “What are you on about?”

“Oh come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” Astarion growls, his grip over your wrist tightening, “I know (Y/N), and she would never indulge in such things of her own accord.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not protesting as a very angered Astarion drags you out of the Tiefling party. He is quickly flanked by Shadowheart and the others, none of whom offer you looks of sympathy – if anything, they look just as angered as the vampire in front of you. 

The moment that your feet touch camp, your wrists and ankles are promptly tied by Karlach, who offers you no answers even as you demand to know what in the hells is going on. Astarion stands quietly at her side, his arms folded over his chest whilst his mind promptly races.

Where were you? Who was sitting in your place? Where the hells were you?

With a singular wave of his hand over your body, Gale reveals Orin to the others, then steps back and glares down his nose at her. In response, her lips only turn upward in a grin, one that sends a shiver down the spines of those that surround her. 

“Where is–”

“Oh please, save me the dramatics,” Orin says with a roll of her eyes, adjusting herself so that she sits comfortably. Her attention moves to Astarion, her smile widening at the sight of the expression that he wears. 

“You have five minutes to answer our questions before–”

Orin’s head tilts in Lae’zel’s direction, her eyes crinkling as her smile widens impossibly further. Her lips part, a delighted chuckle falling from her lips. “Before what? You kill me? If I die, (Y/N)’s location dies with me.”

In a flash of white and silver, the blade of a dagger is pressed against the skin of Orin’s neck, pressed down just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. Astarion kneels in front of Orin, narrowed eyes glaring daggers into her as his lips pull back in an angered growl. 

“You will reveal (Y/N)’s location lest you want to end up a paled mess on the ground.” He was shocked by how much your disappearance had affected him – especially considering that he was supposed to be keeping his affection for you a secret from the others. 

There was a reason behind his secrecy, however, a reason that you had agreed with when he had first proposed the idea to you. It was for your safety, for your protection. But it seemed like even with that … he still couldn’t keep the one thing that kept him sane safe. 

Orin chuckles, leaning forward so that her nose just barely grazes his own. He can feel her breath as it fans over his face – it disgusts him. 

“Is that so?” Her head tilts, another delighted chuckle bubbling up her throat and spilling over her lips. Astarion pushes the blade further against her, ignoring the yells of warning delivered by the other members of the party. 

His eyes narrow, his eyebrows pinch together, and his expression hardens. Orin only chuckles again, sighing dreamily in a way that reminds Astarion of a hopelessly lovesick girl. Gods, what he would give to plunge the blade of his dagger into her neck. 

“Fine, but I hope you know I’m not yielding because of your … intimidation,” Orin murmurs, pouting childishly as Astarion pulls her to her feet, still glaring at her. He says nothing as he drags her past the others, not checking over his shoulder to see that the others have followed him.

< … >

Another chilled shiver runs up the length of your spine, using your vertebrae as a ladder. You turn uncomfortably onto your side, trying once again to tug your ankles from their shackles. All you’re met with is the sound of rattling metal. 

It had been a few hours … or perhaps even a few days since you last saw the others. You didn’t know – perhaps time worked differently when you were captured. 

The last you remembered, you were walking silently along a forest pathway with Astarion a few feet behind you. You were engrossed in the beauty of the willow trees that hung silently over you, their branches serving you the beautiful luxury of shade that covered you from the sun’s blaring rays. 

Just as you turned a corner in the forest, a cold hand that wasn’t Astarion’s clasped over your own, tugging you away into a forest patch. One good knock to the side of the head … and that was the last that you were able to clearly remember. 

When you awoke, your ankles were shackled to a wall and your wrists were bound with rope, rubbing uncomfortably against your skin and leaving behind angry red marks. 

Your body had been littered with marks; cuts, bruises, and gashes. At first, they hadn’t hurt you at all – but you blamed that entirely on your adrenaline. Now every cut burned, every bruise ached, and every gash felt as though it would never stop bleeding. 

Surely every vampiric creature within a 50-mile radius could smell your blood … especially considering how much of it lay in a disgusting puddle surrounding your body. 

A shaky breath escapes you, one that you surely hoped would be your last. Your teary eyes flicker around the cell that you’d been thrown into; the cell that lacked even so much as a window. You were completely disconnected from the outside world, and for a singular moment, you thought that maybe you had died. 

And maybe you were okay with that now … with dying. 

Even though for so long you had tried your hardest to protect everyone – practically throwing your life down on the line for the lives of your companions – being captured was making you realize something. 

Maybe they didn’t care about you nearly as much as you cared about them.

If they cared, they would be searching for you. If they cared, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in some dank old cell with no way to know what time of day it was. If they cared … they would prove it, wouldn’t they?

A choked sob claws its way up your throat, legs curling inward. You wrap your arms around them, hugging them against your chest as your body curls inward into a fetal position. 

They didn’t care. Not Gale, not Karlach, not Lae’zel, not Shadowheart. 

Not even Astarion.

Astarion …

After everything that you had done for him. You had spared him that morning while walking with Shadowheart. You had let him stay in your camp even though he spat venomous insults each time you interacted politely with him. Hells, you had even let the damn man feed on you. 

In exchange for your blood, he was letting you rot alone in a cell. 

So much for helping others, you think quietly to yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks as your lashes flutter shut. A gentle numbness spreads over you as if someone had draped a blanket over you. It felt nice. It felt safe. 

Your shoulders relax, your lips part. 

One gentle breath falls from your lips before all goes silent.

< … >

“Come on now, I’ve led you right to where she is! The least you can do is entertain a conversation,” Orin complains loudly, huffing childishly as Astarion continues shoving her forward. 

There was no lie to her words, she had led Astarion and the others to where she had thrown you – a dimly lit dungeon hallway that was only filled with the sounds of low groans and dripping water, but even those had become scarce the longer that they walked. 

“The only thing I’ll entertain is your demise,” Astarion bites out, though he desperately wishes that he had kept his mouth shut. Orin doesn’t fail to catch the tremble in his voice – the vulnerability that seeps from his words. 

Her lips curl, another delighted chuckle rumbling somewhere deep inside of her chest. Her eyes flicker to catch a glimpse of Astarion’s profile, her chuckle deepening as she notices the emotional turmoil sketched into his features. 

“I wonder what you will do to me when you realize that she’s–”

“Hush,” Astarion hisses, reaching down and yanking the bonds around Orin’s wrist. The rub of the rope against her skin is enough to silence her. “Not another word out of you, wench.”

Orin stifles the small whimper of pain that had threatened to fall from her lips, instead turning to the cell that they were nearing; your cell. 

At the sight of the metal bars and uneven stones, she giggles. Astarion passes her off to Shadowheart, ignoring the cleric’s protests as he approaches the cell. 

“Oh shit.”

The world seems to go completely silent at the sight that lies before Astarion’s eyes, a sight that he immediately wishes that he could forget. 

You lay on your side with your back facing the cell’s door, blood – your blood – surrounding you in a crimson puddle. The bits of skin that Astarion can see are littered with cuts and bruises, your legs covered in gashes that continue to drip with fresh blood. 

In any other situation, Astarion would have marveled at both the sight and smell of your blood … perhaps even allowed himself to indulge in it. 

But now?

Gods, he had never been more disgusted by any one sight or smell. 

“Astarion? What’s – oh my Gods,” Karlach raises a hand to her mouth, palm covering her lips as she gazes upon the same sight as Astarion. The others join her, and each of them falls silent. “You take … her … and get out of here.”

Shadowheart nods, shooting Orin a sharpened glare before tugging the shapeshifter back down the way that they had come, ignoring her yells of protests and the way that she struggles against the ropes that bind her wrists together. 

With one tug at the already worn-down metal, Karlach disconnects the bars of the cell. She steps inside, carefully approaching you before copying her previous actions and removing the shackles from around your ankles. 

“(Y/N)?” she murmurs down to you, lightly shaking your shoulder while simultaneously trying to be sure that she does not burn you – the last she wants is to add to your injuries. 

She’s pushed aside by Astarion, who kneels beside you and feels his breath hitch at the sight of your paled face. Your cheeks have lost their usual rosy color, replaced instead by a white that looked as though it could rival the color of his hair. 

“Shit,” is the only thing that he’s able to say properly before he scoops you into his arms. He shakes on his feet for a moment, the sudden weight in his arms debilitating his balance. He says nothing as he strides past the others, making a beeline for the exit.

< … >

The first thing that you feel is a dull ache, then followed by a wave of pain that has you shooting upright and promptly vomiting onto whatever surface happens to be beside you. The moment you’ve finished emptying your stomach, a piece of cloth is offered to you by a pale hand – a familiar one this time. 

Hesitantly, you take it, dabbing the cloth against your mouth before looking up to who had handed it to you. 

“Astarion?”

“That would be my name, yes darling,” Astarion responds, though his tone doesn’t hold his usual flirtatious lilt that you had grown so used to. No, he sounds exhausted … it made you wonder just how long he had sat at your bedside. 

Your eyes roam over him, taking note of the tiny, barely-there bags that rest beneath his eyes. For a man who cared so deeply about appearance, he surely looked as though he had let himself go … likely because of you.

As much as you wish to take him into your arms and comfort you, a fleeting thought passes through your mind — he had taken his sweet time in finding you. 

If the roles had been reversed, and it had been Astarion who was taken from you, you already knew that you would have searched Heaven and Earth trying to find him. No stone would have been left unturned, no witness left unspoken to … you would have stopped at nothing. 

But it felt as though Astarion hadn’t cared enough, if he had, you wouldn’t have been as badly wounded as you were. You wouldn’t have laid in that cell for as long as you have, not that you knew the length of time in which you had been missing anyway. 

Astarion’s head lifts at the sound of you rustling, body scooting back from him until your spine rests against the headboard of your bed. You lift your knees to your chest, hugging around them. 

“Darling?”

You remain silent, but you allow your eyes to raise to meet his awaiting gaze. He waits patiently, though you can’t help but feel as though he’s analyzing you.

“How long have I been gone?” you ask. Astarion pauses, scarlet eyes flickering away from you. He swallows, you can see the emotional turmoil that swims in his eyes. Answer me, you usher in your mind. 

“Orin wouldn’t tell us,” Astarion answers honestly, voice wavering as he recounts his angered questioning of the shapeshifter. She had only giggled in his presence and “answered” his question with another question of her own. 

You remain silent, nodding to yourself as you glance down at the bandages that adorn your arms and legs. It makes you wonder if Astarion had patched you himself … or perhaps he had made one of your other companions do it. 

You lift your head, noticing now that Astarion’s attention was focused elsewhere. His expression looks identical to your own — caught in his own mind. Guilt. 

Did he feel guilty?

“Does anything—“ he pauses to clear his throat, “—anything hurt you?”

”Just my arms and legs,” you answer. Astarion nods, inhaling deeply and shifting in his chair. For some twisted reason, you want him to stand up and leave. Maybe it was to further prove your point, or maybe you just wanted to be alone. 

You’d never really know the true answer. 

He hums, nodding to himself before he shifts again. For a fleeting moment, he debates on whether or not he should stand and exit — it was clear that you wanted your space anyway. 

Astarion knew you … and he knew that right now, you certainly didn’t want him around. Never were you short with him, but your tone insinuated that you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Not that he could honestly blame you. 

And so, he stands from his chair. You don’t lift your head to look at him again … telling. 

“Why did you take so long to come for me?”

He freezes, feeling as though someone had doused him in freezing water. His back stands rigid; you could see the way that his spine visibly tenses the moment that his mind processes what it was that you had asked him. 

You snap your jaw shut the moment that the words fall from your lips, regret filling your senses. Sheepishly, you look down, staring at your lap and screwing your eyes shut. 

You freeze at the feeling of arms wrapping over your shoulders, tugging you against a chest that you had spent many nights resting against. His skin felt cold against yours, a welcome contrast to the heat that was currently making you very uncomfortable. 

Astarion’s cheek rests against the side of your head, his hands squeezing at your waist while also being mindful of the injuries that you had sustained. He sighs shakily into your hair, feeling himself relax as he feels you reciprocate his embrace. 

“The moment that I realized that I was not interacting with you, I went out to find you,” Astarion confesses, holding you tighter as he recounts the fear in the moment when he realized that you were not you. 

You remain silent, simply soaking up the comfort that Astarion’s arms provides you with. Your head rests comfortably in the junction that connects his neck and his shoulder, nose buried into his neck. 

“You have … absolutely no idea how frightened I was,” he whispers, his voice so low that it even the rustle of the blankets overpowered his words. His arms shake where they rest around your waist, his fingernails just barely digging into the exposed skin of your waist. “The prospect of losing you–”

“Astarion.”

He pauses, feeling you shift in his arms. Without any word of protest, he releases you, settling onto his knees on the bed in front of you. You adjust yourself, then reach out to take his hands into your own. 

Astarion flinches. You pause, waiting for him to say something to you. He doesn’t, and so you take it as an okay to continue. Your fingers squeeze his own, the action directing his eyes to your own. 

You stay silent for a second or two, simply taking in the way that Astarion’s eyes soften at you. His usually sharp scarlet eyes are glazed over now with a new emotion – guilt. Guilt over not being there for you, guilt over not saving you sooner …

… guilt that you had gotten hurt. 

“Darling, if I had the chance to save you sooner, know that I would have taken it without a second of hesitation,” Astarion admits, shifting an inch closer to you. You feel the tears building along your waterline, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you attempt to suppress the sobs that begin to bubble up somewhere in your chest. 

One of his hands releases yours, hesitantly laying against your face. He thumbs away the tears in your eyes, sighing as you crumple and reach for him again. Astarion doesn’t waste a single second, wrapping you in his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

“I thought that,” you hiccup, “you and the others had forgotten about me.”

His arms tighten around you at that declaration, chest promptly collapsing it on itself as he realizes just how scared you had been. He doesn’t want to imagine what you must have been thinking in that cell, likely thinking about if you would ever be saved.

If he would ever come for you.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair, fingers stroking comforting circles into the small of your back. “I would never forget you, ever.”

“You are the first thing in my entire life that makes me feel … feel something. Something other than burning hatred. You make this wretched world worth living in.”

You squeeze at him, hands bunching up his shirt from behind. He doesn’t bring attention to it, letting you cling to him with as much force as you need. 

“And I’m not going to let you go. Not now, not ever,” he promises you. You close your eyes, sighing shakily through your nose. He can feel your nod against his chest, his cheek leaning further into your hair. 

And that night, when the glistening moon hung over your tent and signaled to your companions that it was time to rest, Astarion remained at your side – fulfilling his promise.

He wasn’t going to let you feel that scared again. Not now, not ever.