Chapter summary: A long overdue conversation is finally had and things take a turn....
Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav
Warnings: 18+. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mentions of past trauma.
Word count: 5.7k
Series Masterlist . Ao3
If you could have it your way, you'd immediately cast Mage Hand and shove Ava through the deepest pits of the Underdark, all the way down to Grymforge and until she was faced with molten lava rivers coursing below her.
Whether you'd drop her or not would entirely depend on a set of answers you intended on squeezing out of her – quite literally, if possible.
You crossed your arms, watching as the woman dressed in a burgundy red dress made her way inside, holding that nauseating and overly sweet smile of hers.
She came bearing a satchel, which she handed to Astarion as soon as she stood before him.
“Are you well?” she asked, holding his free hand momentarily.
He gave her a dramatic sigh. “Within reason. It's hardly an ideal scenario, but I'll manage.”
She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, nodding with supposed concern on her face.
Something about the way she looked at him made you want to gauge your eyes out.
Ugh…
It took an inhuman amount of mental fortitude and no less amount of restraint to keep yourself from scoffing.
Gale gave you an inquisitive side-glance, but remained silent.
“Who's this? Your playmate?”
Ah.
Lae'zel's bluntness could render many speechless and rabid at worst or slightly taken aback at best.
It seemed that Ava fell under an unexpected third category: sheer amusement.
But it was Astarion who spoke for her, “Ever so direct, Lae'zel." He let out a dramatic laugh. "Charming as always."
"I do not care for such frivolities."
His face dropped with an eye-roll. "It was a joke."
"You're the only one laughing."
You had to hold back a chuckle.
Astarion merely glared at her.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “So, who is she? Your hairdresser?”
“This is Lae'zel – a githyanki extraordinaire. Fierce in battle with her sword and off the field with her words, as you can tell.”
Ava extended an arm out to her, earning a scoff from Lae'zel who refused to return the courtesy.
You beamed in joy at her antics.
Astarion moved to your side and Ava immediately spoke up before he could, “Oh, we've already met.”
“Ah, yes. At The Blushing Mermaid?” he said, tapping his chin.
“More than once.”
You scowled. “A single encounter would have been one too many.”
He glared at you, squinting his eyes inquisitively.
“Feisty . I like you already.” she said with a pout.
You considered hexing her right there and then.
Just like with Lae'zel, she extended a hand out to you.
You crossed your arms instead, earning a narrowed glare from Astarion.
Ava's overly sweet smile only widened.
Astarion then waved dismissively at the only person in the room he had yet to introduce.
“Oh - and that is Gale.”
Unlike you and Lae'zel, he moved to take one of Ava's hand in his own before planting a kiss on the back. “Gale of Waterdeep. What a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, madam."
Gale!
The betrayal had you shooting invisible daggers at him through your eyes.
Ava brought a hand to her chest. “What a gentleman.”
Your patience now spent, you moved towards her. “Where did you go after I ran into you at The Blushing Mermaid?”
Ava turned to face you. “A rather intrusive question, dear.”
“Answer it.”
Astarion was scowling already.
“No. I don't think I will.”
You felt the familiar tingles of fire magic spread along the palm of your hand.
“Where were you when we got arrested, then?”
Gale seemed utterly confused and Lae'zel's face twisted in amusement.
Astarion was already on you before you could lunge forward, rooting you in place.
“Would you excuse us for a moment?” he swiftly interjected, effectively silencing you.
Before you could voice out a protest, you felt him tug at your hand until you were pacing in front of him before bringing both hands to grip your shoulders and prevent you from deterring off the intended path.
“Hey!” you huffed in annoyance.
“Do make yourself at home, darling,” you heard his sweet voice behind you.
“I shall.” Ava chirped.
Your temper exploded from their exchange.
“Actually - don't!” You shouted over your shoulder only to earn a warning squeeze from him.
Astarion pushed you rapidly along the corridor until you were being guided into your own room, door slamming closed behind you.
You immediately jerked away from his grip, turning back around with an indignant growl.
“What in the Nine Hells has gotten into you?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Oh, you were so ready to blow up.
“Me? What is she doing here?”
He quirked an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms. “Is this another one of your jealousy tantrums?”
You gasped at his nerve, outrage nearly blinding you for a split second.
“What – no! I am not jealous! I just dislike her!”
He nodded. “Stating the obvious, but why?”
You groaned in exasperation. “Why what? ”
“Why do you dislike her this much? Surely there must be a solid reason – other than jealousy, that is.”
Insufferable and impossible man!
For a moment, you pondered your answer, not wanting your disdain for her to come across as unwarranted.
But you failed.
Miserably.
“She's… icky! There is something really off about her,” you said, sounding far too exasperated to your liking. “I think she…”
You paused briefly, and Astarion furrowed his brows, waiting for you to go on.
Well.
Maybe you should just voice out your suspicions.
“I think she had something to do with us getting arrested - or that man dying. Maybe both.”
He glared at you in silence for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.
“Oh, aren't you just cute?” He said with a click of his tongue. “Ava would gain nothing from such an ordeal.”
You were fuming at his antics, but tried to rein in your temper. “What does that mean?”
“You'll just have to trust me on this.”
What?
“Are you being serious?”
He tilted his head. “I fail to see how my private affairs are of your concern.”
You placed both hands on your hips, glaring at him with perplexity. “You brought her to my home, so it starts being my concern.”
“Please – as if I want to be here in the first place.”
“Then leave.” You immediately suggested, pointing to the door.
He scoffed with a grimace. “Alright. I will.”
“Great.”
“Wonderful.”
He turned to leave, but suddenly halted as he glanced at the covered window to his right.
You crossed your arms, raising your brows. “Well?”
He twirled on his feet, giving you an artificial smile. “Could it perhaps wait until nightfall, darling? I'm afraid ‘burning to ashes under the midday sun’ isn't quite an invigourating activity to indulge in.”
Your shoulders slumped as he disarmed you with his words.
A wave of sickening guilt took hold of you.
Shit.
What a ridiculous thing to have suggested to him, and even more ridiculous that you two just couldn't seem to be on the same page for more than a few hours at a time.
“I'm sorry.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it.”
“I'm really not jealous,” you said with a sigh.
It was true.
For the most part.
“I just worry.”
His features softened and the room plunged into silence.
Astarion eventually broke it with a sigh. “She used to be a monster hunter.”
You arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “A monster hunter?”
He nodded.
You had seen your fair share of monster hunters throughout your travels, and if there was one thing you knew for certain was that Ava did not look the part at all.
“And you trusted her word?”
He snorted. “Kind of hard not to with a stake pressed to my chest.”
Your eyes widened in horror. “She did what?!”
“Do calm down. I was just as skeptical when I first met her, so I foolishly asked for proof,” he said with a shrug. “Let's just say my doubts were put to rest.”
Your mouth dropped open in sheer perplexity.
So Astarion had been meddling with someone who hunted his kind for a living.
This was a whole new level of… derangement. Even coming from him.
You found your voice once again. “And you trusted after that?”
“Yes.”
You blinked. “She hunts… vampires!”
“You never listen to me properly, do you? I said she ‘used’ to be one. She practices Alchemy now.”
A lump rose in your throat. “So…. you and her…”
“Let's just say that we found a sweet spot in between and we each provide something useful to the other.”
You gave him a level look. “An arrangement?”
“I suppose you could call it that.”
Another one? Was Astarion hoarding these? First you and now… her?
And what could she possibly provide him?
And then it was as if your body was engulfed in ice shards.
Wait…
“So… what are the terms?”
Did you even want to know?
He seemed to be wondering whether or not to reply, but eventually spoke, “Well, she helps me feel more at ease in terms of being close to others... intimately.”
Your heart sunk into the deepest pits of your core.
“What?”
Now he looked rather impatient, rolling his eyes. “Do not jump to conclusions. She offered a helping hand once she realised how I... severe this was."
Oh.
“When you walked in on us the other night with her naked by my side… nothing had happened.”
You remembered him telling you this.
“Nothing ever does,” he continued, his words sounding slightly bitter. “So I take comfort in her naked form, but only so that my body can get used to it. Nothing more and nothing less.
A pang of discomfort ran through you and you suddenly felt like an idiot.
The rage you felt towards her dwindled rapidly as you understood the true nature of their arrangement.
Ava was merely helping him out with his intimacy.
“Oh.”
“I suppose ‘oh’ covers it.” he said nonchalantly.
“And what does she get in return?”
He shrugged. “My blood.”
What?!
He had to be joking.
You felt the scalding flames of rage for Ava take over your entire body all at once.
Your jaw dropped and you were at a loss for words.
“You – idiot! ” you growled in a fit of pure outrage, smacking his arm. “A blood merchant?! ”
He was scowling so deeply the lines on his face sank tenfold. “Do you think of me as a child?” he spat, suddenly towering over you. “I treaded this world long before you were even thought into existence.”
“Oh – please do tell me more, you ancient… tree! ” you blurted out, nearly wincing at the weak insult you had just hurled at him.
He snorted. “Your flattery needs working as usual.”
You ignored his taunt. “A blood merchant? Seriously? ”
“She is not one!”
“Then what does she want with your blood?”
“She is doing some research. That is all you need to know,” he ground out between gritted teeth.
Before you could retort, a soft knock on the door was heard.
“Astarion? Ava is leaving,” Gale spoke.
He threw one final scowl at you before heading out.
“Judging from the murderous look on your face, I imagine the conversation wasn't all that pleasant, my friend.”
You clenched your fists tight, brushing past Gale to follow Astarion.
By the time you reached the ample room, you were met with Ava giving his shoulder a tight squeeze.
She gave you a final glare, that sickening smile of hers still dancing on her lips. “I'll be seeing you soon.”
Then she turned to leave as Astarion exchanged a tense look with you.
You felt a gentle hand on your arm and flinched.
Shadowheart.
“If it's of any comfort to you, I am also suspicious of her aura,” she said with a grimace. “Although I can't say I'm surprised he would surround himself with such company.”
Heaving a deep sigh, you sank on the nearby cushioned chair.
She lowered herself at your side, offering you an all-black vial.
You raised a brow. “What is this?”
As you had come to expect from Shadowheart, she gave you the warmest of smiles. “Lavander extract mixed in with some herbs. It is said to keep the worst terrors of the night at bay,” she said, giving your forearm a gentle squeeze. “The apothecary did mention it is only a temporary fix. You must address the root cause of these dreams, friend.”
Your eyes immediately landed on Astarion who was busy emptying the contents of the satchel Ava had brought him.
Shadowheart followed your line of sight and gave you a knowing nod. “The two of you speak but neither listens, and I care too much for you to watch your light dim for him.”
You swallowed hard.
She was right.
Of course she was.
You took the tiny vial in your hand. “Thank you, my friend.”
She nodded curtly. “I shall keep an eye on him lest he does something foolish to you.”
And you knew she meant every single word.
How many times had you counted to twenty? You'd lost track of it already.
Maybe increasing it to thirty and repeating it many more times over would help you muster the courage to do this.
You kept on rasping your knuckles softly against the door to his room, but not soundly enough to provoke a knock.
It was becoming unbearable.
You felt as if something was constantly gnawing and clawing at you from the inside out.
“I can hear you breathing, you know.”
His voice startled you, your heart skipping a beat.
Taking a deep breath for added courage, you gripped and turned the doorknob, swiftly pushing the door open.
There he was.
Sitting by the windowsill, bathed in moonlight as he flipped through a book that lay pressed against his thigh.
He looked positively… ethereal.
The candles scattered across the room, made it feel more homely and inviting.
“Sneaking up on a rogue? My, my… feeling bold tonight, are we?”
Your heart faltered momentarily.
He didn't lift his head to meet you, and you were thankful for this.
You were having a hard time keeping yourself together. Beads of sweat pooled in the palms of your hands and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible.
But this needed to happen.
And depending on the direction of this conversation, you might just leave his room feeling even more heartbroken than before.
“We need to talk.”
That caught his attention, and his crimson eyes met yours.
He arched an elegant brow, pressing the book shut. “Go on.”
Suddenly, you felt cold.
No… freezing .
As if the weight of his stare steadily drained the warmth from your body, even with your robe tightly wrapped around you.
You mustered all the willpower you possibly could.
“Why her?”
A crow's foot of amusement appeared by his left eye. “You'll have to be more specific, darling.”
You heaved a deep sigh of frustration, considering the idea of simply walking away.
Why was this so hard?
But a small sliver of determination kept your focus. “This arrangement you have with her… I…” You paused for a moment, struggling to find the right wording to this. “I just want to know why her.”
Why not me?
Astarion shifted to stand gracefully on his feet, leaving the book on the padded chair.
“Why not?”
Answering questions with more questions was a sure way to frustrate you, but he excelled at this dance.
“Please answer me…”
He took a few steps in your direction, his eyes studying your face as if trying to strip you bare.
“Because it's easier.”
“Than what?”
He didn't answer.
You waited for him to go on, but were far too impatient to hold back.
So, you tried again.“Is she the reason why you're so distant from me, then?”
He tilted his head. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion, I wonder?”
Another question for a question.
“You've been distant from me for a while now,” you said, trying to rub the sweat away from your hands. “And I can't help but think she's the reason why.”
He straightened ever so slightly before closing the distance between you two.
“What I have with her is merely transactional.”
Ah. Well…
You did know all too well of transactions with Astarion…
After all, you had been pushed into one from the moment you had gotten together with him at the Tiefling celebration, even if unbeknownst to you.
“Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me…”
His words of confession still echoed through your mind from time to time.
“Like what we have now?”
“It is nothing of the sort." he immediately said.
For better or worse?
“How so?”
His proximity had you suck in a sharp breath. “She's not you.”
A cold chill ran through your body.
“That is what you want to know, isn't it? Why I never asked that of you.”
Astarion could be too perceptive for your own good. It was as if he could easily read you like an open book.
You slowly nodded.
“Because you're – well… you're you ,” he said,his face softening. “And as selfish as I am, I could never burden you with this. Not you.”
His words carved into your chest like the sharpest daggers.
Even after all this time, he still regarded himself as a burden to others. That what he had been through had tainted him beyond repair.
But…
“Is that why you push me away?”
He was too close now.
Close enough to throw you off balance with his imposing demeanour.
“How can I not?”
That stung.
Hard.
“Have you any idea how much I envy those who have never met you?”
Your heart dropped.
And then dread took over.
“Or how I envy those who have yet to meet you?”
This had been exactly what you had feared coming into his room.
The confirmation that he was ready to move from you.
That all that was left of your bond with him was this arrangement and the empty shell of what used to be something that resembled a friendship.
Even after he had comforted you last night.
How much of that was truly genuine?
“Do you want to know why?” he asked.
Did you?
“... why?”
Then you felt his icy fingers on your cheek, jolting from the sudden shift in temperature. “Because they get to know you for the first time. They get to experience all of you,” he went on, brushing his thumb across your skin. “In another lifetime, we would have met without the manipulation and hurt and pain.”
You froze in place and your mind went blank.
“You would have met my unbroken self, and I would have adored you unconditionally, because how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?”
Somehow, this made everything even worse.
Your stomach twisted in knots and you were left utterly speechless.
You had promised yourself not to shed more tears for him, but it was proving to be a challenge as his words seeped into your core like poison.
It was the painful realisation of what could have been.
“And even through all the deception and lies, you could never bring yourself to loathe me. Even when it was decidedly the wisest thing for you to do,” he said, voice steady and calm. “You never loathed me. Not then and not now – maybe not ever .”
Your lips quivered as he spoke every word of truth.
You then swallowed the thick lump in your throat and met his gaze. “You're not broken.”
But it was evident he didn't believe your words.
“And it is not fair that you get to make my decisions for me,” you said, pulling his hand away from your face. “You could have told me all of this, Astarion. We used to have sincere conversations before. What changed?”
He looked away, and you could feel the vulnerability creep into his features.
“Everything.”
You placed a hand to the side of his face, wanting him to meet your gaze once again.
He resisted at first, but eventually succumbed, soft eyes meeting yours.
“Do you regret not going through with the ritual?”
He winced under your touch as if you'd just burnt him.
“A few days ago… that conversation in the cell…”
Astarion didn't look willing to pursue this matter at all.
You inwardly cursed at yourself.
Fuck… you've pushed it.
“Do I wonder what it would be like? Yes – can you blame me for it? To live again without being reduced to a vampire spawn? To tread the lands freely and with so much power that no one would dare cross me?” He paused abruptly as if snapping out of a dream, eyes narrowing at you. “This Wish spell nonsense is dragging, and I feel my chances are slimming with each passing day. We take one step forward and two steps back.”
You felt for him. You truly did.
It seemed that the odds were ever against you, but you also had faith in Gale and your own abilities.
“We'll figure it out. I promise.”
He scoffed. “Do not make promises you can't keep.”
His face looked sour and it pained you.
“You're still the same man I…” fell for…
But you let the final words die in your mouth, not wanting to take it too far.
He stared expectantly at you and, in that moment, you were sure that feeling had never truly left.
You were still foolishly in love with him.
And the confirmation that it could be perhaps reciprocal to an extent was tugging at the frayed ends of your sanity.
“You could have anyone you desire,” he said, with a slight hint of pity in his voice. “From artisans to noblemen – they would all crawl for you.”
It was tempting to accept his praise, but it frustrated you that it felt like he was merely deflecting.
And the trace of pity truly gnawed at your nerves. Why did he pity you? For still having feelings for him?
You snorted. “Well, they're not you.”
Hurling his own words at him had him pressing his lips together.
“I don't know if I can give you anything real. I simply don't know how…”
You caressed his cool cheek. “We can start by rebuilding our friendship.”
He leaned into your touch. “I rather like the sound of that.”
You offered him a reassuring smile.
To be honest, you were more than perfectly fine with that prospect.
Even if a part of you craved more than a friendship, you were also aware that some wounds took longer to heal.
His wounds.
Your wounds.
And the ones you shared together.
So long as he didn't push you away with no solid reason, you would be fine.
And so would he.
Then you came to the conclusion that…
He didn't need her.
He didn't need Ava at all.
You were there for him.
There was no need for him to meddle with strangers when he had you as a friend.
“You don't need her.”
His eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”
“You don't have to resort to her for intimacy,” you said carefully, waiting for his approval. “I can help, if you so wish, of course.”
Much to your dismay, he scowled rather deeply.
“I have already stolen too much from you.”
You shook your head, gripping the lace near your collarbone, tugging gently. “You cannot steal that which is freely given.”
And you meant every word.
You then gripped the string of your robe. “May I remove this?”
He silently nodded.
As you undid it, the silk fabric began to slide down your arms, leaving you to stand only in your nightdress.
His eyes dropped from your face and roamed along your frame.
He took a few steps in your direction until he was standing close enough that you could feel the coldness of his skin.
“You don't have to do this.” he said.
You gave him a reassuring nod. “We can stop if you don't feel comfortable.”
His eyes found yours. “Can I look at you? Bare?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Slowly, you unravelled the first lace at the front of your nightdress.
Suddenly, Astarion's hand gripped yours as you moved to the next one further down.
You took a deep breath, fearing you had overdone it.
That he would stop you.
Only… he didn't.
Instead, he picked the string in between his fingers, giving it a tug until it came undone.
His eyes never left yours and you felt shivers prickling at your skin, as he exposed more and more of your skin.
You felt another tug and the fabric loosened.
“I do wonder…”
Another one.
You bit down on your lower lip, holding his unwavering gaze.
And another one.
Your chest heaved more rapidly as your heart hammered in your ears.
This time, his eyes dropped as he worked on the last strings.
“... do friends do this?”
A chill ran down your back as it dawned on you that there was a contrast to this.
Just a few hours ago, he had been tying the very same laces to preserve your modesty in a moment of vulnerability.
But now, you had been the one to initiate it, and he had undone each of them until your front was fully open.
“It depends…” your voice was but a whisper.
He pushed the fabric aside just enough to expose a hardening nipple.
“On what?”
You couldn't bring yourself to provide a decent reply as you felt his thumb ghost the underside of your breast.
Then he flicked the sleeve from your shoulder, until it draped down your arm.
“Are we really just meant to be friends?”
Heat rushed to your face at his bluntness and you looked at him dazedly as if drunk on his words.
“Is that why I plague your dreams at night and your thoughts during the day?”
Astarion had a gift for words and he could almost make it seem like he could easily make love by using them, if he so desired.
Or completely make you crumble under the weight of his words.
You couldn't bring yourself to answer any of his questions, as you felt the burden of the truth weigh down on you.
“You are beautiful.”
His sincere praise almost drew a gasp from you.
You had the other sleeve sliding down as well, until the nightdress slipped along your body, pooling at your feet.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you were standing fully naked in front of him.
There was familiarity in it, but that wasn't what had your heart fluttering.
It was how he silently glared at you as if awestruck.
“So very beautiful…”
This time, his words of praise made you feel too self-aware and far more exposed than simply being naked.
Reflexively, you brought your hands to cover your bare chest.
You had always felt undeserving of his attention.
Astarion was what some might call the epitome of physical harmony.
His body was a work of art and his beauty unmatched.
“You don't ever have to hide from me,” he said softly, taking one hand in his. “Come here.”
He slowly guided you towards the window, the full moon up high casting its pale glow down on you.
“Look at the window.”
You did so, watching your lonely and washed out reflection show up on the clear glass.
Fleetingly, you wished you could see him, too, as he came to stand behind you, placing both hands on your shoulders.
But there was no one there but you.
You stood alone, but felt his presence all the same.
“You are a sight to behold,” he said in a whisper, his lips close to your ear. “Do not ever doubt it.”
“So are you…”
He chuckled, placing one finger under your chin, and tilting your head towards him.
You suddenly felt your knees buckle under you as his lips ghosted over yours.
“May I kiss you?”
Oh.
That startled you and your eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
His brows furrowed lightly. “We don't have to, of course.”
You wanted to.
More than anything.
But this wasn't just about you.
“Maybe we should take it slow?” you suggested, the coldness of his lips nearly touching yours.
He drew back slightly.
“Is that what you want?”
“Maybe it's what you need.”
He hesitated at first. “I think… I need this.”
Doubt flared inside you like a wildfire. On one hand, you feared he was rushing things once again.
On the other, he seemed rather at ease with the prospect of going further.
So maybe…
“You need to let me know if it's too much.”
He inched closer once more. “I will.”
Your heart clenched hard before rapidly doubling its pace.
You fully melted into him as he took your lips in his, keeping you still by gripping your chin lightly in between his fingers.
This kiss was familiar.
It was measured and controlled.
This one felt and tasted like… home.
It was reminiscent of the last kisses you had shared before Moonrise Towers. When both of you had gotten so comfortable with each other, it felt like second nature to be so intimate.
This wasn't driven by lust like the one you shared at The Blushing Mermaid only a few days prior.
It was driven by yearning.
Longing.
He pressed down on your chin with his thumb, parting your lips for his tongue to slip through, and your eyes quickly fluttered shut.
How you had missed this… tasting him as he completely overtook your senses.
His cold touch set your skin alight and you had to grip the hardwood shutter by the window to keep yourself from melting away.
You broke from him to let out a soft gasp when he pressed himself against you, his growing erection nudging at your lower back.
As touch starved as you were, you still held back, not wanting to overstep any lines.
He trailed his tongue along your lower lip, and you slowly turned to fully face him, cradling his face in your hands never parting from him.
The kiss morphed into something more urgent and primal, as if he had waited an eternity for this moment.
Your body was now fully flushed against him, and you heard the faintest growl emerge from his throat when you pressed into his bulge.
He suddenly broke the kiss, causing your eyes to fly open.
“Too much?”
“Yes.”
Astarion slowly tore himself away from you body, his face tense and his eyes avoiding yours.
For a split second you felt panic take over your mind at the fear of having hurt him.
“Astarion…”
But he quickly straightened himself, offering a reassuring smile.
It felt genuine and you allowed yourself to relax.
“Are you well?”
His face seemed blank for a moment. “Of course.”
Your heart dropped at the realisation that his words, once again, did not match his body language.
“Maybe we rushed it…”
As if your voice had snapped him out of a trance, his eyes finally met yours. “It's hard not to do so with you.”
The impending sense that he was trying to compensate with words began to loom over you.
He swiftly circled you and moved back to help you slip into your robe, careful fingers tying it snugly around you, yet you felt more exposed than ever.
“Astarion, I didn't mean for-”
He pressed his forefinger to your lips. “I was the one who got carried away. Do not take the blame for that. Please.”
You felt relief slowly settle deep within you.
Astarion's words did match his body language this time.
You then heaved a big sigh as he dropped his hand.
“Do you wish for me to stay? We can talk about it…”
He closed the space between the two of you and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Not tonight.”
You nodded understandingly, enjoying the tenderness.
“Will you still seek out Ava?”
He pulled away to meet your gaze. “I might indulge in some of her words of wisdom, yes.”
“And will you still give her your blood?”
“I believe so.”
You felt the beginnings of a frown settle on your face. “You don't have to…” … not anymore .
“You also don't have to give me yours, yet you willingly do so,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “As do I.”
“But it's different with us… I can easily withdraw my consent.”
“Correct.”
You hesitated for a moment. “I just worry that she might take it too far…”
A genuine smile of amusement tugged at his lips. “Ava is not someone you should worry about.”
Well, it was easier said than done.
There was still an unsettling feeling about her brewing within you. You couldn't quite place your finger on what it was, but it was still there…
“If she tries anything to hurt you-”
He immediately cut you off. “Oh, I am quite sure you would bestow upon her a curse so great that historians all over Faerûn would rush to document such an event in their books.”
Your outer shell of toughness cracked open and you chuckled.
“I would hope they do that.”
“A cautionary tale, if you will,” he nodded with a sly grin.
“And I will gladly do that to her should the situation call for it.”
It wasn't an empty threat.
He nodded. “I don't expect anything less from you, darling.”
You stared at each other in silence for what felt like an eternity.
It felt… comfortable.
Your heart felt full from finally having had a heartfelt conversation that was long overdue.
There were still edges to polish and fears to keep at bay, but, for now, it felt enough.
“Have a good night, Astarion.” you offered a sweet smile.
He returned it. “Dream of me – well, the satisfying kind, I hope.”
“So do I.”
“And if not, you know where to find me."
His words of comfort wrapped around you like the warmest blanket.
You nodded, snatching your nightdress from the floor to exit his room.
With a final glance over your shoulder, you found that his smile had wavered ever so slightly, and did your best not to overthink it.
And as the door to his room clicked shut, you shook your head and held it up high, determination setting in your mind.
Summary: Astarion seeks comfort when he is terrified of losing you to his former master.
Word Count: 2,1k
hurt/comfort, angst and fluff
[ AO3 ]
Fleeting glances across the tavern, jovial laughter followed by a touch to his arm, and Astarion has exactly what he needs. Your trust builds fast over his charming words, so you agree to accompany him to the mansion without doubting his intentions.
Astarion dissociates, follows his usual routine as he has done for over hundreds of years by now, while you remain blissfully unaware that you are already caught in his trap.
The scene feels painfully familiar, and yet it doesn't at all.
Uneasiness spreads over him.
No, this doesn't seem right.
Why are you here?
The next moment you lie on his old master’s bed, your eyes closed and shallow breaths emitting your lungs. A dark silhouette is bending over you, its mouth glued to your neck.
Cazador.
Panic creeps down Astarion's spine.
No, this isn't right at all.
His thoughts start to race. He needs to free you from this monster's claws - now.
Cazador looks up as his lips form a hideous grin, blood running from his chin and spluttering on your motionless body.
“A very pleasant bouquet you have brought to me, boy. But you know of that already, do you not?”
Astarion freezes.
The malice in his voice shatters his ribs with the blow of an axe.
He wants to scream, to get you away from here, but his body doesn’t respond.
Suddenly the whole scene shifts and Astarion finds himself with his fangs buried deep inside your neck, warm liquid pouring in his mouth while your hand rests loosely on his nape.
An unbearable dread rises in him.
He desperately tries to tear himself away, to stop feeding on you, but an invisible force holds him down, leaving it impossible to let go.
He must be going mad.
“You sought out to drink from thinking creatures, did you not? Go on then, lavish yourself on her blood! Bleed her dry.”
Cazador’s command unleashes like a fist to his skull.
Astarion knows that he is enjoying this, and it makes him sick.
He concentrates back on you, frantically looking for a way to get you out of this.
“It's alright, Astarion…” you whisper, “I know this isn’t… you.” You seem on the verge of fainting, the hand that rested in his hair slipping, your pulse weakening.
The fondness in your words almost breaks him.
He wishes to plead, to offer himself - to give Cazador everything he demands, if only he would allow you to leave unharmed, but he can’t speak.
Instead, he feels Cazador’s violent grip push him down, ramming his teeth deeper in your neck.
Astarion’s eyes wet and his body trembles while he’s obliged to swallow more of your blood. The thick liquid spills over his lips onto your neck, drips to your hair and paints the collar of your blouse.
Astarion knows that he’s hurting you, killing you, yet he has no control over his own doing. He can't stop, even if his whole body longs for nothing more than to release you.
His senses start to dull, colourful dots exploding before his eyes, while he’s unable to form a single coherent thought anymore, entirely helpless to this monstrosity he inflicts on you.
“What’s the matter, boy?” his former master taunts with a malignant chuckle and positions himself so that Astarion has to look at him, “Isn’t this what you craved? To be free of me, to do as you please?"
His laugh evolves to a gruesome crescendo, echoing through the dreary halls that Astarion once called his home - mocking him, a punishment for his disobedience.
Astarion summons his remaining strength to banish Cazador from his mind and fixates back on you.
He must save you, now, otherwise you will -
*
Astarion's lungs are on fire. His fangs ache, and his chest is bursting.
He grasps his throat and chokes as he remembers the taste of your blood in his mouth.
Gods, what has he done to you?
He takes a moment to perceive his surroundings.
This is not Cazador’s mansion, he realises, but your shared tent in the camp you made near Rivington.
The essence of his nightmare returns with agony: his fangs piercing your neck, Cazador’s order to bleed you dry, while you were completely defenceless against his torment. The image is almost too much to bear.
With haste, he begins to fumble the woollen fabric of his bedroll in search of your warm body. He has to ensure that you are alive - that he didn’t hurt you.
Then his hand finds your wrist and he stops in his motion. He pushes the fright that shrouds him aside and feels for your pulse, careful not to wake you. There it is - a constant throb at his fingertips.
Despite the evidence that the violent scene was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, he can’t bring himself to fully accept that there wasn’t an actual threat - that you are safe. Yet he has no desire to worry you with his musings, so he starts to slowly pull his hand away, before he notices that it’s already too late. You sit up beside him, rubbing sleep from your tired eyes.
You look so adorable that his chest grows tight.
“Astarion? Are you alright?” Your brow furrows when your gaze meets his, concern lingers in your voice.
Astarion opens his mouth, only to press it shut again as he feels hot tears forming in his eyes. He swallows hard. He wants to reassure you that it’s nothing, to tell you that you should go back to sleep, but the ferocity he committed in his nightmare robs him of any speech.
You give him an understanding expression and lift your blanket. “Do you want to come over here?”
He nods and shifts towards you.
You wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. Astarion sinks his head onto your chest and listens carefully to your heartbeat - to make sure you are truly unscathed. That he didn't kill you, didn't bleed you dry - that he has not become like Cazador.
The pulsing sound flows in a soothing rhythm.
He closes his eyes and inhales your familiar scent. The weight that is crushing his lungs slowly begins to dissolve.
You are so warm, he thinks, so comforting, always so affectionate.
“It’s alright,” you breathe and rest your lips at his temple. “He can’t hurt you now.”
There is no need to ask how you know what haunts him, you simply do, and Astarion buries his face deeper in your chest, grasps the fabric of your tunic and lets out a deep sigh. A few silent tears he has tried to hold back spill from his eyes, dampening your clothes.
Your hands draw circles on the small of his back, up to his shoulder blades, until they move to his hair and tenderly stroke along his ears.
He concentrates on your touch. You are here, with him, unharmed - he didn’t hurt you.
A calmness enfolds and for the first time since he woke he allows himself to relax.
Astarion suddenly wonders if he ever had something like a home, a real home, somewhere he felt safe - not Cazador’s mansion, the place from his nightmare, where he endured nothing but torture and cruelty.
Something he could choose for himself - willingly. Not something he was forced to, but something he wanted.
For centuries he was used to the pain he suffered under Cazador’s rule, but you've proven how different his life can be. Through the time he spends with you, he's learned that he is valued as a person. You make him feel seen - show him compassion and patience, despite him missing the words at times.
You give him honest, loving affection, without any vile intent or in expectation of getting something in return.
You are the only one who is like that. Who genuinely cares for him, who loves him. No one was ever kind to him, only you. No one has a heart like that.
Maybe a home isn’t a place, he thinks, but a person.
He feels your fingers twisting gently around his curls, while he listens to the sound of your beating heart, and wishes to never let go of you.
But there is still Cazador and the Rite of Profane Ascension to overcome, and his mansion is barely a tenday away from now.
Astarion wants to shove the thought aside, but knows he can’t. Not when there is so much at stake - when you give him so much to care for.
He envisions the ancient ritual Cazador has planned.
If he was to complete the rite himself, would he become even more powerful than his old master? Would this newfound power offer you protection - keep both of you safe?
But what if you came to harm once you entered his residence? Hells, what if it would be his fault?
The fear of losing you clings its relentless hooks back to his core.
Astarion sinks deeper into your arms and sighs.
No. He cannot lose you - not to the Absolute, not to Cazador or any other madness you have to encounter along your way.
His shoulders tense, leading you to squeeze them fondly.
“He won’t win, Astarion,'' you vow with the determination that Astarion knows too well by now. “We will beat him.”
At first he wants to scold you, point out how naive you were to think it would be an easy task to confront his past tormentor, but instead he pauses to consider.
He remembers the foes you've come across on your journey. There have been gruesome, vigorous creatures among them, and yet you were able to vanquish them in the end.
Have you gathered enough strength to destroy a powerful enemy like Cazador, though?
For a second, Cazador’s liveless body appears in front of Astarion’s inner eye.
Maybe, there was a real chance…
After all, to ensure that both of you will be safe - truly safe - Cazador must be ended, one way or another.
“Is that so?” Astarion clears his throat and frowns. “Well, when you sound so resolute I find myself actually imagining us succeeding.”
Your features soften as you lean forward and put a kiss to his brow.
“I know we will,” you reply confidently, “Besides, for some reason I was declared the leader of our little group, so I'd suggest you better put some trust in my word.”
“I’m afraid being the leader of this group full of weirdos is hardly something to be proud of, love,” Astarion murmurs against your neck.
“That’s rich, coming from the weirdest of the bunch,” you tease as you tousle through his curls, “You’re a rogue who’s terrified of clowns - shall I go on?”
Astarion snorts at your remark. “I'm not terrified of them!” he protests with a pout, “It's just.. They make me uneasy, alright? And they're not original - or funny. Honestly, I’d rather witness a goblin mating ritual than any of those wretched clown shows again.”
He removes your hand from his hair to intertwine your fingers with his. Then he recalls the image of the clown you visited at the circus the other day and his face turns into a grimace.
“Keep telling yourself that, but I know for a fact that you were absolutely petrified the moment you saw Dribbles.”
“That wasn’t even a regular clown - that beast was also a shapeshifter!” Astarion exclaims in feigned bewilderment.
You raise an eyebrow and wait for a moment, leaving Astarion curious, until you pin him down to tickle him all over.
“Stop it, you cheeky thing!” Astarion presses between his laughs while he tries to shelter his most sensitive parts from your ruthless fingers.
When he eventually manages to roll on top of you and grab your wrists, you look at him lovingly and catch your breath. He feels the remaining knots in his chest come loose.
Then your face turns serious again. “I promise you, we will beat him.”
“Stubborn as ever,” Astarion states and clicks his tongue, before his lips curl up to a genuine smile, “But perhaps I’ll remind you of that promise when the time comes.”
“By all means, I hope you do,” you assure and return his smile, your thumb softly brushing his cheek.
You have a rare talent to relieve the tension, he notices. To make him feel light - to make him laugh even, a real, honest laugh, despite the horrors that linger on his mind of late.
Astarion kisses the tip of your nose and lifts from your chest, resting his body against your back and draws you in a close embrace. Then he buries his face in your hair and presses a kiss to your neck, relishing your pleasant warmth.
A sudden fire rises inside him.
The thought of facing Cazador remains scary, terrifying even, but somehow with you, he senses there is a viable chance to defeat him at last.
You give him something to care for, and he will do everything in his might to protect you - both of you, his home.
Synopsis: Astarion gets a massage for the first time in his life.
Warnings: 18+ minors do not engage. Trauma release, feelings of worthlessness, unconditional love.
~
"Let me help with that." Her voice is hushed beside him in the semi-dark of her tent.
Astarion frowns, still holding his book between his fingers.
"Your back, love." She persists, "come on. Turn over."
A familiar lance runs through him, quick and cold. Exposing his back is difficult, even now.
Warm fingers find his cheek and wait for him, like always. He glances sidelong and finds no judgement or pity in her face. Only love.
"Only if you're comfortable." She whispers.
Slowly, he marks his page and sets the book aside. "Yes, well, I can not deprive you of my naked form, dearest."
The mask feels fragile as ice, here in the dark with her.
He sits up, takes a quiet, steadying breath that fills his stomach with acid, and tugs off his shirt. The fresh air on his back hurts somehow. Even alone, he always dresses quickly. Wanting to avoid the shame of the reminder that he couldn't fight back. That he just let it happen.
A warm hand finds his shoulder. Steady.
"Are you sure, darling?" She murmurs.
"Mhmm." He hates the way his voice breaks.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. This is ok. Tav loves him, she will not hurt him.
He lays on his front, hands folded under his cheek. The stretch feels nice, even under the rest. She settles across his hips. Between her warmth and her weight pulling his tight muscles, the vulnerability dissipates for a moment.
"Relax, darling." She breathes, pressing her palms into his shoulders.
Astarion scans his body. Isn't this relaxed?
He's shocked to find he has to consciously unclench his jaw, his fists, his thighs. Even his toes are tensed against her touch.
But this is Tav, he reminds himself. She loves him. She won't hurt him.
His muscles agree.
A waft of sweetness across his palate distracts him from her strong little fingers in his tight neck muscles. It warms him that she stole his own oils just for this. How long had she been planning it?
He briefly wonders if a vampire can become a puddle when her hands move into his hair, scratching at his scalp in the most delicious way. A pleasured groan escapes him, turning his head so she finds the best spots. It's mind-numbing in the very best way. Until her fingers drift lower.
It's slow enough that he could stop her if he wanted. The thought alone makes him feel sick - that she knows. Knows that he cowers like a child from that filthy memory. It's pathetic. His jaw clenches again.
It isn't her fingers this time, but the base of her palms that press into his muscles. Sure, strong strokes that follow the length of his spine as though no other pattern exists on his skin. His back tenses.
But this is Tav. She loves him. She will not hurt him.
A soft kiss is pressed against his ear while her hands work. Something wells inside him. He presses his face into the pillow.
Broken. Both body and everything else. He doesn't deserve this softness. This gentle devotion being pressed into the wreckage of his skin. It's only pain that resides there, and always will. Carved and bloody and relentless.
Somehow, his face is wet against Tav's neck, her strong arms tugging him up into her lap. "It's ok, Astarion, I'm here. You can let it out."
It chokes him. Wracks his chest and purges forth from the darkest parts of his soul into her neck. He becomes nothing but that pain within the confines of her arms, black and awful and unending. Centuries of it. Her fingers thread into his hair, her cheek warm against the top of his head as she reassures him.
So apparently chicken nugget is a spicebush swallowtail and they turn yellow before they pupate. He was making little silk things everywhere Bruh this caterpie is going to evolve to metapod today my boy isn’t messing around
“sehun is cool and when he is with me, he is really funny. whenever i get stressed, if i tell sehun, my stress gets relieved. we fool around a lot whatever we do, if we do it together, I feel good. when i’m with him, there is no stress.“ - tao
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