[An Astarion x Tav/Durge/Oc snippet + bonus drawing in between]
The camp had long since settled into an uneasy quiet silence. Firelight flickered low, reduced to embers that glowed like watchful prying eyes in the dark. The others focused in soft conversation, Gale preparing and yapping over the dinner he was fixated on, Shadowheart half-listening, Lae’zel sharpening the steel of her sword with rhythmic precision. It was the kind of fragile peace that only came after a long day of bloodshed.
Elvira had returned later than the rest. No one stopped her when she slipped past the firelight, no one noticed the way her steps were stiff and uneasy, just slightly noticeable though, or how her jaw had been set too tight, as though she were holding herself together through a pain alone.
She always did.
By the time she reached her bedroll, the world had narrowed to quiet yet muffled voices from the other camp members. She peeled off her outer layers, exchanging armor for the loose clothing, familiar comfort of her camp clothes, dark fabric, it felt soft against skin that still remembered the weight of battle. Only then, when she finally sat, did she allow herself to breathe alone, but that was when she saw it.
A slow, dark stain blooming through the bandages wrapped around her ankle.
—“…Tch.”— It was minor. It had to be... Just a poorly placed step during the fight, a twist, maybe a cut, nothing worth slowing down for. She had wrapped it quickly before returning, layered cloth and bandage over it, ignored the dull pain that had followed her every step back to camp. But now the bleeding kept persisting.
The smell followed soon after, sharp, metallic and... Fresh.
Elvira reached the nearest tree to support herself and give herself a breather, trying to not worry her friends.
—“Gods, you are insufferable.”— The voice came from behind her, smooth and edged with irritation, it was Astarion.
The pale elf stood just next to the nearest tree, expression twisted in something between annoyance and something far less innocent. His gaze dropped immediately to her ankle, and though his lips curled, his eyes sharpened, not with concern alone. Hunger did an appearance there.
—“You reek,”— he added, almost accusingly and filled with sarcasm. —“Do you make a habit of bleeding all over camp, or is this a special treat just for me?”—
Elvira didn’t look up. —“If you’re that bothered, you can leave.”—
—“Oh, I am bothered, all right.”— Astarion stepped closer, slow, almost threatening. —“Just not in the way you’d like.”—
She exhaled sharply, already moving to change the wrapping of the bandage. —“It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it.”—
—“That,”— Astarion said boldly, —“is precisely the problem. You never deal with your struggles.”—
Before Elvira could respond, he huffs and turns away, as if dismissing her presence entirely. The conversation ended as abruptly as it began, or that's what she thought.
Dinner time finally came, as it always did, with its loud routine. Gale away from taking over the cooking earlier, sleeves rolled, he was also serving his carefully prepared dish, blabbering to himself as if he cooked something that smelled far better than it had any right to. Normally, Elvira would be there beside him, measuring, adjusting, a helpful cooking assistant. But tonight, she wasn’t there.
She walked near the edge of the camp instead, seated, her injured ankle stretched just slightly away from her. The bandage remained, though darker now once again after changing it, the fabric was clinging where it shouldn’t. She told herself she’d stand in a moment. Help in a moment. Just... One breath more.
—“You’re not going anywhere.”—
The words came from directly behind her this time, before she could turn to face the vampire, the world shifted...
...And suddenly she was no longer on the ground.
—“Astarion! What in the hells?!”— The protest came sharp and immediate as she was lifted cleanly off her feet, slung unceremoniously over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. —“Put me down,”— Elvira snapped out of her rather non-chalant behavior, heat rising to her face, not from pain, but from sheer indignation. —“I can walk.”—
—“Yes darling, I’ve seen your idea of walking,”— he replied annoyingly, already walking. —“Bleeding across the ground like some tragic painting. Very dramatic. Completely impractical.”—
—“I am not!”—
—“Still,”— he cut her in, grip firm as he carried her through camp, utterly ignoring the looks from the camp members beginning to turn their way, —“if you insist on behaving like an oh so tough leader who can't be weakened, the least I can do is relocate you somewhere less… public.”—
—“Astarion.”— Elvira called, with a sharp and deadly tone.
—“Yes dear?”—
—“I'm going to beat the shit out of you.”—
He smiled faintly, amused by this reaction. —“Ah... Oh well, you’ll have to get down first.”—
Her complaints did not stop. They only grew quieter as he ignored every single one of them. By the time he reached her tent, he lowered her with far more care than he’d shown in picking her up, towards her bedroll. The shift was subtle, but unmistakable.
—“Now behave and stay still,”— Astarion said, almost lazily, though his tone left little room for argument.
Elvira frowned. —“Listen, I wasn’t gonna...”—
—“Stay.”— This time, it was more calm yet, firmer and demanding. And so, despite her nature, she listened and didn’t move.
Astarion crouched in front of her, hands already reaching for her ankle. For a moment, she tensed out of instinct, not of fear of course, but his touch, when it came, was unexpectedly gentle and careful.
—“…You’re bleeding through,”— he murmured, more to himself than to her.
—“Yep, I noticed.”—
—“Well clearly not enough to do anything about it.”— His fingers worked at the bandages, unwrapping them slowly, deliberately, as though he were peeling back a present so delicate rather than removing a hastily applied dressing.
Elvira watched him, something unreadable settling in her expression. —"But I did change the bandages multiple times..."—
—"Only changing the bandages won't be enough."— He continued, as the cloth came away in layers, each one more stained than the last.
“Listen, you don’t have to...”
—“Oh, I know, I don't.”— he said softly.
The final layer came loose. The wound beneath was not deep, but it had been poorly treated, reopened by strain, edges irritated, blood still welling slowly where it shouldn’t.
Astarion’s gaze lingered on it for far too long.
In a heartbeat, the air shifted.
His thumb brushed lightly along her ankle, just below the cut, not touching it, not yet... Testing. Tracing the warmth of her skin and blood. —“You’re so reckless,”— he said with a voice quieter now. —“It’s… irritating.”—
Elvira huffed faintly. —“You’ve mentioned it before.”—
—“And you never listen.”—
—“Also noted.”—
His lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained fixated on the wound, then, without breaking that focus, he reached for a clean cloth, pressing it gently against the cut, cleaning it properly. The motion was practiced, precise, but there was something else beneath it. Something slower. Intentional. His long fingers slid back, brushing her skin again as he checked the bleeding once again.
He lifted his hand, a faint smear of red stained his fingertips. For a moment, he simply looked at it, admiring the color. —“…You really should take better care of yourself,”— Astarion stated, now with a tone rather worried and lost. Elvira’s breath caught, not from pain this time, but from the shift in his tone. There was something darker, a quiet intention.
His gaze shifted up to hers, crimson eyes meeting hers with a feeling that lingered far too long to be just casual.
Then, slowly...
He brought his fingers to his lips, deliberately.
His tongue brushed over the blood, expression shifting not with wild hunger, but with something far more controlled, measured, appreciative, intimate.
The tension between them tightened, sharp as a drawn wire.
—“Elvira,”— he said softly, lowering his hand again, —“if you insist on making a bloody mess of yourself…”— His thumb returned to her ankle, pressing just lightly on top of the fabric covering the wound. —“…at least allow someone competent to clean it up.”—
How ironic, a vampire? Taking care of his prey? In what kind of world are we living in?
Yet still, Elvira instead of teasing him, she understood the seriousness of the situation. She kept the silence and nodded, it was enough of an answer for Astarion.
HELLOOO I bring a fanfic this time 😭🙏 I hope u guys enjoy it along with the doodle! Thanks for the support so far :3 I appreciate it💖 Depending on how this goes, I miiight post more fanfictions if you guys are interested ^_^
Have you wondered why Elvira has different eye colors sometimes? Here's why!
Dark Urge (when she battles it or keeps it) her eyes are notable red just like The Dark Urge (The Dragonborn)
Yet, when Dark Urge finally dies, her eyes turn into a notable white/silver, which shows how her eyesight has been deteriorated. Elvira has been dealing with this struggle, yet before the kidnapping ever happened and before The Dark Urge possessed her body, her eyes were moss green. Her eyesight was always bad, yet after recovering from Dark Urge it went worse. She can at least see things but rather blurry, in fact, I think if she had a modern AU she would wear glasses with a lot of zoom on them xD
Guys look at this beautiful commission I got from @/brabbitwdl16 💖 I'm really happy with this 🥺💖 I should post more commissions and art trades I've gotten so far hehe
Also! I got a lot of fanfics about them as well, I'm motivated to start posting them 💖 Thanks for the support lately guys!
Hello guys! I haven't made new art:( but I asked for my friend's permission to repost the art they had made for Astarion and Elvira! So I might start posting everyday with a beautiful artwork either commissioned or made by my wonderful friends :3❤️
This one is an art trade, big credits to @velvettechoes on IG, follow her pls my friend is very talented! 💖💖💖💖
ellievsbear
areudirty
jacobvanloon
stormborns
dededos
