Synopsis - After a disastrous mission leaves the camp starving, you, Astarion, and Shadowheart venture into a ruined village in search of supplies. What begins as a simple task quickly turns catastrophic when the floor beneath you collapses into an ancient crypt filled with the undead. Exhausted and already injured, you make a choice without hesitation: protect Astarion at all costs.
Warnings - Injury and blood
Word Count - 5794
A/N - Had some of this written in my drafts for years, finally finished it as I heard about the Astarion book, it's pre-ordered and I can't wait!
The atmosphere in camp was heavy, thick with unspoken frustration that clung to everyone gathered around the dying light of the fire. No one wanted to be the first to say it aloud, though it sat plainly between them all like another wounded companion. After the day you, Astarion, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart had endured—dragging yourselves back through blood, dirt, and exhaustion that clung to your bones—no one had the energy left to turn the thought into words.
There was not enough food to go around.
You sat near the campfire with your knees drawn loosely in front of you, staring into the shifting orange glow. The heat did little for the ache in your body, a deep, bruised tiredness that settled into your muscles and refused to leave. Your stomach twisted faintly with hunger, but it felt distant compared to the sharper need for rest, for silence, for anything that wasn’t another fight or another decision.
“If no one intends to address the matter, then I suppose I shall be the bearer of unwelcome news,” Gale announced, stepping closer to the fire. The flickering light caught the edges of his purple robe, turning the fabric into something almost molten gold and shadow. “We are in short supply of provisions. In fact, I would argue we are perilously close to feeding ourselves on optimism alone.”
Lae’zel turned sharply at that, the movement crisp even in her exhaustion. Dirt and dried blood still marked her armor, streaking across metal and skin alike. She looked as though she had no patience left to spare for anything, least of all diplomacy.
“I do not see you volunteering to correct this,” she said coldly. “Why should the burden fall to us? Are your legs broken, wizard, or merely ornamental?”
By now, everyone had drifted into the firelight, forming a loose circle around it. You remained seated at the edge, half in shadow, watching rather than participating. The fire popped softly between them, sending sparks drifting upward into the dark like dying fireflies.
Gale exhaled through his nose, visibly restraining his temper. “If I recall correctly, you four were the ones who insisted on pushing ahead. It seems only fair that you contribute to ensuring we do not starve because of it.”
“I don’t recall ‘search every barrel for scraps’ being a priority while we were being ambushed by goblins,” you muttered under your breath, though your voice lacked any real bite.
Gale continued, undeterred. “A simple task, truly. Even a cursory search of the area—”
The firelight danced across all of them, warm and flickering against the cold night air, and for a moment you found yourself fixating on it. The movement was almost hypnotic, the way it shifted without care for the arguments circling it. If you stared long enough, you almost believed you could let everything else blur out, let the noise dissolve into the rhythm of flame and crackling wood.
Gale, Wyll, and Karlach all had their points, of course. It was meant to be part of the group’s responsibility to gather supplies along the way. Under normal circumstances, that would have been simple enough. But nothing about today had been normal. There had been a hag, clever and cruel in ways you were still trying to untangle in your mind, and after her defeat there had been goblins waiting like vultures picking at the aftermath. Food had not been something any of you had the luxury to prioritize.
Their voices blurred together, becoming something distant and indistinct as you stared into the fire. The argument stretched on, circling endlessly without resolution, and your exhaustion pressed heavier with every passing second. At this point, you would have gladly taken a long walk into the woods alone just to escape the noise.
“I will go.”
Your voice cut through the conversation cleanly. Not loud, but firm enough that it pulled attention back toward you.
You pushed yourself to your feet, slower than you would have liked, your body protesting every movement. There was no effort to hide how tired you were; there wasn’t enough energy left for pride.
Astarion’s voice came immediately, smooth as ever but edged with something more careful underneath.
“Darling, look at you,” he said, gaze flicking over you with sharp attention. You knew you were tired as you didn’t feel your usual butterflies with him calling you ‘darling’. “You are in no condition to be wandering off into the wilderness in search of supper. The wizard has survived far worse indignities than foraging. I am sure he can manage a few berries without collapsing from the effort.”
Gale opened his mouth to respond, but you cut in before the argument could continue.
“I will see what I can find in the village,” you said simply, already reaching for your sword and bag. The motion felt automatic, like your body was operating slightly ahead of your willingness to argue. “It’s fine.”
You didn’t wait for further objections. The weight of responsibility sat differently when you were already too tired to fight it. As you turned away, you could feel Gale’s hesitation behind you, the faint guilt of someone who hadn’t intended for things to land this way. But hunger rarely cared about intention.
You had barely made it a few steps beyond the firelight when you noticed the footsteps behind you.
Two sets.
You glanced over your shoulder to find Shadowheart already adjusting her armor, expression set in that calm, unreadable line she wore when she had already made a decision. Astarion, meanwhile, moved with effortless ease, slipping his bow into place as though he had never considered staying behind in the first place.
“You didn’t think we would let you go alone, did you?” Astarion said lightly, though there was something steadier beneath the words now, something less performative than usual, you couldn't tell if it was just the exhaustion.
Shadowheart gave a small nod in agreement, falling into step without needing to explain herself.
And despite everything—the exhaustion, the ache, the lingering weight of the day—you felt something in your chest loosen just slightly, as though the burden you had been about to carry alone had quietly been shared without permission.
The village took on a different shape at night.
What had been simply a collection of crumbling buildings and strangled greenery in daylight now felt hostile, as though the darkness itself had rewritten it. Shadows stretched too long between broken fences and leaning walls, and every distant sound—creaking wood, shifting stone, the whisper of wind through hollow spaces—seemed to carry intent. There was no comfort in it, only the quiet suggestion that something might be watching from just out of sight.
All three of you felt it.
Even without saying it aloud, there was a shared understanding that none of you were at your best. Exhaustion dulled your reflexes, softened your judgment in ways that made the unease worse. Still, you pushed forward, forcing focus where there was none to spare. Barrels, crates, anything usable—anything edible. That was all that mattered.
And yet, despite your best efforts, your attention kept slipping.
The dark between buildings felt deeper than it should have. The outlines of ruined structures seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. It wasn’t fear exactly, but it was the kind of creeping distraction that came just before things went wrong.
Eventually, fortune offered something small.
A rundown house, barely standing, its roof sagging under the weight of time and weather. Inside, half-hidden in the gloom, sat a barrel of fish—salted, preserved, something at least vaguely edible. Relief cut through the tension in all of you at once, sharp and immediate. Without hesitation, you all moved inside.
The floorboards groaned beneath your weight as you hurriedly filled your bag. The air was thick with damp rot and old wood, the smell of mould and decay clinging to everything like a second skin. The house itself sounded alive in its dying—creaking, sighing, whistling softly through gaps in the walls as the wind moved through it.
For a brief moment, it almost felt safe.
Then the world dropped out from beneath you.
There was no warning—just a sudden, violent collapse. Wood splintered, stone gave way, and all three of you fell in a chaotic tangle of motion and impact. The world spun, sound distorting into a harsh rush in your ears, and then came the heavy collision of stone against bone.
Pain flared dully through your body as you hit the ground, breath driven from your lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp. Dust and debris filled the air around you, settling slowly like ash.
It took a moment too long to understand where you were.
The silence below the house was wrong. Heavy. Pressurised. Ancient.
Above you, a jagged hole in the ceiling framed a thin slice of night sky. Through it, distant moonlight spilled down in pale, broken beams.
And somewhere above that, you heard it—muffled, distorted, but unmistakably Shadowheart calling your name.
You blinked hard, trying to force your mind into focus, trying to catalogue your body for injuries. Everything felt distant, slightly unreal, like you were thinking through water. You had landed on your head—maybe. Or maybe it was the adrenaline fading too quickly.
Then you looked to the side.
Astarion lay near Shadowheart, too still in a way that made your stomach drop immediately. Moonlight caught the red staining him—too much of it, too bright against the pale stone floor. It wasn’t just surface blood either; it shone wetly across his clothes, his skin, marking him in a way that made your pulse spike with sudden, cold clarity.
Shadowheart was already kneeling beside him, hands moving with urgency you rarely saw from her—focused, precise, trying to assess, trying to stabilize. But even from where you stood, you could see the tension in her posture. This wasn’t a minor injury.
Your heart stopped for a fraction of a second.
Everything else narrowed.
You wanted to move immediately. To get to him. To pull him closer, to check if he was conscious, to do anything other than stand there watching blood soak into stone. The thought came fast and instinctive—offering your own life if it meant pulling him back from the edge, if that was what it took.
But something held you in place.
Because all around you, the sound changed.
Slow at first. Subtle. Like stone shifting in a place it hadn’t been meant to move for centuries.
Then the caskets began to open.
Wood scraped against stone. Old hinges groaned in protest. From every direction within the crypt, shapes began to rise—bodies in varying states of decay dragging themselves back into motion, drawn upward by something unseen and deeply wrong. Empty sockets turned toward you. Jawbones clicked. The air filled with the unmistakable certainty of the dead refusing to stay still.
The threat wasn’t approaching.
It was already here.
Your breath caught, sharp and shallow, as you unsheathed your weapon.
And still, even as the undead began to gather, your gaze flicked back—just once—to Astarion in Shadowheart’s care, because whatever came next, you were going to have to survive long enough to reach him again.
You may not have much left in you, but you knew what you had to do.
There was no room for hesitation now, no time for fear to catch up and drag you back down. You forced yourself upright through the ache in your body, every movement sharp with exhaustion, every breath feeling like something you had to fight for. Still, your grip tightened around your weapon as if it was the only thing anchoring you to the moment.
“Help Astarion,” you shouted, voice cutting through the chaos as the crypt around you groaned and shifted, the dead beginning to rise. “I will hold them back!”
Behind you, Astarion froze.
It wasn’t just stillness—it was shock so immediate it seemed to steal even the sound out of the air around him. For a moment, he simply stared at your back as though he hadn’t fully understood the words, as though his mind refused to translate them into something real.
Me.
The thought wasn’t spoken, but it hit him all the same, sharp and disorienting.
Because no one had ever done this before.
No one had ever stood between him and danger because he mattered more than survival.
For centuries—no, longer than he allowed himself to properly think about—there had only ever been Cazador. Control. Pain. Ownership. Everything had been about being used, being ordered, being less than someone else’s will.
And now—
Now you were here.
Exhausted. Bleeding. Standing on the edge of collapse like he was, like all of you were. He could see it clearly—could see exactly how little you had left to give. And still, you had chosen this. Not yourself. Not escape. Him.
Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest at the realization, tight and unplaceable, like a feeling that didn’t yet have a name he trusted.
He didn’t understand it.
But he knew, with sudden clarity that unsettled him more than the undead rising around you ever could, that you were about to risk everything you had left—for him.
With each swing of your sword, with every collision that rang out through the crypt, your body screamed louder in protest. Pain had become something constant now—burning through your muscles, settling deep into your bones, turning every movement into something heavier than it should have been. Your legs trembled under the strain, threatening to give out with every step, every pivot, every forced breath.
Rest felt like something impossibly distant. A promise your body demanded but your situation refused to grant.
More than anything, you wanted to turn.
To look back.
To check on him.
To see if the bleeding had stopped. If Shadowheart had managed to heal him. If he was still even conscious.
But you couldn’t.
Not with the undead pressing in from every direction. Not with the horde still rising, still crawling forward, still refusing to stay dead.
So you fought instead.
Trusting Shadowheart with a kind of exhausted certainty you didn’t have the energy to second-guess. You knew how difficult it was to cast under pressure, under pain, under exhaustion—but thinking about failure, about what could go wrong, was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not now. Not when there was still something you could protect.
So you stayed standing.
You stayed moving.
And you stayed between them and everything that wanted to take him away.
The undead felt endless. Every time one fell, another seemed to take its place, dragging itself up through dust and bone and broken stone as though the crypt itself refused to let you leave. You swung until your arms felt like they no longer belonged to you, each movement slower than the last, each strike requiring more will than strength.
Your grip tightened around your weapon until it was the only thing keeping you anchored to reality.
Behind it all, faintly, there was Astarion.
Watching.
Not just watching the fight—but watching you.
He couldn’t understand it at first. It didn’t fit into anything he knew, anything he had lived through. People didn’t do this. Not for him. Not when he was injured. Not when survival demanded every ounce of sense be spent on oneself.
And yet you were still there.
Still fighting.
Still standing in front of death itself like it was a promise you intended to keep.
Something in him twisted sharply at the sight of it.
Centuries of control, of ownership, of being something used and discarded, all of it pressed against the reality unfolding in front of him. Because this wasn’t control. It wasn’t manipulation. It wasn’t fear or obligation.
It was a choice.
And worse than that—it was real.
A part of him, one he didn’t like acknowledging, had always understood relationships in terms of leverage. Of influence. Of survival through proximity and advantage. Even with you, even when he smiled and charmed and leaned into something softer, there had always been that instinct somewhere beneath it all.
But you were making that… impossible.
Because you were fighting like this.
For him.
Not for what he could give you. Not for what you could gain.
Just him.
And he didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know where to put it in his mind, how to name it, how to survive it without turning it into something sharp or cynical.
So instead, he just watched.
And waited.
Until finally—
“Let’s go!” Shadowheart’s voice cut through everything, sharp and urgent, dragging you back into motion.
An arm was hooked around Astarion’s shoulders, steadying him as she guided him through the chaos toward the exit. He was still unsteady, still bleeding, but moving—alive.
You followed without hesitation.
A quick, desperate decision.
An Alchemist’s Fire arced from your hand, shattering against the ground behind you in a bloom of roaring flame. The undead recoiled, the fire carving a temporary path of safety through the crypt, and for a moment there was nothing but heat and light and the promise of escape.
Then you were out.
The world above hit you like a shock.
Cold night air. Open sky. The pale glow of the moon spilling across broken ground and ruined stone. It felt unreal after the suffocating weight of the crypt, as though you had surfaced into a different world entirely.
And then your body gave up what little argument it still had left.
All of you collapsed near the entrance, breath ragged, limbs shaking, the kind of exhaustion that went beyond fatigue and straight into collapse. Even the air felt too heavy to breathe properly.
But it was air.
And that alone felt like victory.
You dragged in a breath, trying to steady yourself as Shadowheart immediately began checking you over, hands quick and practiced despite her own exhaustion. You waved her off weakly, insisting you were fine—just needed a moment, just needed the world to stop spinning for a second.
Astarion didn’t speak.
Not immediately.
For once, there were no words ready at his tongue.
No effortless remark.
No charm sharpened into something usable.
Just silence.
You forced yourself upright with what little strength you had left, leaning heavily on your sword as you tried to make your way toward him. Every step felt like it cost something, like your body was arguing with your decision, but you moved anyway.
Because you weren’t done yet.
Not until you knew he was okay.
You finally reached him on unsteady legs, your sword dragging slightly against the ground before slipping from your grasp entirely. The adrenaline that had carried you through the crypt was fading now, leaving behind only exhaustion and pain so deep it felt stitched into your bones.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
You crouched carefully in front of Astarion, hands immediately reaching for him despite the tremble in your fingers. Your eyes moved over him quickly, searching for anything worse than what you had already seen—the blood staining his clothes, the bruising beginning to darken beneath pale skin, the sharp tension he still carried despite trying to hide it.
“Astarion…” Your voice came out quieter than intended, roughened by exhaustion. “Are…are you okay?”
His eyes stayed fixed on you.
Not guarded.
Not teasing.
Just watching you with an intensity that felt strangely vulnerable in the pale moonlight.
“I should be asking you that,” he said softly after a moment, voice lacking its usual easy amusement. One of his hands lifted slightly, hesitant at first, before brushing near your temple. “You’re bleeding.”
You blinked, only then feeling the warmth trailing faintly down the side of your face. It explained the dizziness. The pounding ache behind your eyes.“Oh,” you murmured weakly, as though the realization hardly mattered now that he was conscious and speaking.
His brows pulled together faintly at your response.
You could see it then, in the silence between you—in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he looked almost unsettled by the sight of you kneeling there worrying over him while blood still ran down your own face.
No sarcasm came.
No sharp remark to deflect the moment.
For once, Astarion seemed too exhausted to hide behind them.
And somehow, that silence said far more than any joke ever could.
For someone who has spent centuries surviving alone, Astarion does not know what to do with the terrifying realization that your loyalty might be real.
Beside you, Shadowheart let out a slow breath as she finished gathering what little strength she had left. “We should leave,” she said quietly, though even her voice sounded worn thin. “Before something else decides to crawl out of the ground.”
The walk back to camp was silent. Not uncomfortable—just heavy. The events of the crypt lingered over all three of you like a shadow that refused to loosen its grip. No one had the energy left for conversation. Boots dragged against dirt paths, armor shifted softly with movement, and every now and then the distant sounds of the night reminded you just how vulnerable you still were.
Astarion walked between you and Shadowheart, one arm slung carefully over each of your shoulders. Shadowheart was exhausted from healing magic, and Astarion still lacked the strength to walk steadily on his own. The arrangement forced the three of you close together, stumbling occasionally but never quite falling.
Every so often, you could feel Astarion’s weight lean slightly more toward you.Not enough to comment on. Just enough to notice.
By the time camp finally came into view, relief hit so suddenly it nearly made your knees give out entirely.
The fire was still burning low when the others spotted you.
The reaction was immediate.
Karlach was the first to stand, eyes widening in alarm as she took in the state of all three of you. Gale quickly followed, concern replacing whatever exhaustion had settled over camp earlier. Wyll moved forward instinctively as though preparing to help catch one of you before you collapsed, while Lae'zel’s sharp eyes scanned for injuries with immediate tactical precision.
“What in the hells happened to you lot?” Karlach breathed.
You stared at them for a moment, too tired to even begin explaining.Then, without a word, you simply lifted the bag of fish slightly toward Gale.
The wizard looked at the bag. Then at the blood covering all three of you. “…Right,” he said faintly.
That was all the energy you had left for conversation.
Shadowheart caught your eye then, giving you a small, understanding nod as she adjusted her hold on Astarion—silent reassurance that she would take care of him from here, that she would make sure his wounds were properly treated.
You nodded back weakly.
As Shadowheart guided him toward his tent, Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at you.
The look only lasted a second, but something in his expression shifted the moment distance began forming between you again, something hollow and uncertain beneath the exhaustion. As though now that the danger had passed, he suddenly became aware of your absence beside him.
And judging by the strange tightness in your own chest as you watched him disappear into the dim firelight—you felt it too.
Unable to stand beneath everyone’s worried stares any longer, you turned away and made your way toward the lake at the edge of camp. The cold night air brushed against your skin as you knelt near the water, exhaustion settling heavier with every passing second.
Only now, with the adrenaline finally gone, did you truly begin to feel how much the night had taken from you.
You peeled your armor away piece by piece beside the lake, each buckle and leather strap feeling impossibly heavy beneath your trembling hands. The metal had begun to feel suffocating somewhere during the walk back to camp, restrictive against movements already stiff with pain and exhaustion. By the time the final piece dropped beside you onto the damp ground, your body felt lighter for it—though not by much.
The cold water helped somewhat.
You knelt at the water’s edge, dipping shaking hands into the lake and washing away as much dirt and blood as you could manage. Crimson swirled through the rippling water before disappearing into the dark. Cuts and bruises revealed themselves more clearly beneath the grime now, angry and swollen across your skin. Every touch stung.
Your head still throbbed dully from the fall, a lingering haze sitting stubbornly behind your eyes. You must have struck it harder than you first thought. But Shadowheart had already pushed herself dangerously far tonight, and the guilt of asking for more healing magic settled too heavily in your chest to ignore. A bandage would do.
Still, despite the pain clouding every inch of your body, your thoughts kept circling back to him.
The pale elf.
The vampire spawn.
Astarion.
You rose slowly from the lakeside, suppressing the ache that flared through your muscles as you pulled yourself upright. Camp was quieter now, the earlier panic replaced with weary relief. Around the fire, the others had finally begun eating the fish you had nearly died retrieving. Their voices were low, subdued, exhaustion weighing down even Karlach’s usual energy.
You barely registered them as you passed.
Your body carried you toward Astarion’s tent almost on instinct alone.
The fabric shifted softly as you stepped inside.
Astarion sat propped against a pile of blankets, shirtless now, pale skin illuminated softly by the warm glow of a nearby lantern. Fresh bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, stark white against bruised skin. Seeing him like this—stripped of his usual effortless composure, visibly wounded and exhausted—sent something painful twisting through your chest.
He looked up as you entered, and immediately, his eyes fixed on you.
You crossed the small space between you before your knees finally gave out beneath the weight of the night, lowering yourself carefully in front of him. Even that small movement hurt.
Neither of you spoke at first.
Your hands moved slowly, brushing your hair aside to expose the curve of your neck to him. The vulnerable gesture felt strangely intimate in the quiet of the tent.
“You need to feed,” you murmured softly. “You lost too much blood.”
For a moment, Astarion simply stared at you.
Not because of the offer itself—you had offered before.
But because of now.
Because you were pale with exhaustion, blood still dried at your temple beneath the hastily wrapped bandage. Your hands trembled faintly from overexertion, your breathing still uneven from everything your body had endured tonight. Anyone with sense would have been resting. Protecting what little strength remained.
And yet you were here.
Offering him the last thing you had left to give.
Again.
Something unreadable flickered across his expression then, quieter and far more vulnerable than the usual amusement or practiced charm he wore so effortlessly.
Slowly, he shifted closer.
One hand lifted carefully to your neck, cool fingers resting against your skin as though testing whether you were truly there. His other hand settled against your waist, steadying you as he gently pulled you nearer. The movement was slow, deliberate, intimate enough that your breath caught despite yourself.
You tilted your head instinctively, giving him access to your neck, already bracing for the familiar sharp sting of his bite.
But it never came.
Instead, all you felt were his lips.
Soft.
Gentle.
A lingering kiss pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck with a tenderness that startled you far more than teeth ever could.
Astarion stayed there for a brief moment before pulling back slowly.
Your eyes met his immediately. There was something different in his gaze now—something quieter, stripped bare by exhaustion and everything you had done for him tonight.
“While I appreciate the offer,” he murmured softly, thumb brushing faintly against your waist, “you don’t have nearly enough to spare right now, darling.”
The words were light, but the meaning beneath them wasn’t.
Because, for perhaps the first time in longer than he could remember, Astarion did not look at you and think about survival first.
He looked at you and thought about your safety.
And somehow, that terrified him far more than the undead ever had.
“What was that down there?” Astarion’s voice was quiet in the dimness of the tent, lacking its usual theatrical edge. The lantern beside him cast soft gold across pale skin and loose white curls, shadows flickering gently across the sharpness of his features.
You frowned slightly, exhaustion still clouding your thoughts. “What do you mean?”
His eyes stayed fixed on you, searching your face as though the answer might already be written there somewhere. “You were barely standing,” he said softly. “Half dead yourself and still throwing yourself between me and an entire crypt full of undead.” His brows furrowed faintly, genuine confusion slipping through the cracks of his composure. “Why?”
The answer came easier than you expected.
“For you, Astarion.”
Silence.
The kind that settled heavily between two people when something honest had been placed carefully into the space between them.
Astarion stared at you like he was waiting for the punchline. As though somewhere in the back of his mind he had already convinced himself this couldn’t possibly be real—that there had to be another motive hidden beneath your words, something safer and more understandable than simple care.
But there wasn’t.
And that realization seemed to unsettle him far more than anything else tonight.
“Why?” he asked again, quieter this time.
The vulnerability in the question appeared to catch even him off guard.
Almost immediately, you watched the shift happen.
The retreat.
The instinctive reach for humor like armor slipping back into place. “If that was your attempt at impressing me, darling,” he said lightly, a faint smirk finally tugging at his lips, “I’d say it was unnecessarily dramatic.”
A tired laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
And gods, hearing him joke again—hearing that familiar teasing tone return after the terror of seeing him bleeding in the crypt—sent relief flooding through you so suddenly it almost hurt.
Your smile softened as you looked at him.
Then, slowly, you reached for his hand.
The movement made him still instantly.
Not because the gesture itself was shocking, but because of how gentle it was. Careful. Intentional. Your fingers curled around his, warmth against the coolness of his skin.
For once, Astarion didn’t immediately know how to react.
“I did it because…” You hesitated briefly, searching for words through the exhaustion weighing down your mind. “Because somewhere along the way, you stopped just being someone I travel with.”
His expression faltered almost imperceptibly.
You rubbed your thumb softly across the back of his hand before continuing.
“You make me laugh when everything feels impossible. You stay close to me even when you pretend not to care. And when I look for you in a room…” Your voice softened slightly. “I always feel better once I find you there.”
Astarion’s breath caught faintly.
“You ask why I risked myself for you,” you murmured. “But to me, there wasn’t really another choice.”
The teasing expression he had been trying so hard to maintain faded quietly after that.It simply slipped away beneath the weight of your honesty until all that remained was something far softer. Something uncertain.
Like he still didn’t fully understand how to hold something so genuine without fearing it might disappear the moment he touched it.
His fingers tightened slightly around yours.
Small.
Instinctive.
But real.
“You really are terrible for my ego, you know that?” he said finally, voice quieter now, stripped of most of its usual performance. “How am I supposed to maintain any air of mystery when you insist on saying things like that?”
You smiled tiredly, the warmth of it lingering between you both.
And for the first time that night, the silence that followed no longer felt heavy at all.
Astarion held your gaze for a long moment after that, crimson eyes quieter than you had ever seen them. The usual sharpness behind them had softened into something almost dangerously sincere, as though exhaustion had worn down the walls he normally kept so carefully intact.
His thumb brushed once against your hand before he finally let out a slow breath through his nose, the faintest trace of amusement returning to his expression.
“Well,” Astarion murmured, voice gentler now, “I suppose nearly getting yourself killed for me has earned you the privilege of sharing my blankets.”
A tired laugh escaped you, soft and breathless, and something in his shoulders visibly loosened at the sound of it.
“There it is,” you teased weakly. “I was wondering when your ego would recover.”
“Oh, it’s hanging on by a thread,” he replied dryly. “Do try not to wound me further tonight. I am already tragically injured.”
The corner of your mouth lifted despite how utterly exhausted you felt.
Astarion shifted carefully, suppressing a small wince as he moved further across the bedroll to make space for you beside him. The movement was slower than usual, lacking his normal effortless grace, but there was something strangely intimate about that too—seeing him allow himself to be seen like this, tired and hurting and real.
You hesitated only briefly before lying down beside him.
Every inch of your body protested the movement immediately.
The two of you awkwardly adjusted at first, exhaustion making even simple movements difficult as you both tried instinctively to avoid bruises, cuts, and freshly wrapped injuries. Your arm brushed carefully around his waist while avoiding the bandages across his torso, and his hand settled lightly against your side with surprising gentleness, mindful of the aches still lingering beneath your skin.
Eventually, you found something comfortable enough.
The blankets were warm around you both, carrying faint traces of leather, old parchment, and the familiar lingering scent of him. Outside the tent, the distant crackle of the campfire and muffled voices blurred softly into the background, fading further with every passing second.
For once, neither of you felt the need to speak.
Your head rested carefully against his shoulder, exhaustion pulling at you so heavily now that keeping your eyes open felt impossible. Beside you, Astarion had gone unusually still, his arm remaining loosely around you like he was still adjusting to the idea that someone had willingly chosen to be this close to him.
That someone had fought for him.
Cared for him.
Chosen him.
Even now, he still wasn’t entirely certain what to do with that feeling blooming painfully warm inside his chest.
But as your breathing slowly evened out against him, your body finally relaxing now that you knew he was safe, Astarion found that—for the first time in a very long while—the night did not feel quite so cold.
And somewhere between exhaustion and silence, the two of you finally let sleep claim you together.
i relish the fact that astarion is nobody. he has no assets, no family, no goals, no true occupation—inept in society. but it doesn’t matter, because tav loves him for what he is.
but this makes him insecure, especially when she talks to objectively good people.
like when tav meets harper geraldus. handsome, righteous, albeit a bit nervous. he was cute, and actively tried for society. tav, jaheira and him discussed business, but astarion itched, hanging back with the others. fuck, shouldn’t he be involved with her? what could geraldus say that was better than his own retorts? was she sick of astarion’s sly comments already?
or what of tav’s relationship with halsin? and their conversations about thaniel, nature, and the greater good of the grove? nights by the fire, storytelling of his esteemed occupation as an archdruid?
would astarion be better if he was naturally an altruist? possibly. could he try harder? maybe. but it’s just not his nature. it makes him wonder: why does tav love him?
in the heart of city, his anxiety spikes. who would he choose to be, once he’s free from cazador? what could he provide? was he even capable of such a thing? tav notices his turmoil, and shares more gentle glances, touches. but his guilt persists. tav could love someone with so much more.
he envisions them in the future, perhaps at a ball or a festival, one with friends she needed to introduce him to. he’d walk up and shine a vampire’s smile, all bark and no bite. no i’m from’s or i work’s. it was simply him, and tav’s awkward smile, perhaps trying to convince them he was worth her time.
he could kill for her. spend a debauched night with her, trade silly banter her. but then what? eternally attuned to lust, what could he offer, in the name of love?
he’d study what it means to be good, whatever that meant.
but that didn’t mean it’d be life-altering. when tav was busy exploring the city with the others, he strolled past street vendors, straightening like he had a damned clue. he spotted a glowing ring (if it had any magical incantation, he wouldn’t know) and bought it.
(or rather, also convinced the merchant to lower his prices, not just for him, but everyone in this poor, war-torn city) (wait, was that a step towards… being good?)
“i can’t provide anything else right now, really,” astarion played it off that night, confidence thin over his awkward swaying as he nonchalantly threw tav the ring. he’d rather speak before she could make the first comment. things would’ve probably ended anyway.
but tav hugged him, and he froze, his performance fizzling out of his bones. damn it all, where was his confidence now? had love made him truly this soft?
it was all okay, because tav and astarion, in a city of work and coin, were both empty—the best scenario to be in when they both needed a void to fill.
(who knows, maybe one day astarion will buy a house near the water, where tav needn’t worry about a thing again.) (definitely not at full price, though.)
◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!healer!reader
◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 13K
◜cw: fluff, sweet-dirty talk, wounds caring, previous sexual tension, feelings, rain, porn with some plot, first time sex, body worship, bodily fluids, piv, masturbation [F, M], blowjob, cock warming-riding, creampie, overstimulation, aftercare, morning talk.
▹ summary. one brow arched. “oh, really?” he asked sarcastically. “then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”
˗ˏˋ a/note. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are mistakes.
‘He was foolish. Reckless. Utterly stupid.’
Those words spun like a storm in your mind as you watched Astarion dash into danger. All because Gale, with one of his grandiose schemes, asked him to be a distraction—a distraction, of all things. The sheer absurdity grated on you, especially after that cocky, charming smile Astarion showed.
For all his talk of survival and his centuries-old staying alive, he seemed oblivious to the risks he took, as if he actually believed he was invincible. That careless swagger, that excitement in his eyes—it frustrated you to no end. Why does he have to be like this?
You were the only one in the camp capable of tending to wounds after Shadowheart decided to go off on her own because of a disagreement. And he knew it all too well.
He’d charged straight ahead of a group of Flaming Fists, who’d been hell-bent on killing you all after a disastrous misunderstanding. How you’d managed to escape with just minor injuries was still beyond your reach, but one thing was clear: if his recklessness didn’t kill him, you might do it yourself.
When he came to you later, sheepishly asking for a hand with his wounds, you were ready to refuse—but then he looked at you, with that pleading puppy look in his eyes that seemed to make all your frustration melt in an instant… and you just gave in.
You stepped out of your tent, dressed in your camp clothes and carrying a small bag with bandages and supplies. The moment the cold night breeze swept over your face and bare arms, you regretted your clothing.
But you headed towards Astarion’s tent. And as you crossed the camp, the faint patter of raindrops began to break the silence, with cool droplets striking the ground. You quickened your pace; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold.
The flap of the tent swayed gently in the breeze as you lifted your hand to brush the canvas aside and stepped in.
Inside, there was a warm setting given by some candles, and the rich scent of Astarion quickly enveloped you—hints of brandy and rosemary. And there he lay, reclining on his bedroll against some plushy pillows, with an opened book resting idly in his hands, though he wasn’t reading. His crimson eyes lifted rapidly to meet yours by the moment you entered, his brow raising slightly in surprise before a smile spread on his lips.
Astarion set his book aside with an elegant flourish, sitting a bit as his hand reached to help you enter in. “Ah, my darling... at last. I was beginning to think you’d leave me alone all nigh—” His words cut off abruptly as your palm connected sharply with his cheek.
“That’s for risking your life like a fool.” You snapped as you sat beside him on his bedroll.
He lifted a hand to his cheek and soothed the stinging sensation, shocked but faintly amused by your unexpected reaction. Before he could even part his lips to say something, you raised a finger to cut him off while dropping your bag on the bedroll with a firm thud.
“Honestly, Astarion, what in the hells were you thinking?” You demanded, already taking a cloth from your bag. You didn't even wait for him to reply and just reached for his arm, where a nasty wound marred his porcelain skin. “Running in like that without a second thought...” You murmured to yourself, furrowing your brows in worry.
Letting out a sigh, you carefully wiped the wound. “What if I hadn’t been there? Or if you’d got ki—” You shut yourself, swallowing down the knot of anxiety that had lodged in your throat since the fight ended. Memories of that night at the Tiefling’s party appeared in your mind—when, just for a moment, he’d looked at you beyond his enchanting demeanour. And how that left you feeling fragile in a way you weren’t ready to confront.
After a moment, you spoke more calmly, “You can’t keep doing this, Astarion. You can’t keep risking yourself as if you don’t matter.”
As you dabbed carefully at another cut, his face tensed in a grimace, and you couldn't hold back any longer. “I don’t care how bold you think you are, Astarion—there’s no excuse for being so imprudent. You’re not some disposable distraction, no matter what Gale or anyone else thinks.” You noticed how one of his eyebrows raised with that glint in his eyes. “And don’t even think about giving me that look.”
For once, he simply fell silent, watching how your hands moved in his arm with the cool cloth with... perhaps an affectionate expression. Then his voice dropped, gentler than you'd ever heard it. “I didn't realise you cared about me... quite this much.”
Your hands froze briefly, feeling a heat rising to your cheeks. You controlled your feelings. “Well, someone has to keep you in line, and I’m fairly certain neither of our lovely friends would be up to the task.” You clarified, somewhat exasperated, but with some gentility in your tone.
You heard a soft chuckling from him, as he was aware of the truth in your words. Gently, his hand reached out to caress yours. “It means... more than you think. To have someone caring.” As your eyes dropped to his hand and then his face, you saw past his charm for a fleeting moment, past his sly smile to the man who hadn't known kindness in far too long. “Thank you.”
Your eyes widened while your cheeks rose even more, quickly looking again to his arm as you wiped another open wound. You cleared your throat. “Just... try not to make me need to patch you up every time we get into trouble, alright? For my sanity, if nothing else.”
He gently caressed the back of your hand one last time before letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, and miss all the attention you give me?” He looked into your eyes, pouting a little but taking in the seriousness in your face. “Fine. I’ll be more careful, love.” His voice was laced with a teasing warmth, easing the sting of worry in your chest, making it almost worth it.
The rain began to fall harder, the deafening through of it slapping against the canvas. When you looked at his shirt, there was something about how it had dark patches of blood through that caught your attention. You could almost see the bruises starting to form and the scratches beneath the fabric.
You glanced up at him again. “Astarion, take that shirt off; I need to see what’s under it.”
He raised one of his eyebrows. “Eager, aren't we?” He smirked. “I suppose I can indulge you, darling...”
You gave him a soft smile for his tease, speaking exasperated but amused. “I’m sure you’ve got wounds under there, Astarion. Just take it off.”
His smirk widened, clearly enjoying. “Such impatience... Very well, love. You’ve earned the right to see what lies beneath.” Then he reached for the hem of his classic white shirt, the delicate fabric gathering in his hands before he tugged it over his head in one fluid move, slightly disheveling his curls.
The shirt slipped away, revealing his chest and the sharp definition of his collarbones. The flickering candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows over the subtle contours of his physique. His movements were unhurried as he was offering you a glimpse.
As he tossed the garment aside carelessly, it landed in a heap near the edge of the bedroll. The air between you seemed to shift. His crimson eyes showed a slight hint of vulnerability that he quickly masked with a smirk.
“Better?” He drawled, his usual charm creeping back. “Is the view satisfactory, or are you planning to strip me further?”
You rolled your eyes, though the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrayed your mock tiresomeness. “Oh, stop. I’m only trying to see how severe the damage is. Not everything has to be an invitation for your theatrics.” With the cloth in hand, you pressed it gently to a scrape on his shoulder.
Trying to focus solely on the task at hand, you tried not to stare too long at the sight before you, but the way you moved closer left a sense of intimacy that you couldn't quite ignore. The quiet hum of your fingers tracing his chest and the lines of his abdomen made you feel the way his skin seemed to breathe beneath your fingertips. And you could swear that you heard almost inaudible sighs from him when your hands brushed over particularly tender sites.
The storm raged harder, hammering relentlessly against the tent as if the heavens insisted on being heard.
The wounds were worse than you thought—a mixture of gashes and dark bruises, a few of them with a touch of infection already setting in. Your eyes faltered briefly when your heart tightened at this sight as you moved from one injury to the next, cleaning them.
Astarion's gaze remained fixed on you, changing between your hands and your preoccupied expression. For once, the usual, confident, and charismatic vampire who normally danced with danger and seductiveness had taken his mask off. Showing the face of someone who, for once, truly trusted in someone else and allowed you to take care of him.
His breath caught when you reached a particularly deep gash along his abdomen, and you had to steady yourself to not flinch with him. The sound of his discomfort sent a tremor through your hands. Still, he kept his endurance and didn't flinch away from you; this only made your chest ache more.
He broke the silence with a low mutter with an odd weariness. “You should stop doing that.”
Your fingers froze, halting mid-motion. “Stop what?” You asked, but not looking up, trying to maintain your focus.
“Caring so much,” he replied quietly. “It doesn’t suit you.”
You stilled, taken aback by his words, before you finally looked up to meet his gaze. “You’re a fool.” You shot back.
He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t the usual mocking sound; no, it sounded with a subtle trace of gratitude, or perhaps something far more complicated for him.
“You know,” he added after a long moment, his voice lower now, “I’m not used to this. To someone looking after me.”
You let your hands rest on his waist, looking up once more. “I’m not doing this because you’re special,” you replied with a snark tone. “I’m doing it because you’re an idiot, Astarion. And if you keep getting yourself hurt like this, I might just tie you up next time to keep you out of trouble.”
His lips showed that smile of his again, though more tenderly. “Ah, my very own personal keeper. What would I do without you, darling?”
After you grabbed and secured a bandage around his waist for his deep wound, you allowed your hands to stay on his body moments longer than necessary. You could feel the enveloping air between you; the silence was tense, though neither of you moved or said anything. Astarion's pupils were dilated looking at you, and they held a certain depth that seemed to pull at you.
Your mind was still so wrapped up in the care you'd given him that you barely noticed the shift in your own position until you relaxed to adjust the posture of your body. That's when the realisation hit you like a punch to the gut—you were straddling him.
Your knees rested on either side of his hips, and you could feel the constant pressure of his pelvis against yours in a way that felt far too out of place.
A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you instinctively stiffened while a rush of hotness flooded your chest. Your mind started to race: ‘How long have we been like this? How had I not noticed this before?’ The tightness of your hips against his, the way your bodies seemed to fit together so... naturally—it was impossible to ignore.
But Astarion? He didn’t falter even for a second. His body remained relaxed beneath yours, with some sort of steady confidence, like he had no intention of acknowledging the shift in the dynamic. There was the faintest shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tightening of his grip on your thigh, but it went away in an instant.
“Getting comfortable, darling?” He spoke smoothly, with a dangerous and devilishly enticing tone. His lips curled into that signature grin of his, but this time it was different; there was no teasing edge, no light-hearted mockery. Instead, there was a subtle weight to it, as it appeared to hold more meaning than it usually did.
“I must admit, I didn’t think you’d be so forward, love.” He purred. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, the quiet thrill touring his body of the intimacy at that moment.
The hand on your thigh slowly slid to your hip, allowing his fingers to linger there briefly before trailing up to your waist. You straightened up immediately, your face flushing while your pulse hammered in your chest because you had never been this close to him before—really close. Too close.
“I wasn't... trying to be forward...” Your voice tumbled, feeling a nervous tension twisting in your gut. Your words stumbled over each other, sharper than you meant them to be. “I was just trying to—”
“Trying to cure me, I know,” he interrupted, his soft chuckle rolling over you like a sensual caress. “Though, love, such a delicate position for a healer. Wouldn’t you agree?” His voice dipped, low and molten, sharpening his smile into something far more dangerous. His eyes were locked on yours, unfaltering, almost daring you to react.
Everything else blurred into insignificance. All you could hear was the erratic pounding of your own heartbeat and his breathing, far too steady for the situation.
“I...” you started, but the tightness in your throat made it difficult to say a word. You didn’t know what to say; you didn’t even know if you wanted to break the silence hanging between you. “We should probably...” The sentence fizzled out, as useless as your resolve to push away the growing tension.
Before you could even think of anything else, the heat of his touch burnt through the fabric of your pyjamas, making your skin tingle in its wake. His hand slid up your side, grazing your ribs and the curvature of your breast with his thumb before setting at your waist to grip it firmly. The way his thumb slowly began to stroke the curve of your waist only made your nervousness get worse. His touching wasn't just casual—it was as if he wanted to test your reaction.
A rush of sensations made it impossible to think clearly, your body betraying you. His posture—his other elbow propped for support—the constant pressing of his crotch against yours, his hand on your waist—it all pulled you into a current you weren’t sure you could fight.
“Go on,” he purred with the faintest hint of mockery. His gaze moved to your lips, as though he could draw out the answer with nothing but his stare. His fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the pressure sending a ripple of heat skittering through you. “What was it you were saying? Something about what we should do?”
You couldn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on your hands as they rested awkwardly near his chest, fingers twitching. The heat building between your thighs crept upward, spreading through your belly like a forest fire. You felt flushed and shivering, not just from the closeness but from the way he was glancing at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth his attention.
You weren't prepared for this; you hadn't anticipated that the barriers you thought were between you would collapse into nothing so abruptly.
Astarion’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade. “Are you going to keep me here all night, love?” His tone kept low, almost a growl.
You struggled to string together coherent thoughts before saying something. “I didn't know you wanted... I didn't think...” The words stumbled out again, barely audible as your voice betrayed you.
His smirk deepened, and his crimson eyes held a predatory gleam that made your stomach twist and flutter all at once. “Don’t play coy with me, darling.” His voice was velvety enough to bury each word into your ears. “I know you’ve thought about this—about me. I can see it, feel it. You want this as much as I do.” You tried to look away to escape his gaze, but it was impossible. His eyes held you captive, burning with something raw and unapologetically ravenous.
Your eyes widened as he tugged you closer with a calculated ease that made you perfectly aligned with him—causing your pussy to rub directly on his cock. The feeling made every inch of you stand on edge, your body betraying you with a tremor you couldn’t suppress. Then he reclined back against his pillows more comfortably before his other hand glided up your thigh. “Relax, darling...” He purred lowly, his tone a sensuous command that curled around you like smoke.
You became instantly conscious of the burning sensation beneath you—the growing hardness pressing insistently against your cunt. Your thoughts whirled, panic and desire colliding in a tumult. ‘How did I end up like this?’ But the answer was painfully clear—he had led you, and you’d followed without resistance for being distracted caring for him.
“I... I wasn't planning... this.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but his eyes—bold and piercing—made it impossible to hold.
One brow arched. “Oh, really?” He asked sarcastically. “Then perhaps you can explain why you’re straddling me like you are, love.”
His hardening length was impossible to ignore, even through the barrier of clothes, the sensation making heat surge through you in torrents. You swallowed hard. “I… It’s only because you moved me—” You tried to protest, but Astarion pressed a finger to your lips to silence you before leaning in to kiss your neck. “Moved you, did I?” He teasingly whispered against your skin. “Then don’t even think of moving, love... you're not going anywhere.”
Those words echoed in your ears. You knew you’d been fighting with your feelings since that night with the tieflings—when you’d seen him in his tent with his wine focused entirely on you, ignoring everyone else. You’d told yourself it was just the wine, the moment, but now you could hardly keep up the pretence.
For a hesitant moment, you thought about pulling away—but then his expression softened, almost looking if his black pupils were begging for you to stay with him, to kiss him when he noticed your intentions as you stared at his lips and slowly you hovered them with yours; the distance seemed endless.
With a small effort, you leaned in and kissed his lips, and you could feel how he smiled, clearly delighted by your boldness and the way your hand curled at his nape to draw him to you. The motions of your lips were slow, unsure. But as soon as you felt his opening slightly against yours, the shyness began to fade.
His hands clamped on your hips to pull you closer until there wasn't any space for doubt or even space untouched between you, and you could feel him—all of him. The pressure of his cock perfectly aligned with your entrance provoked you to gasp against his mouth; even in the hesitation, he gave you no choice but to lean into him, to crave more and push past the uncertainty that had held you back.
He just seemed to want more, that he couldn’t get enough of you. His mouth felt as if it were burning yours. The kiss started slow and tentative, but that didn't last. His lips grew more insistent as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head and parting yours with ease to slip his tongue between your lips in a hurry. This made you pant by the initial shock of it, racing your heart. Your thoughts began to dissolve, leaving only the moment, and you simply surrendered to the sensation.
The swipes of his tongue weren’t gentle at all. He was implacable, exploring your mouth, moving deeper. His kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was an invitation, a way to encourage you. And as you accepted, you met his tongue with your own, unconfident at first, but he gave you the courage to match his boldness. Astarion groaned softly, a deep sound that reverberated in your lips, sending an intense pulse of arousal to your pussy.
There was no going back now, and you knew it. This was it—the pull to him, the demand of his touch, and now you could feel the indescribable connection that had been building between you from the very first time your eyes had met.
His lips pulled away just enough to speak. “You’re mine tonight.” He groaned roughly as his hands drifted to the sensitive space between your inner thighs, cupping your pussy and slowly kneading it with his fingers. “And when I’m through with you, you won't even remember what it felt like to be without me.”
Your chest tightened as his words hit hard, but you found yourself barely able to even think, unable to do more than just nod as you looked down at him. Your lips parted while you took your breath, while his hand moved with a voracious elegance, dragging his fingertips along the seam where your trousers joined. The air was charged and burning before he did what he did.
With a sharp tug, Astarion tore the fabric between your thighs. The sound was violent as the seams of your trousers gave way under the force of his hands, almost merciless. The rip clearly was strategic—exposing just enough to reveal what was hidden.
But the regret rushed over you the moment the cool night air hit your exposed area. You hadn’t been wearing any panties, and now, with nothing to shield your nakedness, you felt scandalously vulnerable. You cursed yourself for all the nights you decided against wearing anything, thinking no one would notice. Now, the decision turned painfully foolish.
His eyes dropped, and his pupils dilated further at the sight of his no longer hidden treasure, curling his lips with delight. A low laugh escaped his throat. “Well, well,” he purred, distinctly pleased. “It seems you’ve been planning this all along, haven’t you? No panties? How deliciously bold.”
You mentally damned your stupidity, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. The simple choice of not wearing underwear before going to sleep now felt like an invitation, one he seemed all too eager to accept.
The shock of it left you momentarily motionless and without words, feeling the cool air kissing the exposed skin of your thighs and your core. His hand brushed over the tear he had just created, grazing his fingers very close to where your pussy was.
“I can still see that shy little spark in you, even now.” He talked again, locking onto you. The playful smirk on his lips softened as he watched the blush across your cheeks. “It's almost... adorable.”
You tilted your head slightly, trying to escape his penetrating stare, a nervous pout forming on your lower lip as your hands clutched at his shoulders for some sort of stability. But a sudden gasp escaped your lips when his middle and ring fingers slid between your folds with smooth precision, parting them easily. His fingers let your clitoris be positioned right between both; your sensitive bud responded instantly after so many winters without another’s touch, and your grip on his shoulders only grew firmer.
When they finally clamped on either side of your clit, his fingers massaged it with a slow back-and-forth motion, sending an uncontrollable shiver through your nub. Your hips instinctively moved due to his stimulation, causing a soft tremor in your pelvis as the tingling sensation built. The exact pressure he exerted made you melt further, caught in the heat of it and masking your timid instincts.
All swipes of his fingers coaxed your body to react in ways you could barely control. Astarion's smile widened as he enjoyed watching the last traces of your shyness slowly dissolve beneath his touch. Eventually joining his thumb to the dance, finally rubbing directly over the skin covering your bud before pressing down in slow circles that made your thighs tremble against his hips.
“Just like that…” He murmured approvingly. “Feels good, doesn't it?”
His fingers slid forward slightly, pressing his palm against your clit while his middle finger traced the outline of your entrance. The anticipation held you captive, instinctively arching your hips, silently urging him to end the wait. And then, with tantalising slowness, he slid one finger inside you, the feeling both stimulating and exhilarating all at once. The filling was perfect—gradual but firm—and soon, a second finger joined to push in and out without pulling them out entirely.
With each slow thrust of his fingers, his palm rubbed on the skin of your clit, adding a delicious, pleasurable dual stimulation that sent spasms through your pussy, making it impossible to stay still. The strokes were maddeningly controlled, his fingers reaching and curling deeper with every smooth push, as though he knew exactly what you needed and how to give it to you. Astarion’s gaze never left your face, his piercing crimson eyes bright with pleasure, absorbing every sigh and shiver you produced.
“How sensitive, darling...” He breathed softly as he drew closer to meet your lips with his, causing a sweet pulse to your core, intensifying your throbs.
He angled his hand just slightly to reach deeper, and you gripped him tightly. You found yourself helplessly following the increasing tempo he set, encircling his neck with your arms to pull him closer and losing one of your hands in his silky curls.
Astarion's smile turned avaricious against your mouth, sensing your walls vibrate and deliciously clench around him, drenching his hand in just a few minutes. He curled his skilled fingers inside to stimulate a sensitive spot you didn't know was there, just perfectly, his touch implacable against your clit while he fucked your cunt.
Your mouth was being claimed with an eagerness that made your blood boil—he was devouring you in the kiss. His smooth lips moved against yours, insistent and hungry, coaxing you to open for him as he gently bit your lower lip. As you complied, his tongue rapidly swept in, tasting your saliva mingling with his. It was dizzying; your senses flooded with the taste of him and the coolness of his pale skin, creating a high contrast against your hot, wetting pussy and just adding to the sensations.
A low groan gurgled in his chest as his lips pressed harder, the tips of his fangs grazing your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. Just to slam his mouth to yours again with even more fierceness after taking his breath. His fingers curled more rapidly against that delicate spot within you, utterly submerging you in the magnetic pull of his caresses and the incredible hunger in his kiss.
He pulled away, his lips brushing against yours as he did, a soft, breathless hum escaping him. “I wonder,” he began, “how long it will take for you to break, darling.” His eyes glinted as he continued. “But I’m in no rush. We’ll savour this. I will…”
Your grip on him tightened, slightly pulling his hair as your hips rocked back and forth with the pace he set, lost to the growing pleasure he built for you. His touch was relentless, almost coaxing you to the brink, but every stroke was carefully calculated, carefully slow to keep you teetering, hovering in a blissful tension that left you frustrated.
Astarion watched you with predatory attention, centred on the slightest whimper that escaped your lips, as well as that exquisite pussy between your thighs. The very sight of you brought him as much pleasure as his hand brought to you.
Your breathing grew ragged as your body instinctively sought more of the pleasure he promised. The fullness of his fingers, though they were quite close to what you needed, only left you aching for more. You could feel your desire intensifying with every subtle movement, letting your hands drift lower in his chest with the need to touch, to claim him as yours. ‘At least for tonight’.
“Astarion... more, please... I want your cock inside me.” You pleaded, looking into his eyes with desperate want. “Take off these trousers...” You added, letting your fingers trail down his abdomen to where his waistband circled just below his waist, urging him to remove the last barrier between you.
He held your gaze, his eyes smouldering as a slow, indulgent smile appeared on his face. “Oh, you’re even more delicious when you beg...” He honeyed with approval, pulling his fingers out of your pussy and watching with keen interest as you trembled at the loss, the delicate quiver of your hips only adding to the pleasure he found in your vulnerability.
Before doing so, he slowly brought his dripping fingers from your cunt to his mouth, taking great pleasure in licking them clean and savouring the sweet, intoxicating juices made by your body. A soft, pleased hum escaped him as his eyes gleamed with wicked glee as he drank in the sight of your flushed face.
Only then did his hands drop to the waistband of his trousers. He didn’t rush, of course; instead, his movements were maddeningly slow as he began to slide the fabric down. The gleam in his eyes told you everything—he was savouring every second, drawing out the moment just to test your patience, fully aware of how much it would irritate you.
But just before sliding them for once and for all down, he stopped within a second. His eyes trailed their way down to your breasts, marked against the cloth, still covered while his torso was bare since you made him take off his shirt; the contrast stirred something within him. His fingers gently trailed along the fabric of your shirt, brushing down and against the edge, before his hand slid inside to grip your waist.
He looked back up, meeting your gaze with desire and playful intent. “Darling,” he purred, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you join me in shedding the rest of my clothing?” His eyes gleamed as he showed his damned puppy-like eyes for the second time that day. “I want to feel all of you against me,” he added, his tone rich with faked sorrow as his lower lip made a soft pout. “Take it off, my love...”
Oh, this definitely made you smile, feeling a spark of mischief as you looked down at him. You could tell he hadn’t quite anticipated the thought that crossed your mind.
You let your fingers drift along his bare chest again, savouring the coolness and smoothness of his porcelain skin before cradling his cheek, taking in every detail of his expectant look.
“Well,” you leaned close, letting your lips just a few inches away from his. “After tearing my favourite trousers,” you whispered, trailing your thumb teasingly across his lower lip, “don’t you think it’s only fair that you ask me—politely—to take the shirt off?”
Astarion raised one of his brows; his smile wavered for only a moment as he considered your request. Then, his expression softened, his smirk playing again on his lips as his hands slid up your sides under your shirt. “Oh, I see,” he replied smoothly, “you want me to beg, do you?”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Yes.” You savoured every single letter that slipped from your lips. “I am dying to hear you beg, Astarion.”
A moment passed before he gave a soft chuckle, and his gaze, brimming with delight and want, locked with yours. “Please, my love.” He said lowly, needy. “Let me see those surely precious breasts you must have. I’ll be good, I promise.” He pleaded sweetly. “Take it off... just for me...”
His words only made you want to tease him more.
The diabolical glow in your eyes grew as you leaned forward, letting your thumb trace the line of his chin. You could feel the light tension in his posture, the way the red in his eyes darkened, his lips parting just a bit as he waited for... maybe a kiss? He wasn't quite sure with you. His hands on your waist tightened to pull you a bit closer, but you resisted, holding him at bay.
“Good, you say? I’d like to see that.” You tilted your head as if considering his plea. “Are you sure you’re capable of it?” Your fingers slid down his chest again, skimming over his nipples with your fingers just enough to provoke him a small shiver.
“More than capable.” He replied roughly for the restraint you demanded of him, but not being entirely sincere.
You breathed slowly as you caught his lie, but somehow, your desire for him only grew, knowing he didn’t intend to ‘be good’ with you at all.
Your hands went down to lift the hem of your shirt, but you didn’t pull it up yet. Instead, you let your fingers there. “If you want it so badly, Astarion,” you said softly, “you’ll have to ask again. Nicely.”
His expression shifted to one of purely wanting as he tightened his hands on you. “Please, my love,” he replied in a low tone. “Take it off.”
Finally, you slowly lifted your shirt to reveal your torso and the defined curves of your breasts, drawing the fabric over your head to set it aside on his bedroll and finally being completely naked to his eager stare. Astarion’s eyes glistened with a glow that spoke volumes as he devoured every detail of your flushed skin like a long-awaited treat. You couldn’t help but arrange your hair and adjust your bracelets; you felt a mix of nerves and exhilaration at his intense attention.
Astarion’s hands reached for your breasts with a speed that almost startled you, sinking his fingers into your supple flesh as he kneaded it and leaned forward. His lips found one of your nipples, capturing it along with a portion of your breast, sucking passionately before planting a warm kiss above your nipple. He repeated on its twin, savouring your body before finally looking up; the surprise etched on your face, the blush on your cheeks, and the widening of your eyes seemed to light pride in his gaze.
Astarion revelled in the comfy warmth of your flesh under his cool hands as he continued to knead and massage your breasts as thoroughly as it was slow. Trailing his lips down to run messy kisses along your sternum before returning to one of your breasts once more. He opened his mouth, homely, to get your flushed breast inside, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it, rumbling an eager hum. His hands went to your waist and your other breast to take care of it too, holding you as you leaned against him with a soft moan escaping your lips. He seemed almost like a starved child desperately seeking milk from his mother's breast.
After a long, leisurely moment, he pulled away with a final and slow brush of his tongue over your nipple; his lips glistened with saliva from his attention. A desire that seemed to consume him was burning in his eyes, and when they met yours, a slow smile spread across his face. “You know,” he murmured, “I could lose myself in you like this, so easily.” His fingers slowly contoured your waist. “But I’ll need more than just this beautiful view.” He leaned in to graze his lips on your ear and whispered, “Imagine, darling, how it’ll feel when I’m deep inside you—how I’ll make you forget everything else, until all you can think of... is me.”
Your body received a delicious tremble, an almost inaudible moan escaping your lips because of the intensity of his voice saying those words to you. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer, feeling yourself getting wetter. The simple thought of him inside you, fucking you until your legs couldn't respond any more, grew your pulse faster.
As his hands wandered lower, the ache between your thighs grew unbearable—the need to have his cock growling in your throat; you could barely stand it. Impatiently, you moved to straddle his thighs, finding with your hands his waistband.
“I need you, Astarion.” Your plea spilt out unprocessed, begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you craved. “Please take them off. I can’t wait any longer. Finish what you started.” The final word fell from your lips almost like a cry, leaving no doubt that you were beyond ready, beyond wanting. You needed him—now.
Astarion chuckled as he looked at your hands, tracing his abdomen. He laid back slightly against his soft pillows, clearly enjoying how you were so eager for him, but he didn’t move anyway. Instead, his eyes flickered to your fingers as they were about to start tugging his waistband, and his lips curled up.
“Please, Astarion.” You pleaded again. “I can't take it any more. Stop teasing me. Take them off. Please.”
He hummed, amused, with a wicked glint in his crimson eyes. “Ah, so desperate, are we?” His eyes slid downward, pausing to take in the way your pussy soaked through his fabric, already dripping as you set yourself on his thighs. “Look at that sweet little cunt of yours, dripping for me already.” As soon as he finished speaking, he let out a soft chuckle. “Can’t wait to feel me inside, I see.”
You furrowed your brows in some annoyance at his incessant chatter that only made your patience thinner. But then, his demeanour shifted nonchalantly, capturing your attention when he propped his hands up on the bedroll and lifted his pelvis fluidly, giving you room to slide his trousers out of his legs.
“Help yourself, darling.” He purred softly with that grin on his lips.
You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing down, captivated by his posture. When your eyes fell to his crotch, where your hands had settled either side, you saw the clear shape of his rigid cock outlined beneath the fabric, straining against the material and angled a little to one side. The thickness and length were evident, making your entrance painfully clench around nothing and heat your cheeks.
‘How didn't I look at it before?’ Your breath hitched at the graphic, raw sight of it—exquisite and so irresistibly tempting. The aching sensation in your pussy grew, not just from the visual but from the rush of desire that quickly followed. Despite yourself, your eyes went back to his face, finding that same teasing, excited expression as though he were daring you to take the next step.
As you began to slide your fingers inside the waistband of his trousers, you brushed lightly his skin, sending a shiver to your fingertips.
And then, pulling his trousers down, you slowly revealed more inches of his pelvis and his white curls, and you could feel his intense gaze smouldering into you. His cock twitched against the fabric, building your excitement until it sprang free, making you inhale sharply at the sight. Your eyes traced his exposed skin as you slid the fabric the rest of the way down his legs. A soft rustle marked their removal from his ankles, and he lay naked before you.
His erect length was blushed and visibly soft, with subtle veins running up from its base, contrasting sharply against his swollen, rosy head. The pale expanse of his skin was almost luminescent; only the tip of his cock seemed all the more vivid. And there was precum already seeping from its slit, a trail that slid down to his sac.
For a brief, delicious moment, you simply stared. The long shape with a slightly tapered head was just stunning, and it made you realise just how perfectly he would enter and fill you. You couldn’t help but let your fingers drift to your clit, stimulating lightly to ease the relentless ache building. The wet heat spread between your thighs, growing stronger as you took in every detail.
A subtle sigh left your lips, caused by the strong beating of your puffy bud against your fingers. You traced the ridges of his hips with the other hand before brushing over from the base to the tip of his cock. It was warm, soft but firm with the ridges of its veins, and the precum that gathered there only added to its silkiness.
Your mind raced with thoughts you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to process—how new this was, how thrilling and unfamiliar it felt yet so drawn by it. Astarion was nothing like the lovers you had before. You didn’t have a long list of conquests, and that made your inexperience clear. But the way he looked at you and how his moves commanded every piece of your attention drew you deeper into something you were both eager and frightened to experience.
Without thinking any longer, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, feeling its thickness as you slowly began to stroke him in sync with your own stimulation, smoothing with your thumb the head with each pass. His lips allowed a low, appreciative sigh to escape him, sending a wave of emotion through you and racing your pulse. And with one final glance up at his face, you slowly positioned yourself between his thighs to lay down and let your stomach rest on his bedroll.
As you let your lips hover near the tip of his cock, you could feel the heat radiating from him and smell the intoxicating scent of his arousal as he smelt yours. You could almost drool at the sight before you—how you see the shift in his expression—from humour to impatience. The anticipation was exhausting for both of you, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you kissed the tip tenderly, feeling the weight of him against your lips before letting your tongue slip out where his glans started to the high point. Tasting the warmth and saltiness of his cock because of his precum.
You felt the coolness of the storm kissing you and of the bedroll beneath your stomach, grounding you as your hands remained on him, steady and assured. Astarion’s thighs tensed under your touch, caught between the impulse to take control and the pleasure of simply letting you explore at your own pace.
Each time your thumb swept over his tip, his cock twitched, responding to the rhythm of your touch and your lips. You swirled your tongue around his head, licking clean the precum that had gathered there and along his length. The taste was different than you expected—rich and heady, like a Vermentino wine, lingering on your tongue in a way that was deeply intriguing.
The low sounds slipping from his lips spurred you on as you pressed messy kisses to his length and tip, tracing with your tongue the subtle lines and ridges of his shaft. His sharp intake of breath told you just how deeply he felt every small touch, and the sheer pleasure in that knowledge emboldened you further.
“Mm, look at you,” he purred, honestly surprised and pleased. “Not so shy now, are we, darling?” His words were meant to tease as always, but the note of admiration was unmistakable, making clear just how captivated he truly was.
Your eyes met his quietly before slowly lowering your mouth to take him inch by inch. The stretch of him filled your cavity as you went deeper, feeling his rigidity slide against your tongue. You let inside more of him until you felt his tip reach the back of your throat and the hair on his pelvis brushing your nose. His reaction, the involuntary twitch, and the low hum from him sent a thrill through you as you adjusted him inside your mouth, savouring the moment.
As you set a slow up-down with your head, Astarion’s lips started to make soft, broken sounds that were like a lyrical to your ears, urging you to continue. His hand reached out to rest on the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he let out a silent growl. The anxiety in his grip was obvious, yet he kept his touch gentle, guiding without forcing and letting you take the lead, trembling under your care.
You slid your hands down his thighs, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers and feeling how his body responded to you. Each time you drew him deeply, your tongue caressed his lower vein, lavishing attention on every inch of him that his cock met with an appreciative palpitation.
Astarion moaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Slow down, my love... Let me enjoy this.” He breathed as he allowed you to fully take him, his hips flexing slightly. His fingers tightened slowly in your hair, a silent encouragement for you to continue as he gave himself completely over to you.
With one hand still supported on his thigh, you drifted the other to his sac to massage it gently inside your palm. The action caused a louder moan from him, his hips jiggling involuntarily as you kept your mouth moving steady and more slowly, never breaking your rhythm. His low groans came quicker and even rougher, sounds of pleasure spilling freely now like an invitation to go on, filling the tent and dispersing the strong rain outside.
He moved his hand from your hair to your cheek and stopped you momentarily, cradling it in a surprisingly tender gesture as he glanced down at you. “Look at me while you do it, my darling...” He sighed, gently caressing you. “Feel how hard you make me...” His head fell back once more, unable to hold back a guttural growl as you continued with an intensified sucking, feeling his cock pulse and grow impossibly hard against your tongue.
With a measured squeeze, you tightened your grip on his sac, rolling it delicately with your fingers while your other hand remained anchored on his thigh. They trembled involuntarily, just like his cock, each movement drawing a delicious reaction until he could no longer keep still, his hips instinctively arching towards your mouth.
His hand returned to the back of your head, gripping tightly as your tongue traced the underside of his cock. All of him seemed to shiver under your touch, and he still allowed you to take control, guiding him into this sweet, little death.
But, after a few moments, you let his cock slip free from your lips with a slow drag, watching it emerge slick in your saliva and instantly cling to his lower belly because of its hardness. The dampness left a glistening trail between your mouth and him, breaking only as you leaned back, lifting a hand to wipe the last of the moisture from your mouth. He let out a disappointed sigh at the loss of you, then looked down to watch how you had left him all reddish-coloured with a sheen because of his precum mixed with your saliva.
Without a word, you rose on your knees and moved to straddle his hips, feeling the firm press of his thighs beneath your ass cheeks as you settled your weight onto him. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, gripping your sides in a way that felt almost impossible to avoid.
You could feel the hardness of his cock pressing between your folds—a solid, delicious presence. Each pulsate of its head against the own palpitations of your puffy bud felt incredible.
Bracing your hands against his chest, you pressed down gently and took a moment to enjoy the feel of him, tracing the lines that defined his chest with your fingers. His eyes were locked on you, watching the way your pussy just wrapped around his cock.
Gradually, you began to move your hips, grinding down your clitoris onto his glans with a slowed tempo that turned faster. The friction was amazing as you brushed against his slick skin, adding a sensuous layer of lubrication as you moved back and forth against his perfectly nestled cock. You could feel yourself drenching him wetter, mixing your juices with the slickness left from your previous oral.
His hungry gaze roamed over your pelvis, tightening his grip on your waist as he let out a rough sigh, savouring the way your pussy slid so enticingly along his shaft until you leaned forward. Repositioning your weight on one hand, you reached down to trace your fingers along his length, wrapping around it to guide it upwards. You pressed the tip on your entrance, dragging it slowly along your slit, feeling it start to pulse against your inner lips. His lower lip formed a slight pout as you continued to tease, drawing the moment out with almost cruel patience.
But with a final pass, you positioned him straight to your entrance, vacillating just on the edge, and looked at his face to watch his reaction—the way his eyes were focused on your pussy, waiting for you to cut the last bit of separation. Then, with a slow downward, you began to sink him inside, feeling the exquisite stretch his tip made as he filled you, inch by inch, making your walls instantly clench around him for the sudden fullness.
He let out a pleased moan, now holding harder your hips as you settled onto him completely, feeling so deep and stretching you deliciously wide after so many years of solitude. The warm pulse of him between your walls, every subtle movement of his length—an insistent throb—made you simply sit there for a moment. Letting yourself adjust to the sensation of him fully within you and the friction of your clit as it rubbed against his silvery pubic hair. He flicked up his eyes to meet yours with an intensity that made his eagerness clear as he waited for you to move.
You gently cupped his face and caressed his pointy ear, the other hand resting over his shoulder. You softly brought his face closer to yours, locking your eyes on his.
“Astarion...” You whispered. “Can you feel it? How incredible this is?” You gave him a dulcet smile before closing the distance, pressing your lips against his as you traced the line of his cheekbone and chest, feeling his pulse beneath your fingers.
Gently, you lifted yourself just slightly to sink back down, the exquisite friction sending a burst of pleasure through both of you. Astarion’s grip on you tensed again, tightening as his hips surged up to meet yours, letting out a low, throaty noise. Your lips remained together, deepening the kiss as your mouths moved in time with your bodies, setting a slow, constant pace where you rose and fell smoothly over him.
The sounds of your bodies intertwined moving together began to fill the surrounding little space—the slapping of skin on skin, the lewd, sensual noises of your pussy swallowing his cock over and over again blending with the muffled moans, and the relentless raindrops against the canvas.
He forcefully gripped your hips to dictate you, abruptly being the one controlling the pace as he broke the kiss to catch his breath. His lips hovered close, both hot exhales mingling as you rested your forehead against his, matching your rhythm. The tantalising climax drew closer and closer with every thrust, making everything else seem distant, the storm outside being insignificant compared to the tempest building between you.
His hands roamed over your body, tracing your spine before one circled your waist and the other gripped the back of your shoulder to pull you closer, urging you to press down against him more fully.
The deeper you sank, the more you felt him smack against your vaginal walls so passionately. You leaned forward, your hands wrapping either side of his waist and slightly digging your nails into his skin as you picked up the pace. The position shifted just enough to drive him pleasantly deeper in each downward stroke, with a perfect angle that made his tip hammer against your cervix.
Suddenly, the hand against your shoulder gripped your cheeks, pulling you down to capture your lips in another hungry kiss. His tongue tangled with yours, both tasting the other's mouth, becoming something truly addicting, as if he just seemed to want to devour you whole, and you couldn't satisfy your own craving. His hand slid to your nape as the kiss deepened, just like the rhythm of both pelvises grew faster.
Every thrust proved how he was losing himself, both of you spiralling higher and higher. He whimpered against your lips, a sound that vibrated deep in your mouth, feeling the tension coiling tighter within your lower belly, your body feeling worn out as it yearned for release.
His hands were everywhere—guiding, pulling, encouraging. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips, the pleasure overwhelming as your movements grew more frantic. He was holding you just right, pressing his open thighs up against your ass cheeks, lifting you just enough to make you feel perfectly aligned with his cock.
His lips parted from yours with a shaky groan as he looked up at you, consumed by the burning need you were becoming. At that moment, with the weight of your hips moving over his, your voice came out shaky, broken by the effort of holding yourself glued to him. “Am I... am I doing it right?”
The question left you trembling because of its vulnerability, making your pulse race as though the very act of asking had laid bare everything you hid beneath that little girl you were for him. You felt so desperate for his confirmation, for him to tell you that this was all he wanted.
For a moment, he looked as if he was caught off guard, eyes widening just a fraction before he composed himself.
Then his hands tightened his grasp on both your ass cheeks with determination. He pressed your hips down more strongly, making his cock burry inside you to the hilt and making your lips crush against his pelvis. “Do you feel that?” He kept pressing you down harder, grinding his hips up to meet yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, and it’s perfect. Move just like that—don’t stop.” The words slipped out raw and unfiltered, as if he couldn’t hold them back.
The way he said that broke whatever fragile restraint you’d managed to hold onto, unleashing a fierce, unstoppable heat within you. The only thing that existed now was him—all of him—buried balls deep inside you, turning every nerve in almost an animalistic way.
An uncontrollable need surged through you, overtaking all thoughts, as your hips immediately started to move impulsively, slamming down against his. Your body was just demanding to take everything from him, driven by a thirst he had created that couldn’t be denied. The ache of his cock stretching your entrance open and filling you that much was the divine sensation of him, the incredible pleasure of his flawless body moving exactly in time with and inside yours.
You were in pursuit of more—more of him, more of this satisfying connection. You let out a series of desperate moans, each one of them spurring you both deeper into your carnal urges, neither of you able to stop. The immediateness of it overtook you both. Your breathing was ragged as the intense pressure built, feeling him fully as he lifted his hips to force his cock impossibly inside you, aligning you just right, so deep that you could feel it in your very bones. The edge of your release was so close.
His hands dug into your ass, pulling you more forcefully against him to guide your frantic pace and stoke the fire on your clitoris as his pelvis writhed beneath it. “Just a little more...” He growled, strained, like a man on the edge of breaking. “I’m so close, love…” His words were almost a pleading cry, a raw reflection of the need that overtook him because of you.
You could feel it, see it—his control slipping away, his body trembling beneath yours as his hands gripped your hips now to urge you on, both bodies acting just like animals in heat do with an almost agonising intensity that could leave your womb aching for days. You both moved harder and faster, slapping together with an unbreakable pace. The pressure in your core was unbearable now, so close to snapping that it made your legs shake in both of the sides of his hips with the effort of holding on.
Suddenly, one of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your clitoris to circle his thumb over the painfully swollen nub with expert knowledge. Just like if he was already aware of how to trigger your sensitive spots to push you to the heavens. The friction was impossible to bear in the best, perfect possible way, making you cry in pleasure, unable to control the whimpers that tore from your throat.
You couldn’t hold back any more. His touch, the pressure, the movements of his body—it all became too much. The tension inside you snapped, and with a loud and uncontrolled moan, your walls tightly clenched and pulsated around him, your climax crashing over you in pure, consuming pleasure. Hitting you so hard that you felt like you were floating, holding on to him with the tremors of your hips.
But Astarion didn’t stop. He never ceased the maddening stimulation on your clit or fucking your cunt, coaxing another renovated sensation from you, pushing you past the point of stimulation. You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but his hands clamped down, forcing you to stay in the moment, allowing him to draw even more from you. He was relentless as the need to overstimulate you took control.
“Don’t stop, not now.” He gasped, his voice breaking as he thrust up into you harder, his thumb continuing to rub and circle your bud, trying to force your body into another climax. “I need you, my love. Please…”
The words were the spark that made you give in with a desperate cry as ecstasy crashed over you, smashing everything. You felt him pulsating and releasing with a ragged, almost feral growl, leaving his sweet lips, his body quivering beneath yours as he exploded into you, the rush of his climax pushing you to the edge. The sensation of his warm semen spurting against your cervix and filling you sent you into your second release of the night, the new pressure in your body finally exploding in waves of sheer. The powerful sensations of both of you reaching that peak at the same time made your vision blur.
Every spurt of his release throbbed deep within your womb, drawing low, tired moans from your lips as his cock continued its task to fill you, spreading his seed inside you with each pulse of the head. You pressed your hips down, grinding to take him impossibly deeper as your labia were already crushed against his damp pelvis, letting you feel every twitch and tremor between your aching walls. He groaned softly as he tightened his grip on your hips, and you fucked his cock instinctively in answer to coax out every last shudder from him.
His hands guided your hips to keep you pressed down hard as his cock stroked every sensitive inch of your walls, filling you in a way that made some of his cum slowly spill out from your pussy. Your bodies met again and again, making him feel unable to resist the pull of you as you moved perfectly up and down, simply feeling lost in you as you milked him.
Then, you both collapsed together, sweaty bodies shaking with the intensity of your simultaneous culmination and the aftershocks of your climaxes, leaving you both drained. Your breaths came intermittently, laboured, and it felt as though the camp outside had momentarily ceased to exist. The air between you was impregnated with the smell of sex and your scents, but there was also something tender about the way your bodies were embracing each other that made you feel... nice.
Astarion’s hands moved with a strange gentleness now, gliding up your back with soothing strokes in the cosiness of the moment. His lips pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, his breath still unsteady with a warmness that contrasted the freshness of your lovemaking and the way his cock kept pulsating while softening within you.
He dragged you against him. “Are you alright, darling?” His voice abruptly soft, touched with... care, concern; an unknown tenderness that caught you by surprise.
You nodded against his shoulder. “Yes…” you murmured, fluttering closed as exhaustion settled in and the comfort of his presence lulled you, feeling his quick heartbeat beneath your ear. “Just... give me a second.”
A sweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, looking at you with adoration as he brushed a damp lock of hair away from your face, fingers running gently over your neck. “I’ll admit, I didn't think I’d be the one left wanting more… but here I am.” He said quietly. “That, my love, was truly something else for someone so lovely.” He pressed another sweet kiss to your cheek, remaining just a little before pulling away.
You let out a shaky laugh, the closeness between you both grounding your still-tingling nerves. Lifting your head slightly and reopening your eyes, you met his gaze with a warmth that made your heart swell. “You know,” you started, “I might just have to keep you around a little longer. You’ve made it hard for me to want anyone else, Astarion.” You reached to cradle his cheek as your hidden confession floated in the air between you.
He leaned into your touch, his hand hovering over yours in a loving gesture. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” Astarion said, feigning frustration, though his eyes softened with a rare sincerity in his voice. “I had plans, you know. But it seems I’m not allowed to have anything for myself any more.” He let out a mock sigh. “Guess I’m yours, darling. For now. Don’t get too comfortable with it.”
You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Oh, how tragic,” you teased with mock frustration as well. “I didn’t realise you had such grand plans, Astarion. How terribly cruel of me to steal you away from them.” Your fingers gently traced the edge of his ear, a smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll learn to live with it. Just try not to get too comfortable, either, darling.”
Astarion let out a soft chuckle, his fingers leaving your hand to cup your cheek tenderly. “Well, well, what a vile little thing you are,” he said with a playful smirk, grazing your cheekbone with his thumb. “Using that sweet face of yours to get your way... You really do enjoy this, don’t you?” His laugh was light, almost like a caress, before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss that left you aware of all the emotions he couldn’t express using words.
He held the kiss for a moment to savour your lips before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he basked in the shared closeness.
After that, he slowly adjusted your position so that you lay more comfortably against him. Once settled, he pulled a soft blanket over you both, wrapping his arms around you snugly.
“Rest now, my love.” He murmured softly. You felt his words settle over you like a soft lullaby, and you snuggled closer to place yourself against him, wrapping your arm gently around his waist.
There, in his embrace, you let yourself fully relax in the quiet comfort of the moment with the rain outside. The feeling of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the gentle sweep of his fingers through your hair and your arm—it was everything you needed, a perfect, tender end to the passion from minutes ago.
With a contented sigh, you pressed a soft kiss against his chest before your eyelids started to grow heavy as you drifted into a peaceful calm in his arms.
As the hours passed, the heat of the night slowly faded, leaving you both tangled in each other’s embrace. You both drifted into sleep, your bodies still flushed and sweaty from the intensity of your passion that night. Astarion’s arm was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. The odd warmth of his body against yours was comforting.
As the soft light of dawn filtered through the tent, the storm was now nothing more than a distant memory, and a sudden weight pressed down on you.
Your mind, still slow to fully wake, started to be flooded with vivid recollections—the sex, the words shared, the undeniable connection you felt...
A sharp pang of awareness hit you as you became acutely aware of every quiet sound. 'Had I really just done that?' The question lingered in your mind, though it wasn’t that you regretted it—not with him, not when everything felt so unexpectedly right. But still, a knot tightened in your throat. You’d never been this irresponsible before, never allowed this kind of situation with someone you’d only known for a couple of months.
You slowly pulled yourself from Astarion's embrace. The warmth of his body left a mark on your skin nonetheless. As you sat up, the blanket tangled around your hips, and a sudden rush of cool air hit your naked chest, causing an uninvited shiver to you that woke you a little more.
Your eyes drifted to him, still peacefully asleep beside you. His bare chest rose and fell in slowly, and his expression was soft and relaxed in the morning, a sharp contrast to the intensity of your previous night.
While you stood there, tracing with your eyes his form, the weight of what had just happened was still pressing heavily above your shoulders. Embarrassment crept in, not just for the passion you’d shared but for the place you were in—his tent, in camp, with your friends only a few meters away. The unsettling thought wormed its way into your mind: what if they’d heard you?
Your eyes flicked towards the opening of the tent, a bead of cold sweat rolling down the back of your neck. You pressed your palm to your forehead, the reality sinking in. What if they had? The embarrassment felt like it was growing, and you had to swallow back the rising anxiety carving in your chest.
The thoughts swirled and twisted in your mind. Reaching for your shirt, you slowly sat up a bit more; you felt a sting pain in your muscles from the night’s activities. Your fingers fumbled clumsily to the fabric as the weight of your thoughts made everything feel more difficult. You tried to dress as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm of his slumber.
The texture felt harsh against your sensitive skin, while the cool morning air grazed over the parts of you exposed and between your thighs as you raised the shirt over your head to dress it.
Just as you finally managed to pull it into place, you caught a soft shift beside you. Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, his vision still cloudy with sleep, but his attention immediately locked onto you. He didn’t speak right away; his focus was on the way you moved.
He curved his lips into a small, lazy smile. There was a softness in his expression now that you didn't see before. “Good morning... sneaking off already?” He sighed with the remnants of sleep in his tone. He looked down to where your fingers grabbed the fabric of your shirt, then back to your face, his smile growing wider. His hand reached out to grab your arm, pulling you back towards him gently. “Didn't peg you as the type to leave me after our first time, darling...”
The way he still wanted you close stirred something within you—a warmth despite the storm of emotions inside you. You couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought. “I wasn’t going anywhere...” You replied quietly.
Astarion’s hand moved to your waist, his touch fierce yet tender as he pulled you closer, guiding you to lay back completely against his body. His chest pressed against your back as he nestled his chin in the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses there. You could feel the weight of him, enveloping you in a way that was both comforting and deeply intimate.
His arm wrapped securely around your waist, drawing you even nearer as he gently adjusted his position, making sure you were comfortable. You could feel the tension in your body melt as his movements spoke of quiet care, though the nervousness inside you didn’t entirely dissipate.
He must have sensed the shift in your mood. “Is everything alright?” Astarion murmured softly, concerned. His lips brushed over your ear as he spoke, a gentle kiss to your cheek that seemed to reassure you, though you couldn’t quite shake the lingering anxiety that clung to you.
“I... I just—” You broke off. “What if they heard us, Astarion?”
“We’re safe, darling,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress that chased away the remnants of your worry. “No one knows a thing. The storm was our shield last night.”
Astarion’s hand lingered at your waist as he shifted his weight, guiding you gently. And with a slight motion, he turned you to lie on your back and face him fully. His gaze locked onto yours, his crimson eyes glimmering with something unspoken. He propped himself on an elbow beside you, sliding his other hand from your waist to cradle your cheek.
Seeing the faint worry lingering in your eyes, he offered a small, tender smile. “You know, love,” he began, “this is different. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. I never imagined I’d feel like this—like I’d actually want this... someone.” His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, as if the gesture alone could convey what words struggled to express. “Last night wasn’t just indulgence, not with you. It was... real.”
The way he looked at you then was as though he’d laid down his armour, revealing a part of himself you’d only glimpsed. “I’ve spent centuries taking what I was told to, living by someone else’s twisted desires. Wanting something—someone—for myself? I’d almost forgotten what that even felt like.” He hesitated. “But here we are... and being with you, feeling this... it’s more than I ever dared to hope for.”
Your breath caught, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest feel both heavy and light at once. You swallowed, a warmth blossoming where your anxiety had been. “I want you to know that I meant every word,” he whispered against your ear.
As he drew back, his fingers entwined with yours, and he gave you a small smile, one filled with that rare sincerity he reserved just for you. “So, let’s not let the world outside intrude on this, hmm?” His eyes gleamed with a quiet plea. “Not yet.”
The words hung in the warm morning light, soothing the unease within you. Astarion shifted slightly again to recline back onto the soft bedroll, pulling you with him. You instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist to hold him close.
But as your fingers traced along his side, you brushed against something you forgot. A faint crease formed between your brows as you looked down. There was the bandage you had tied the night before, stained with a faint bloom of red where his wound lay concealed. A quiet ache of worry unfurled in your chest as your hand rested against the edge of the bandage.
Without thinking, your fingers traced lightly over his abdomen, avoiding the more sensitive area near the bandage. “Astarion,” you called softly with a new urgency. “Are you... alright? I might’ve moved too much last night.”
Astarion’s eyes opened a bit more as he recognised the genuine concern in your voice. “Oh, my love,” he purred with a smirk on his lips as he glanced down to where your hand rested on his stomach. “If anyone could survive your... enthusiasm, it would be me.” His tone softened as he covered your hand with his.
You bit your lip, the persistent worry stirring as you recalled the intensity of the night before. “Still, I should've been more careful with you,” you replied with a faint blush warming your cheeks. “I didn’t even think about it last night... I just... wanted you.”
He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched, his lips barely brushing yours as he spoke again. “Believe me, last night... was everything I never knew I needed,” he said, with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You've given me a moment of calmness I never thought I’d experience again.”
Your hand pressed lightly against his chest; he let out a quiet, contented sigh. His own hand drifted down to rest against your waist, drawing you even closer.
He brushed his lips softly against the tip of your nose, placing a sweet kiss there before he spoke. “The truth is, I’m not used to someone worrying over me. I’ve learnt to dismiss my wounds and to push through the pain alone. You make me feel seen, darling…”
A soft smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back just enough to catch your gaze, reaching with his hand your cheek to rub his thumb along your cheekbone in a gentle, absent-minded swipe. Your heart softened as you wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself melt. You nestled closer to him, the soft heat of his body a constant pull as your fingers traced lightly over his skin, careful not to touch the bandage.
Astarion’s fingers moved in slow strokes along your back, his touch lingering at the small of your waist. The quiet way his body urged you nearer made your pulse race in a way that was both comforting and thrilling. You could feel the passion of the night still lingering in the air between you, a magnetic pull that only seemed to deepen the longer you were in his presence.
“You know,” he murmured lowly, his velvety voice wrapping around your thoughts. He leaned in, his lips brushing over yours as he closed his eyes briefly. “I find myself wanting more.”
A small shiver of anticipation ran through you. He moved slightly, shifting his body to bring you closer, his hand sliding down your side until he could grab one of your buttocks. It stirred something inside of you—something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.
You pressed your lips to his to give him a soft kiss before pulling back to meet his eyes. The intensity in his look made you ache with longing. “Astarion, are you sure you’re alright?” You asked softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing with something dark and intense, and then he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and sensual, tasting of the night and everything you’d shared. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet eagerness, and you let yourself melt into him, your hand sliding to his waist, feeling the bandage beneath your palm.
But you pulled back slightly, concern flitting through your mind again. Astarion’s eyes glimmered, his expression a blend of amusement and something achingly vulnerable. “Darling,” he replied, his voice a rough, affectionate murmur. “I can handle anything you give me.”
You leaned into him, grazing your lips with his as you spoke, “I just want to make sure you're alright... I don’t want to push—” Without letting you finish, he leaned forward to kiss your lips again to silence you. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet desperation, a demand for attention.
Astarion’s hands slowly roamed your sides as he shifted, positioning himself above you on the bedroll. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating into yours, his thighs pressed tightly against yours.
Your hands moved instinctively, sliding around his waist, bracing yourself against his lower back, feeling the curve of his muscles tense under your touch. The kiss deepened, slow and calm, as if he tasted every inch of you, pushing any lingering uncertainty away.
One of his hands moved to catch your hand and entwine his fingers with yours before pressing your hand down against the pillow. His other hand found your other wrist, lifting it gently above your head and pinning it there, his grip firm yet laced with a sensual care that only deepened your wanting of him. His thighs pressing tighter against yours.
Astarion’s breath was shallow against your lips as he finally broke the kiss to meet your gaze, his pupils wide with a need that mirrored your own, his mouth curving into a wicked smile as he held you in place. The subtle weight of him, combined with the feeling of his fingers interlocked with yours, created an undeniable sense of belonging, a wordless claim that ignited every nerve.
“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured roughly because of his desire, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just stay here. With me. That’s all I need.”
I keep seeing clips on TikTok where Astarion looks at the camera in a very subtle but im breaking the fourth wall, kind of way and all I can think about is Astarion x readers where he’s aware of the player and not only falls in love with their tav, but also them because he realizes that they’re the one making tavs choices
Pairing : Astarion x female!reader
around 900 words.
morning sex. in bed. with the most amazing vampire. that’s it that’s the plot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
TW : 18+, shameless smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, tiny bit of fang kink
I love him a completely normal amount
You open your eyes slowly, savouring the blissful, heavy fog of sleep that still weighs on your mind. The voice that greets you is one you’re sure you’ll never tire of.
“Good morning, my sweet”, Astarion whispers against your ear. The bed smells of night-blooming flowers and cold winter air, just like him. His body is a comforting spoon, the nice coolness of his powerful chest sends shivers down your spine.
Your eyelids are still heavy and with a smile, you settle back in and bury your head in your soft pillow, eager for just a few more hours of precious sleep before starting a new day in the underdark.
Astarion, of course, has other ideas. He exhales and you can feel the light puff of cold air against the back of your neck. Icy fingers skate down your bare arm, dragging the strap of your night gown with them. He dips his head and nuzzles the junction of your neck and shoulder. He toys with the hem of your night gown before slipping beneath it to caress the curve of your hip. You revel in his low groan of appreciation as he discovers you’re wearing nothing underneath.
“Gods, the things you do to me,” he growls, voice muffled slightly as he breathes your scent. “Let me take care of you.”
Wordlessly, you nod and he wastes no time. He gives you a sloppy, hungry kiss that is all tongues, teeth and fangs, and then slowly lowers himself. His fangs leave burning trails across your skin, and you love every bit of it.
You can feel his erection grow next to your thigh and you raise a hand forward to touch him but he grabs your wrist and stops the motion.
“No, darling,” he grins, “it is all about you today.”
“But –” your attempt to argue is cut short as Astarion disappears between your thighs, wraps his wet lips around your clit and starts sucking. You let out an unbelievably loud whimper of pleasure and he smirks against your body.
Pinning your thighs apart, he works his tongue in an up-and-down motion on one side of your clit and then the other. You grind into his mouth shamelessly as his tongue continues working its magic. Without interruption, he slips first one finger, then two inside you, and pushes them up against your G-spot. You’re already starting to see stars as you feel his fangs settle in the soft mound of flesh above your clit. He applies just enough pressure for it to deliciously sting without ever hurting. Those tiny pinpricks combined with the sucking of your clit and the impossible rhythm of his fingers inside you made you cry out.
“Astarion – I’m– “ you try to articulate between two heavy breaths.
“I’m right there with you, my love,” he mutters and presses his fangs slightly deeper into your skin, as to urge you to stop fighting the wave of pleasure trying to make its way through your shivering body.
His tongue slips across that one spot on the tip of your clit that always sets you off, and suddenly you are coming on his mouth, grasping fistfuls of his silver hair and moaning and moaning and moaning. He pushes his fangs deeper and deeper into your skin as he rides out your orgasm with you, using his free hand to hold your hips steady. Your core spasms longer than a pulsing heart, each beat making you thrash helplessly on the bed as he pushes his fingers deep. He waits until you come down from your high before slowly sliding his two fingers out of you and into his mouth to lick them clean. The rest of the world begins to come back into focus but you do not care for it. You only have eyes for him.
"You are absolutely exquisite when you come," he chuckles in that ridiculously arrogant way he has.
He licks his lips as he rises, expression as lazy and smug as a contented cat. You haul him up and into your arms and kiss him hard. He wraps his strong arms around you protectively and takes a moment to listen to your breathing, still shallow from the love explosion. He finds infinite comfort in the repeated rise and fall of your chest. It proves to him that you are real, safe and here, right next to him.
Before you, Astarion had never known true bliss. Sex – even when it’s mindblowing – doesn’t fix the part of you that’s broken. Good sex soothes, but doesn’t cure, and Astarion, who’s been using sex as a valium substitute since he’s been free from his former Master’s control, knows it better than anyone. But with you, it’s not just sex. It’s safety. It’s intimacy. It’s respect. And it’s all he’s ever wanted.
Summary: You try to flirt. You really do. But when Karlach dares you to sweep someone off their feet, and you choose Astarion of all people, things go exactly how you'd expect: poorly, hilariously, and then… dangerously well.
Blame the wine, blame the boredom, blame Karlach’s booming dare but mostly blame Astarion’s grin glinting at the edge of the firelight, practically asking to be challenged.
The night had turned companionable after a brutal skirmish with gnolls. Everyone alive, everyone bruised. Wyll poured a celebratory bottle of Dragon’s Crush. Gale lectured on planar theory until even he grew tired of hearing himself. Then Karlach, cheeks flushed bronze with drink, slammed her mug down and declared:
“Right! We’ve exchanged war stories and arcane gobbledygook – time for something fun. Show us your best flirt, bookworm.” She jabbed a thumb at you.
Across the fire, Astarion straightened like a cat scenting cream. “Oh, do include me. I adore games that end with somebody blushing.”
Shadowheart muttered something about children and bedtimes, hiding a smirk behind her cup.
You coughed. “I’m not exactly stage material.”
“Come on!” Karlach insisted, eyes bright. “Pick a target. Sweep them off their feet.”
Your gaze flicked around the circle – Gale, Wyll, Shadowheart. Tempting, but the silver‑haired vampire spawn was already leaning forward, ruby eyes flicking between you and the bottle with predatory anticipation. And frankly, you were tired of being the one who reacted to him. Time to return serve.
You took a steadying breath, stepped toward Astarion, and summoned your sultriest voice – an untested weapon.
“Tell me,” you purred, “do you always wake up this charming, or did you sip a charisma potion in your sleep?”
A single eyebrow rose, sculpted and deadly. Then laughter welled up – bright, genuine, bubbling out of him like uncorked sparkling wine. He braced a hand on his knee, eyes crinkling. “Oh, my sweet summer star. That was… adorable.”
Heat crashed into your cheeks. He tapped your nose with one cool fingertip, the gesture maddeningly tender.
“Adorably earnest,” he amended, voice dropping half an octave. “Like a kitten trying to roar.”
That stung, but the warmth in his gaze softened the barb – he wasn’t mocking to wound; he was amused. And maybe – just maybe – impressed that you’d dared at all.
Karlach was cackling. “Give her a break – first time’s rough!”
Astarion turned to the group, palms out. “I’m merely appreciating the effort. But…” His eyes slid back to you, dangerous again. “If you’d like a demonstration, kitten, I could show you how it’s actually done.”
You folded arms across your chest. “Enlighten me.”
Murmurs rippled around the circle. Even stoic Shadowheart leaned forward a fraction.
Astarion rose with the grace of spilled silk. “Observe.” His voice smoothed into velvet. “Lesson One: Proximity.”
He didn’t stride – he drifted. One step, two, closing the space until the fire blurred behind his shoulder and his cool scent – cedar, smoke, hint of blood – wrapped around your senses. He stopped just outside touching distance: enough room for heat to pulse between bodies, not enough for breath to settle.
Your pulse skipped. He heard it – judging by the satisfied quirk of his mouth.
“Lesson Two,” he continued, lifting a hand but not quite touching your cheek, letting anticipation thrum, “Intention. Your words fluttered like moths, darling. Pretty, but harmless. Instead” – his knuckles grazed the air beside your jaw – “you speak like every syllable knows where it wants to land.”
Your throat tightened. The camp faded; only him, the flicker of firelight dancing across pale skin, the hush of everyone holding breath.
“Lesson Three: Tone.” His next words fell warm against your ear, lower than laughter, smoother than wine. “Low and languid, like a secret slipping beneath the door.” A chill crawled your spine, chased by a bloom of heat.
He withdrew just enough to let you focus on his eyes – deep garnet, reflecting flame. “Lesson Four,” he whispered, “Eye contact.” He held your gaze, unblinking, unabashed, until the air felt charged enough to spark. “Stare as though you’ve already memorized the color of their last sigh.”
Your knees wobbled. Astarion’s smile flashed fang – dangerous, but the kindness of a hunter granting a fatal thrill to its prey.
Then, masterfully cruel, he stepped away. The cold rush of lost proximity stole your next breath.
He pivoted to the group with a grand flourish. “And that, loves, is how one flirts.”
Silence. Then Karlach let out a war‑whoop that sent embers spiraling skyward. Gale applauded with academic enthusiasm. Wyll whistled low.
You pressed a hand to your flaming cheeks, trying to claw back composure. “Show‑off.”
Astarion bowed. “Only when inspiration strikes.”
Karlach elbowed Gale. “Your turn, wizard!”
But conversation blurred in your ears; your heartbeat drummed too loud. The scent of cedar still clung to your skin like phantom hands. You’d thought his flirtation an act, a weapon. Now you weren’t sure what terrified you more: the idea he’d been performing, or the possibility that he hadn’t.
—————
Most of the camp had retired. Shadowheart took first watch; Karlach slept sprawled by the dying fire like a contented bear. Gale and Wyll snored mutually supportive harmonies.
You lingered at the river’s edge, cold water lapping boots, trying to cool blood still thrumming hot.
“Kitten,” Astarion called softly behind you.
You turned. He strolled closer, but not as a predator – hands tucked behind his back, shoulders loose. “Come to critique my technique?” you asked, aiming for levity.
“On the contrary. I came to apologize, perhaps.” He stopped beside you, gaze tracing the moon’s reflection on the water. “I may have been… heavy‑handed.”
You huffed a laugh. “Was that your polite way of saying ‘cruel’?”
“Cruelty is useful,” he mused. “But only when it serves a purpose. Tonight’s spectacle benefited no one but my ego.” He paused, eyes flicking to you. Something unguarded shimmered. “I forget, sometimes, how… sharp my edges are.”
Wind stirred his hair; the moon painted silver across his cheekbones. Vulnerability suited him – beautiful and unsettling.
You rolled a pebble beneath your boot. “For what it’s worth, I knew it was a performance.”
“Was it?” he asked, voice nearly lost to river rush.
Silence pooled. You risked a glance: his gaze remained on the water, but tension threaded shoulders that usually lounged. The question hung heavier than mere flirtation. Was it just a performance?
“I don’t know,” you admitted.
“Neither do I,” he whispered, almost to himself. Then, with a sigh, he shook off the softness and straightened, renewed mischief in the tilt of his lips. “Regardless, the lesson stands. Would you care to practice? I’m an excellent tutor – patient, hands‑on.”
You barked a surprised laugh. “Hands entirely off, thank you.”
“Tragic.” He clasped dramatic hand to chest. “But I can behave. Sometimes.”
You considered. “Fine. Teach me step one again.”
Astarion brightened. “Proximity. Simple.” He stepped close – then closer – until boot tips nearly brushed. “Now, you try.”
Your pulse fluttered, but you met his gaze and purposefully closed the final inch until your shoulders were almost touching his chest. Heat flared in his eyes – approval, hunger, something softer.
“Lesson two,” you said, lowering your voice just enough that it vibrated between you. “Intention.”
His breath hitched.
Emboldened, you lifted a hand – not to his cheek, but to the collar of his shirt, where one dangling silver clasp glinted. Your knuckles skimmed fabric. “This is crooked,” you murmured, and straightened it with excruciating slowness.
Astarion’s eyelids fluttered. “You’re a quick study.”
“Lesson three,” you continued: “tone.” You let the next words drop – warm, bare truth. “You disarmed me tonight.”
He inhaled sharply, expression caught between grin and awe. “Did I?”
“Lesson four.” You held his gaze, letting him see everything unhidden: the thrill, the fear, the defiance. “Eye contact.”
Seconds stretched, taut as bowstring. Then – you stepped back. The air cooled, but satisfaction bloomed in your chest.
Astarion released a shaky laugh. “Oh, well played, darling.”
You offered a short bow. “I learn fast.”
He regarded you, eyes glimmering. “We may have to call tonight a draw.”
“Wasn’t that the point? Mutual embarrassment?”
“Hardly embarrassing,” he countered, voice velvet again but soft velvet, worn, warm. “Quite… exhilarating.”
He extended his hand – palm up, invitation rather than command. After a heartbeat, you placed yours atop. His grip was cool, steady, strangely gentle.
“For the record,” he said quietly, thumb brushing your knuckles, “no potion could make anyone this charming. It’s all me.”
You laughed. The sound loosened something inside both of you. His shoulders dropped a fraction, yours lifted. The river whispered secrets around your ankles.
“Come,” he said, tugging lightly. “Let’s get you back before the gnolls hear your hammering heart and mistake it for a dinner bell.”
“My heart isn’t hammering.”
He smirked, leading you up the bank. “Lie better, kitten.”
A spawn/radiant Astarion x fem!Tav oneshot | NSFW | ~3.8k words
This piece was inspired by @deadly-diminuendo's Eat You Up, which is a beautiful angsty (and delightfully smutty) work about our favorite Radiant Hopeful and his clueless Tav.
The writing was so evocative that I couldn't help reimagining the scene from Astarion's PoV, and she was kind enough to let me "borrow" her tav and to provide super helpful feedback on this little reflection piece.
Summary: It's been months since Astarion broke Tav's heart, hurting the only person he truly cares for. He knows he should leave her in peace to find her own happiness, but he can't bring himself to quit his nighttime visits; feeding on her is the last link he has to her, though his soul aches for more. One cold winter night, he's given an unexpected opportunity to show her that he never stopped loving her.
Tags/CW: menstruation kink, oral sex, smut and angst (though it ends happily), post-game
"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. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you...which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You— you're incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real."
Light footsteps navigated through the icy slush.
It was a benefit of his vampiric condition, he thought idly, that he didn't feel the cold.
This fact was also one of the many deceptive truths he would tell himself, for while it was true that as an undead he wasn't vulnerable to cold, Astarion loved warmth and gravitated to it whenever possible.
And wasn't that exactly what he was doing right now? This walk through the bitterly cold snow, after all, was his pilgrimage... and she was the sanctuary he sought.
Her warmth. Her kindness, her affection.
Her lov—?
No. Don't think about that. You ruined it anyway.
This is all you get to have.
Stolen moments. Clandestine visits in the night. All because he was a creature of the shadows, imposing his presence on her because he couldn't let go, couldn't keep from reaching for her warmth, orbiting the edges of her life like a lovesick fool.
Well. He was a lovesick fool. Hence the trek through the thickening snow.
He often wondered why she tolerated his little visits. She wasn't his sole source of blood in the city; he had a regular order at the butcher's and hunted wildlife in the nearby woods at least twice monthly. He'd even taken to hunting within the city walls: in an amusing reversal of his prior habits, he now haunted taverns looking not for vulnerable souls to seduce, but for the would-be predators stalking them. He would discreetly observe until his potential meal incriminated themselves— coercion, unwanted touching, a potion slipped into a drink— and then, target chosen, he would follow, thwart their plans for their intended victim, and drain them just enough to ensure a spectacular headache the next morning and a newfound fear of the dark.
He never mentioned these activities to her. She never asked.
Probably for the best. If she thought he didn't need her, she might put a stop to his nighttime visits, and then what? Though the thought of her pitying him stung, worse was the idea of never touching her again.
Her balcony door was a golden glow cutting through the dark, a lodestar guiding him home.
Ha. Home.
His lip curling in a grim smirk, he scaled the wall, quick and quiet. Landing silently on the balcony, he paused, briefly touching his fingertips to the glass, the frost remaining opaque and unmelted against his undead flesh.
You don't have the right to call this place home, no matter how much you wish differently.
He paused for a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to tuck all the pain away before knocking.
Her shadow darkened the curtain before a wary glare squinted out at him from behind the fabric, and he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. She was adorable when she was annoyed, truly.
The moment she opened the door, he launched into a flowery little speech, finishing with an amusing bit of wordplay just to watch her sigh and roll her eyes as she grumbled at him to come in. As they settled on the couch after he shed his coat and boots, she scolded him over visiting during a snow storm.
I missed you. I needed to see you. My flat was so cold and empty and I'd walk through a thousand storms if it meant I could come home to you.
"Oh, my darling,” he drawled with a studiously careless shrug, "It would take far more than this measly little storm to keep me away from you."
She thought him joking, which— of course— was his aim. The fear of losing her, scaring her away, warred constantly with the fervent need to tell her what she meant to him; the inevitable result was that he told her the truth of his feelings often, but only ever in the most lighthearted and trivial tones he could manage.
She had tucked herself into the opposite corner of the couch, as far away as possible while she glanced at him warily. Even with her sour mood and tired eyes, she was heartbreakingly beautiful; he was drawn in like a hapless moth, moving closer to her lambent warmth even as he feared the immolation of their odd friendship.
Her heartbeat quickened, and it made him want to give her another truth: "You are rather delicious after all."
Resigned exasperation flashed across her face, expression tightening briefly before sliding away under that blank, composed mask. He knew what she would think; hells, the cowardly part of him wanted her to think it. But he wasn't referring to just her blood.
This was stupid. He was being ridiculous, caught between fear and the growing howl inside of him that insisted against all reason and evidence that she was his and he was hers and all he had to do was tell her, she wanted him, she did, he could hear it in her heartbeat, he could smell it—
You know damn well the body's reaction means nothing. A pounding heart can mean fear just as easily as desire.
He couldn't be sure. So he couldn't act— not directly at any rate— not in any way that might jeopardize their friendship.
Oh, but she smelled so good. He allowed himself to surreptitiously brush his fingers against her neck, drawing just a bit closer...
"I can't help you tonight, Astarion."
The flat rejection dropped him abruptly back to Toril.
"I'm sorry, truly. It's just… now is not a good time." She grimaced as she continued, "My supply is already quite… limited."
Limited? He couldn't see any injuries (granted, she was swathed in an enormous robe). On the road, she'd only ever refused him during....
Oh.
A faint trace of blood in the air, crimson-bright and delectable.
Oh.
Soft panting breaths. Heated moans. Hands stroking through his curls, clutching and releasing, always careful to not yank his hair or shove his face down. She was ambrosia on his tongue, so soft and wet and luscious. He licked deeper, needing more, humming delightedly as her hips bucked in his hands. She tasted so godsdamn good—
"Well," he heard himself say, "I need not bite you to get my fill."
Wait, what?
She looked poleaxed, eyes comically wide, and even though he'd rather startled himself by his impromptu suggestion, he was nevertheless very motivated to pursue the conversation.
"No need to look quite so scandalized, darling," he said, unable to resist leaning into her space. "It's nothing we haven't done before."
She continued to stare, stunned, until her gaze slowly lost focus, turning inward and drifting away. "And what, exactly," she said carefully, "do you want this to be?"
I want to taste you, eat you, until you're sobbing my name and then I want to curl around you and never leave—
"Only as much as you want it to be," he assured her, careful not to sound overeager or unwittingly pressure her.
"I can be a gentleman, you know," he teased gently. "This need not be anything more than a taste. Need not happen at all if you don't want it to. The choice is yours." Please, please say yes.
She remained silent, studying him. But the fact that she had neither laughed nor thrown him out into the snow was encouraging.
He began mentally listing Reasons Why You Should Let Me Eat Your Cunt: she was in obvious pain and the evening of orgasms he was absolutely going to give her would ease the cramping; she would go through fewer rags, and thus less laundry; it had the added benefit of feeding him without additional blood loss....
Dubious, she frowned down at his collar, avoiding his eyes.
She was timid now, a hesitancy coloring her interactions with him ever since that night at Moonrise.
She used to tease him. She used to flirt and laugh with him. He hadn't seen that side of her since the night when she'd finally understood exactly how he'd used her, and quite correctly ended their late night trysts. He'd watched the playful light in her eyes die, her face going blank as she tried to maintain her composure while he obliterated all her illusions about their relationship.
But not before a half-dozen expressions chased across her face. Confusion, shock, humiliation. Pain. Regret.
Shame.
The only person he truly cared for felt ashamed for touching him. She had wanted him— unsurprising, really, everyone wanted him— and now that desire made her feel guilty, as if she were hurting him simply by wanting him.
When in reality what he'd done was use her to hurt himself.
She'd told him, in a devastatingly gentle, hollow voice, that her friendship and blood were offered freely and didn't need to be bought— and certainly not with his body.
I would never want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. I am... truly sorry that you felt the need to... that you... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
I said I was your friend and— I should have seen it. I should have seen you. You deserve a friend you can trust. I was... too besotted to notice something was off.
Maybe what you need is a friend, not a lover.
He'd been so relieved that she was still willing to speak to him at all that he didn't challenge her decision. Clearly, any possible tender feelings she may have held for him had succumbed to a deep freeze once he'd confessed his perfidy.
So they were friends. And she was different.
I want us to be something real.
He missed her. So, so much.
He'd allowed himself months to adjust to his new circumstances. Living unbound to anyone, fully in control of his life and his own body for the first time in his memory. And perhaps she was right. He had needed that time to become himself, find the person he was without the pretense, without the seductive wiles, without the constant fear and struggle to survive.
But as time went on, seasons changing, the city rebuilding around them, he became more and more aware of the empty space in his life. The place where the hope of her once lived.
He didn't need her, not really. He knew that. These months alone, navigating life after the fall of the Netherbrain had proven that he didn't need anyone to survive.
But he'd spent two centuries surviving; it was time to start living.
He wanted her. He missed her. His nights were never quite complete unless he saw her, spoke to her, smelled the warmth of her.
He would resist going to her, forcing himself to leave her in peace, but he couldn't make it past half a tenday before he would find himself on her doorstep again, seeking the only intimacy she still permitted him.
At least when his fangs were in her neck, he could hold her. He could relish being close to her. He could take slow, small sips, drawing it out, lingering at her throat and soothing the ache inside himself with her scent.
His life was immeasurably better with her in it, and not simply because she'd helped him escape a life of slavery and squalor. Just being near her, seeing her smile, made him happy; in the early days of their acquaintance, once he'd noticed she found his commentary amusing rather than irritating, he took every opportunity to make her laugh because the sound of her happiness was like the warm glow of the sun in his chest.
She used to let him care for her, in his own inexpert way. It started with keeping an eye on her in battle (to ensure the safety of his meal, of course) then grew into distracting her from the constant fear of ceremorphosis with jokes or flirtation, and later, sex. It turned into gently bullying her into accepting the occasional massage for her sore muscles, holding her as she slept, and carrying extra health potions because she would insist on the others being healed first and he could not tolerate seeing her in pain.
But she no longer allowed him those intimacies. After that night, everything that made them more than friends— flirting with him, touching him, letting him take care of her— all of it stopped. He wanted it back. He wanted the chance to devote himself to making her happy every day for the rest of her life.
But though she trembled in his arms, even as he could scent her need, she would pull away, gaze lowered, avoiding his. So determined to allow him space, to avoid making him uncomfortable.
So painfully distant.
This was an opportunity to convince her to give him another chance. To treat her as he should have done from the beginning.
"Astarion," she sighed, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to—"
"I know," he announced firmly.
"If you're sure—"
"I'm sure." Please.
She paused, slightly taken aback and eyeing him curiously. He could see her wavering as she considered his proposal, her busy thoughts chasing each other to exhaustion. She'd been like this on the road as well, considering all variables, fretting over possible consequences, reviewing contingencies and running herself ragged with worry.
He'd loved distracting her from her burdens, leaving her flushed and drowsy in her bedroll.
He would love to distract her now, if she would let him. She wouldn't consider it if she didn't still feel something for him, surely?
Her pinched expression betrayed the pain she was in, and he knew from their previous experience that his assistance was very effective for this particular ailment… but he also knew how strong she was; she had tolerated pain without complaint before, and she would again, if she so chose.
She had taught him that he could say no as a complete sentence, no apology or justification required; he would never deny her the same respect.
That said, he was offering to spend the night with his face in her cunt; hardly platonic. There was no avoiding the carnality of the act, no distancing herself from it— so if she agreed, perhaps that meant that she still craved his touch as he did hers.
"Maybe just a little taste," she offered tentatively.
He grinned, letting her see his elation.
His relief, he kept to himself.
As she left the room for towels, his thoughts were a flurry while he considered and discarded various options: where to place himself? Shirt on, or off? No, he had no wish to rattle her, much as he wanted to make his hopes clear. He would have to ease her nerves, so the shirt would stay on.
But, he reasoned, it wouldn't seem out of place to lie on the bed. They couldn't very well do this on the couch— not comfortably, at any rate.
And he wanted her as comfortable as possible, because if his hopes were realized, he intended to keep her there for hours making up for lost time.
He surreptitiously chafed his hands in front of the fire, hoping to take away the undead chill. He'd barely begun to warm up from the frigid walk over, and couldn't very well seduce her with his icy touch ruining the mood. As soon as he heard her approach, he quickly positioned himself on her bed, affecting a relaxed pose, patting the mattress where her body heat lingered.
She arranged the towel before laying down, limbs stiff with tension, heartbeat racing with anxiety. Her gaze she kept fixed on the ceiling, her expression so haunted with worry it gave him pause.
Had he misjudged?
Perhaps he'd been mistaken, and the blushes and nerves he'd attributed to attraction were really just discomfort with the.... forced intimacy of allowing him to feed from her.
Why should she want you, after all? She's had you already, and she wasn't impressed enough to invite you back into her bed. Now that she knows you, REALLY knows you, she pities you. Pathetic, wretched—
Stop.
You're a used-up, disgusting who—
STOP. Focus!
Astarion positioned himself above her, interrupting her one-sided staring contest with the ceiling. He studied her expression for any hint of resistance or disgust, subtly breathing deeply though his nose.
No fear. Arousal. Faint, but unmistakably present and... blooming.
Still, she looked so worried. He wanted to kiss that little crease between her brows, then keep kissing her until she was warm and sighing under him.
You will. Soon. Best not to overwhelm her just yet.
But just in case... "Say the word and I'll stop, all right, love?" Much as he wanted her, if she were to allow him this only to then regret it come dawn, he'd never forgive himself.
She nodded, and he couldn't help but smile at her.
He sat back on his heels and placed his hands on her knees, gently drawing them apart and watching the lower panels of her robe splay open, revealing her thighs and, between them, paradise hidden by plain cotton. Removing her underwear was both a delight and a self-imposed exercise in patience as he leisurely dragged the fabric down her legs. The bright note of copper in the air was growing stronger, along with the sweet edge of her desire. Once he pulled the underwear off her ankles, he finally allowed himself to look at the apex of her thighs as he slowly spread them open, revealing her to his hungry gaze.
Pink flesh peeked shyly up at him, the folds slick and a touch swollen. His mouth watered. Beautiful.
"There you are," he murmured. "I could just eat you right up."
He happily ensconced himself between her thighs and finally, finally tasted her, dragging his tongue against her core. The tension in her body abruptly melted away, the taste of her desire almost eclipsing that of her blood as she went boneless beneath him. Another lap at her, light, teasing, earned him a quiet gasp as fine tremors swept up her legs. He continued, licking deeply, indulgently, savoring her as her hips began to arch against him in tiny, subtle nudges, silently begging for more. He moaned into her cunt, nuzzling deeper, her eagerness spurring him on as he lost himself in the sensations of her. The scent of her skin, so smooth and warm... the exquisite taste of her blood spiced with her desire.... the quickening beat of her heart and the faint throbbing pulse he could feel under his tongue as he played. Glorious.
Her pleasure built steadily, going from soft sighs to muffled humming to the most delicious moans. Her shaking hands fisted in the bedsheets, leverage she used to try to roll her hips up into him.
It wasn't enough. He wanted her to touch him, wanted her hands in his hair, needed to hear her scream his name. Abruptly done with teasing her, he gave up all pretense of this being about her blood and focused on the lubricious little pearl crowning her slit, sucking it between his lips, playing with it, flicking and rubbing his tongue on it as she panted and whined and finally yes, there it was, Astarion please, oh gods Astarion yes it's so good please please please...
He drew it out, bringing her back to the world gently, licking ever-more lightly as her heaving breaths evened out.
For a moment, she lay still, eyes closed. Then the tiny crease appeared between her brows as her eyes opened, meeting his.
He stared, trying to decipher her expression. Pity? Disgust, shame?
Regret?
...No.
No, instead he saw a piercing melancholy and mute, hopeless yearning. An echo of his own emotional state, as her eyes pleaded with him to give her something she couldn't bring herself to ask for.
He wanted to give her everything.
He returned to nuzzle into her, soothing her swollen pussy with slow, gentle licks. Her soft sighs and pleased hums revealed her deeply relaxed state, a state he was responsible for.
He couldn't even try to pretend anymore that he wasn't making love to her. He slid his hands up her body, finding the robe tie and tugging, then continuing upward, parting the fabric entirely. He petted her everywhere he could reach, adoring the softness of her breasts and the smoothness of her skin under his palms.
Still, she hadn't touched him, and he needed her to. He was overwhelmed by her, by the feelings raised now they'd crossed that unspoken gulf he'd dug between them with his idiot "plan" and manipulations. She was back in his arms, moaning under him, and he needed... he needed...
Her fingertips brushed his. Yes. He took her hand, entwining their fingers, his agitation settling.
Now all he needed was to make her come for him again.
So he did.
Radiant in her ecstasy, her hand tightened on his as he curled his fingers inside her, beckoning her over the edge into bliss until, breath punctuated by soft moans and faint whimpers, her body was utterly limp and her grip finally loosened. For the first time that evening, her expression was serene and untroubled by pain or worry.
Sweeping his thumb across the heel of her hand to her palm, he rubbed a soothing circle there before reluctantly easing away. He sat up so he could trace her curves with a reverent gaze, sucking her off his fingers absentmindedly, savoring the taste before wiping at his face with the towel. Thoughts tumbled in his head, a thousand words competing for space on his tongue, but he was having trouble focusing on speech when her skin was flushed and her warm scent still so heavy in the air, curling around him.
He gave up searching for words in favor of admiring her resplendence in afterglow. Her cheeks were adorably pink, a dawning hope in her eyes as she regarded him, trembling lips beginning to curve in a faint smile. She sat up, leaning toward him, swallowing nervously as she studied his expression.
She was too close to not be kissing him. It was both too much and not enough, and he had been scraped raw from having to hold back earlier. He knew what she wanted, and why she hesitated. In the gulf between them, he would have to take the first step towards her.
He would walk through a thousand storms if it meant he could come home to her.
He leaned in and kissed her, soothing the ache inside them both.
"Please," came her choked whisper, "please stay."
"Oh, my sweet love," he answered, "I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."
One moment, he’s lounging against a tree, half-laughing at Gale’s latest ramble. The next — a twig snaps nearby. His spine straightens. His head tilts unnaturally sharp. And his eyes? Red. Alert. Starving. No transition. Just predator.
The Shift Is Physical. Violent.
His elvish grace no longer looks delicate. It looks lethal. Tav once described it as, “Watching a silk ribbon tighten around someone’s throat.”
His Teeth Click When He’s Agitated
Like a predator baring warning. A little click, jaw twitching. You’ll hear it in the quiet moments before a fight. Tav once heard it and simply muttered, “Oh, he’s gone feral again.”
He Smells Fear
Literally. His nostrils flare. His mouth parts slightly. He can scent it like perfume. Tav once saw him smile — wide, teeth too long — just as a cultist backed away trembling. “Oh yes… you’re ripe.”
Then he steps forward, slow and graceful, and whispers:
“Run.”
After all, the chase is half the pleasure.
He Growls Without Meaning To
Not just in battle. When someone touches Tav without permission. When someone speaks of Cazador. It slips out low in his chest, a growl deep and ancient, not meant for words. Everyone hears it. No one comments.
His Hands Are Always Cold
Not icy. Not corpse-cold. Just… unsettling. Like marble left in shadow. When he touches your wrist, it’s like the blood in your veins pauses for just a second. He likes the contrast — your warmth against his chill.
He Stalks Even in Combat
While others charge, Astarion prowls. Circling. Waiting for the moment a neck is exposed or an enemy is distracted. And then—he pounces. Not a fighter, but a hunter. It’s never messy. It’s swift. He doesn’t brawl — he strikes, like a serpent through lace.
He Watches Like a Beast Studies Prey
He doesn’t just look at you — he studies you. The jugular. The pulse under your jaw. The way your chest rises when you panic. Gale once caught that look and quietly moved behind Lae’zel.
His Smile Is Not Always Human
Sometimes it stretches too wide. Sometimes he smiles with too many teeth.
And when he tilts his head — when he’s deciding whether to toy with you or tear you open — it’s pure predator, wearing lace and lies.
Eyes Like Knives in the Dark
They gleam when he’s fighting. When his blood is up.
When the world slips into slow-motion for him, those red eyes cut through fog and illusion — tracking prey with the patience of something who’s stalked forests longer than you’ve been alive.
They don’t blink. Not when he’s hunting.
When He’s Hungry, His Voice Drops
That usual flirty sarcasm? Gone. Instead, there’s this deep, low thing to his voice — velvet, but tight like it’s being forced through clenched teeth. Astarion doesn’t snap when hungry — he becomes still. Watching. Breathing slow. Every sense on edge. It unsettles even the bravest of the party.
He’s Stronger When He’s Angry
Not many people get to see it, but when he’s truly furious — not playacting, not sarcastic — something ancient floods up from his blood. His voice drops. His muscles tense. He doesn’t roar — he hisses, low and guttural, and the very air feels like it wants to step back.
He Doesn’t Break a Sweat — He Breaks Necks
Literally. No drama, no battle cry. Just movement: quick, quiet, final. There’s a predatory efficiency to it when he stops pretending to be “the pretty one” and shows what vampiric instincts can do.
He Has No Fatigue Like Mortals Do
It takes hours, days even, before he slows. While others sleep or rest, he stays unnaturally still — and when it’s time to move, he’s instantly alert.
It unnerves the others sometimes, especially Karlach, who once joked, “I swear you just power-nap with your eyes open like some kind of murder statue.”
Sometimes He Forgets to Breathe
Hours can pass. Astarion will sit motionless, unreadable, utterly still — not even blinking.
Only when someone speaks too close does he return to himself — with a blink and a hiss, like a cat waking mid-hunt.
……………………………………..
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.
Alright, so here are my Astarion headcanons, everyone! I know he’s technically a spawn, but I love leaning into his full vampiric self.
What really gets me is the contrast between his angelic elven beauty and that feral, beastly vampire side.
It’s like—rawr—my adorable little murder baby has claws and everything. 💖
