Summary/Setting: Sometime in the beginning of Act 3; you and Astarion are exploring intimacy/sex
Rating/Warnings: M+ / 18+ only please/ Smut with little to no plot / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers / PiV / CW / fingering / teasing and overstim if you squint / not beta read or edited too much
Word Count: 2.2K
A/N: I'm a degenerate, idk what else to tell you guys. I’m shocked this came out of my brain, but here we are. Enjoy or be totally flabbergasted or avoid it entirely I don’t know about you all but I simultaneously want to do all three. 💀
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You suspected Astarion enjoyed exploring intimacy with you, perhaps more than he thought he would. The first few weeks after his confession at Moonrise Towers resulted in a rather chaste arrangement between the two of you. Days were filled with stolen pecks and occasional hand holding between missions; nights were spent mostly cuddling half-naked or sometimes simply making out.
When a situation became particularly heated, he would always break away, panting. The flush on his face and the thrumming of his undead heart told you he enjoyed these moments, and his erection pressing into you always became quite the distraction.
Gods, how badly you wanted more. But you had to force yourself to pull back and allow him to take the lead, never pushing further than he was willing to give.
For a few weeks, a bit of grinding and caressing above the waist was as far as Astarion would advance. But shortly after leaving the Shadowlands, something within the silver-haired elf changed. He’d become quite intent on exploring your body almost every night, putting his masterful fingers and tongue to work, almost desperate to watch you come undone.
“You don’t have to, Astarion,” You pant one evening, after a few weeks of nearly daily interactions quite similar to this one. The rogue was working his nimble fingers inside the edge of your small clothes, aiming to delve into your already soaking folds. The bulge of his cock, barely covered by his own underwear, pressed against your rear as he slowly rocked his hips into you.
“I know, my love,” He murmurs, removing his mouth from where it had been tenderly suckling your neck. The vampire licks along the fresh love bite, eliciting a little whimper of pleasure from you. And then he smirks as his fingers find the already engorged bundle of nerves between your legs, causing you to instinctively buck toward him with a whine, “But I want to. I quite like the pretty little sounds you make for me, you know.”
He continues his ministrations for a few moments, reveling in your desperate keens. Nothing else stroked Astarion’s ego quite like this.
“Darling, I’d like to try something different tonight, if you don’t mind.” He purrs as his fingers change their rhythm from the languid circles over your clit to gentle, teasing strokes between your folds. The rogue’s hand dips just enough to tease your entrance with two digits before he retracts again, leaving you mewling in frustration.
You need more. He knows it. And he aimed to give you more tonight, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to toy with you for a moment or two.
“What is it, Astarion?” You ask breathlessly, as he pauses his movements entirely. You whine again and then turn your head to look at the rogue, where he is smirking down at you, clearly enjoying the desperation he’s elicited from his lover. You are caught between his cock and his hand, slowly rolling your hips back and forth, practically begging the silver-haired elf to fuck you with his fingers.
“I want you to come on my cock tonight.” He responds, arching his eyebrow just slightly, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “If that’s what you want, my sweet.”
Your eyes widen in shock, and you swear you feel yourself grow more slick at the mere suggestion. You lick your lips, attempting to moderate your own excitement, trying to avoid making him feel obligated in any way. Astarion’s fingers have resumed their teasing movements, and the newly found wetness causes the vampire to chuckle in delight.
“Judging by the slickness of your perfect little cunt, that certainly is what you want. Am I correct, love?” He purrs into your ear, fangs grazing against your lobe as he rolls his growing erection toward your ass once again.
“Y-yes,” You gasp, and as soon as you do, Astarion rips your underwear from your body before tossing the ruined undergarment across the tent.
“Then you will get what you want on one condition, darling.” He continues, and you feel the engorged head of his cock stroking between your folds from behind. The sensation makes you shiver in delight; you desire nothing more than to have him buried inside you.
“What is it?” You ask, instinctively rolling your hips back against him again, moaning when his length rubs against your clit.
Astarion grabs your hip firmly, digging his nails into the side of your ass and ceasing your movements entirely. You whine and then he’s practically laughing in your ear, you can feel how entertained he is by your predicament. He places a tender kiss on your neck before he purrs, “You aren’t allowed to move one bit, sweet girl, or else I will pull out and leave you with nothing.”
You groan in dismay at this stipulation, “Astarion! I don’t- I don’t know if I can hold still.”
“Oh but my love, the choices are simple,” He continues, his voice playfully condescending as his other hand wanders up to lightly tease a nipple, ripping another little moan from you, “You can either be filled by my cock or by my fingers. So which will it be?”
You whine as the male elf uses one hand to stimulate your breast and the other to barely plunge into your sex again.
“Your cock!” You cry, unable to contain yourself any further, “I want your cock.”
Astarion chuckles, quite content with this response. He slides his erection between your folds again, using your arousal to lubricate his length, “And you’ll stay still, won’t you, little love?”
“Yes, I won’t move,” You agree, and this earns you a delighted groan from the vampire. He reveled in the power dynamics of your coupling, and your willingness to surrender control in the bedroom.
“Good girl,” He coos, and then he’s pressing himself into the entrance of your sex. You moan as the head of his rock-hard cock stretches your cunt; there is a bit of resistance at first; it’s been several weeks since more than two fingers have been inside you, after all.
He takes you inch by inch, slowly dragging himself along your velvet walls. Before long, Astarion’s length has filled you completely, and you’re basking in the sensation of being stretched by your lover.
His breath is ragged behind you as he struggles to remain in control, almost entirely overcome with the desire to simply have his way with you. But that’s not the game tonight, he reminds himself.
In one swift motion he’s rolled you both so that you are straddled over him, your back pressed to his chest. He uses his knees to spread your legs wide, fully opening you up for his seasoned hands to explore. His long fingers drag over your stomach and then travel down between your legs, where they easily find that sensitive nub.
“How does it feel to be sitting atop my cock, darling?” Astarion asks as he slowly, teasingly strokes his slender fingers up and down on your drenched folds. You are seeping arousal at this point, coating him with his well-deserved reward. His cock throbs at the thought.
“Wonderful,” You respond, honestly but breathlessly as you struggle to keep yourself from rolling your hips at all. Your legs are positively shaking with the effort to exert such control, and the little tremors running along your spine are urging the vampire on.
Astarion guides your own hand up to your breasts, where he urges you to tease your own nipple. He palms the flesh of the other breast in one hand as he continues to drag his nimble fingers around your throbbing bud.
You are instinctively clenching around him now, your body desperate to milk every ounce of seed from the vampire. Astarion himself is shaking with the amount of restraint it’s taking him to not lift his hips and fuck up into your warmth.
You cannot restrain yourself any longer, your hips buck and you’re instantly rewarded with the delicious sensation of Astarion’s length running against your walls. But then a sharp, stinging smack singes the side of your ass, and a shocked gasp escapes your lips.
“What did I say, darling? Be a good girl and hold still. Try that again and I will pull out.” The rogue warns while speeding up his efforts on your clit.
You sharply pinch your own nipple, trying desperately to keep yourself from moving any more. But gods, how badly you want to. You’re so close. Your walls are clenching tighter and tighter, and the sensation is causing Astarion to grunt in response. He’s trying just as desperately to hold back as you quiver around him, tempting him to do the exact opposite.
His hips buck just once before he regains control and stills himself, but gods the walls of your tight pussy wrapped around him felt divine. The sharp thrust made you moan loudly in delight, and your entire body was shivering from the self-control you were using to hold still. He felt you standing on the precipice of pleasure, so close to the edge. You just needed a little push to fall into a world of ecstasy, and that, he could provide.
“Let go, little love. Come for me,” He whispers hoarsely, and the command sends you tumbling over the edge. You feel the wave crashing over you, rippling through your sex and up to your spine. You clasp your hand over your mouth as you whine, signaling your release.
You are mid-orgasm when Astarion roughly grabs both sides of your hips and hisses, “Fuck it.”
And then he’s thrusting upwards, repeatedly burying himself inside you, intent on fucking you through the second half of your orgasm. You cry out in pleasure as the vampire moans into the side of your neck, continuing to piston himself into you as he chases his own release.
Once again, his fingers find their way to your over-sensitive clit and he’s working at it frantically, in the practiced motion he knows to be your favorite. You keen and try to clamp your legs shut; the sensation is almost too much. But Astarion growls and forces your legs open with his knees as he quickly brings you to the edge of another orgasm.
Your lover is panting with exertion as he holds back his own release. Through gritted teeth he urges you on, using the hand not playing with your clit to grab your hip and slam you down to meet his thrusts.
“One more, darling. You can do one more, can’t you? Let go, I’ve got you.” He coaxes, his voice near breathless but filled with gravel.
“Oh, fuck!” Is all you can respond as the second orgasm rips through you, stronger than the first. You’re seeing stars as your pussy throbs around Astarion’s shaft, rewarding his efforts with a deliciously tight grip and another gush of your delectable juices. The high-pitched, uninhibited whine that escapes you while you’re drowning in ecstasy is music to the rogue’s ears.
As your greedy cunt clenches around him again during that second wave of pleasure, Astarion emits a strangled moan of his own.
He buries his face in your neck as he soon struggles to buck forward, shakily dragging his sensitive, swollen length in and out of your walls just a few more times before he buries himself balls-deep. Thick ropes of his spend shoot up into your warmth as he groans, consumed by his own euphoria behind you. His cock continues to pulse for a few moments longer, urged on by the relentless spasming of your sex around him.
Both of you are heaving and shaking slightly once he finally relaxes his legs. You’re still laying atop him as he slowly roams his hands over your body, idly stroking your curves in soft, soothing motions.
“I thought you said we couldn’t move,” You finally say, voice completely hoarse from the cries of ecstasy you uttered moments ago.
“I said you couldn’t move, darling. I didn’t say anything about me.” The vampire responds with a self-satisfied smirk as he playfully nips at your earlobe, “Are you truly complaining that I did all the work?”
“No,” You respond, finally pulling yourself off of the vampire, releasing the slick combination of your respective arousals as it drips between the two of you. “But at some point I’d like it to be me making all that effort to bring pleasure to you.”
He pulls you down beside him with a little hum. You pull the blanket over the two of you. No other words are exchanged as you drift to sleep, thoroughly exhausted by the events of the day and this satisfying but unexpected evening. Astarion watches you sleep, and for the first time he allows himself to acknowledge that he might also like to let you have a bit of control in the bedroom… perhaps next time.
Summary/Setting: “You thought they knew and saw you for who you were. The nights around the campfire, the jokes and stories you shared, the rounds of constant checking in on them, it was all for nothing. The hate in their eyes was apparent and set for who could honestly trust a bhaalspawn, and perhaps this was for the best. You thought I’d be free of these urges, these feelings, this life. I’m done; I’ve had enough of all this; how nice your last sight on this plane would be, those jewel-red piercing eyes."
Rating/Warnings: Basically for everyone just get ready to cry your little heart out lol
Word Count: 1,903
A/N: Sooo this is the first fic I've written in a while, so please be gentle with me. Honestly, I just kept thinking about this kind of scenario constantly running through my head. I'll be posting this here and on AO3 if you prefer to read it there as well! Currently, I am writing the second chapter on this. At first, I was going to only do one shot but the ideas just kept growing lol
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
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It was your birthright; that is what the funny-looking butler has said to you. A gift was to be bestowed upon you, but only if you killed the selunite cleric Isobel… the last hope for last light inn.
Your first encounter with her was tense; even being near her brought on a violent pounding within your skull as if it were to spilt any second; you tried to push past it to focus on the vital information that Isobel was explaining in regards to Moontower, it fell on deaf ears, the roaring in your ears started to get louder, your vision began to darken at the edges, no you thought not now! Your finger began to twitch as if in anticipation of unleashing the same horror that claimed the poor bard Alfira.
You needed to remove yourself now. You quickly mumbled about needing a moment to yourself before sprinting out Isobel room and down the stairs and making your way to the furthest edge of the light barrier to try and gather yourself.
“Breathe, just breathe, please just stop; you silently pleased with just you and your horrid twisted mind. You squeezed your eyes tight, though it seemed to not really matter. In fact, it just made the images appear faster in your mind. Oh, the beautiful ways you could rearrange the limbs of Isobel body, bones snapping, eyes all but gone and left with gaping holes of nothing and filled with nothing, darkness, and hopelessness. The delicious fear of condemning these pathetic souls that cling to life only for it to be snuffed out in an instant just if blowing out a candle. It would be so easy.
The sound of footfalls told you that the others had finished up with the Cleric and had most likely come to see why their leader had run out on them.
“Wretched thing, pull yourself together,” You whispered quickly, trying to dissipate the vile thoughts still wracking your mind and readying yourself to answer the many questions probably going to be hurled upon you.
“Oh darling, was that cleric prattling on too much for you to bear? Even Shadowheart had to restrain herself before tearing into her about her love and how much better her dark lady was ha! Astarion says with a
“Ah, my love, are you alright? Darling your hands!
This is what breaks you out of your dazed self. You open your hands to reveal puncture wounds you had inflicted upon yourself. You didn’t even notice your hands had formed into closed fists, forcing yourself to restrain yourself to the point small droplets of your blood had begun to pool a bit in your palm.
“Yes… I.. I’m alright. I just needed fresh air; this shadow curse must do a number on me. You could feel Astarion eyes boring into you. He must have known you were lying, but he didn’t press further, and you were thankful for that. You were not in the right head space to tell him what you had just expressed, nor did you really feel the others would care when you had more pressing issues to address. You must focus on the task at hand and find the nightsong. Your pain could be dealt with later.
“Let’s head back to camp with the others. Gale said he is trying out a new recipe, and it don’t worry; he even managed to find the good kind of wine just for Astarion.
As Gale started passing out the new stew, he managed to salvage together from the stocked-up ingredients you collected throughout your journey; Shadowheart began to explain the current mission and what you had missed. But your heart and mind weren’t all there, considering what happened previously. When would you be rid of these violent urges, these sick thoughts that clouded your mind?
With dinner complete, you did your normal rounds around the camp, checking in on everyone; you were a bit apprehensive in speaking with Astarion, concerned that he would ask you what had happened since you never really did address why you ran out, but no he didn’t even bring it up, you would have thought you would be relived, but a sharp chord struck you within your heart; did he really not care you had thought your relationship with he was making progress or perhaps that was you fooling yourself into thinking someone could love such a creature as yourself.
Making your way to your bedroll and staring up at the pitch-black sky you knew you would not be getting any sleep; the thoughts in your head of today’s events were ever buzzing about.
You were so engrossed in your thoughts you didn’t hear the pattering of talons upon the dirt coming closer to you.
“You called for me, Milady?”
You sat up hastily. Gods, what did he want you to do now, or what exactly were his intentions of coming to you in the middle of your camp?
“What is it now? If this is about killing the cleric, you can forget it. I already gave you my answer; I refuse to be part of such a massacre, you said with a hushed whisper.”
“Your father was most displeased with this kind of outcome, Milady, dear Master; I want only the best for you; you always did need a little push of encouragement with those urges you get; allow me to give you a hand in this, please,” he pleased.
“I don’t need any push or anything from this so-called father I have never met before!”
You wanted him to leave before anyone could overhear you two, and you would have to explain another thing to the group.
“Now, don’t be this way; your father does love you, miss, how he doted on you so tenderly when you were but a babe, and because of this, he is allowing yet another chance for you to redeem such an egregious display you have made of yourself.
Your hands begin to feel clammy and freezing; the building anxiety takes hold of your body and starts to stir. What is that will do? More importantly, is this something that harms others?
You catch the glint of silver with little red specks encircling something within his clawed hand. It looks to be a coin?
“Here is the deal, master: if this coin falls upon heads, your favorite person will be brutalized! This normally would have been your punishment and a token to your father and would allow this minor transgression with the cleric to be overlooked. If it lands upon tails… no, you know what, master? I shall let you find out personally what awaits you; this will be my little push to steer you in the correct direction for you to grab your inheritance.
A flash of anger flared up within you. “No, what is the second choice tell me now!” Panic filled you as if the first choice was not bad enough; something worse awaited you, leaving you in the dark.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Milady. Be patient here; I’ll toss this coin, and we shall see what fate has in store for you.”
With the flick of his finger, the coin spun in the air. The fear and anxiety that you felt waiting on this damn coin to fall, you tried to make a plan of some sort on how to deal with the said potential of having to kill either Astarion, your lover, or dear friend Shadowheart.
“Oh, master! You are Truly cursed with the most delicious tragedy.”
Your eyes widened, and your heart sped up. Gods, what side did the coin land on? Were you fated to kill your sweet love?
“Now, Milady, stay still. I don’t want to miss.” Scelerita’s hands began to glow red, even his eyes;
Beneath your feet, a red glow, a red circle outlined with what seemed to be blood drops arranged in a perfect circular motion on the outermost circle were some ancient ruins, ones that looked familiar, but you had no time to possibly read them before you felt the excruciating pain of your bones breaking in multiple places, your joints snapping, stretching, your skin being pulled into various directions to cover long new limbs you seemed to be growing, Gods it HURT,
Two additional arms shoot out from your sides. Each hand is morphed into sharp, long, talon-like claws. You feel the sharp spikes and horns poke and prick your entire body, from your head, arms, and legs to the tip of your now-said tail. Great long horns jut out from your now spikey head, and you feel something dripping. It seems to be slick blood from your former form. It’s a miracle you think to yourself that you are not dead from blood loss or, at the very least, shock from the horror show that you are becoming.
But honestly, the worst part of this horrid transformation is the one relating directly to your mouth: two large tusk-like horns protrude out from your would-be former jaw that now splits into somehow four splits of skin that are all surrounded and arranged by pointed and thorny teeth that could shred something or someone within seconds.
“Oh, my Master, you truly are a sight to behold; how I missed this form of yours so dearly! Such a strapping young behemoth.”
You attempt to scream for help from your companions; however, it quickly becomes apparent that you cannot speak within this grotesque form. What were you to do now that you were transformed into a monster?
“Master, this will surely be something you can finally make your father proud of! I can see in your eyes that you are waiting for an explanation of what you are meant to do with this new, beautiful form; allow me to get this started. "
Your now small demon butler has waved his hand and conjured up an illusion of self-disguise into a near-perfect replicate of Gale?! He then opens his mouth, and much to your horror, what he screams out next in a voice. That sounds exactly like him.
“What is that monstrosity?! Everyone! Wake up! There is an abominable monster readying to attack the camp, and they have our leader!” screams the illusion-like Gale.
Your heart begins to plummet into the pit of your stomach, and you quickly understand what this sick lesson is meant to teach you. Your father expects nothing to stand in his way. It does not matter if they are the ones that can help you reach the Baldur’s gate. If they are holding you back from your “gift,” then they must be dealt with, and what a perfectly twisted way for them to be under the guise that this monster has taken their precious leader and must kill it.
You can only watch in horror as you look out to see the flames in camp start lighting up and the yelling and harsh footfalls quickly approaching your location. In the distance, you hear Karlach’s battle cry and the others gathering their weapons.
You swiftly turn your head to see your butler’s face, only for him to give you a sick and cruel smile on your friend’s face. “Have fun, milady, your father, and I wish to see some excellent results from the child of Bhaal.”
And then he is gone, leaving only behind thick smoke and the damn coin laying tails side up.
||One shot, single chapter; 3,859 Words. Reader (f!Tav) x Astarion
Important tags: major character death warning, sad smut, explicit, F/M ||
Masterpost | AO3 Link
Summary:
Five years after walking away from The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered to you, you've returned to stop him from wreaking havoc on Baldur's Gate. That turns out to be harder than you think.
You let him press you against the wall, his hands coming up under your thighs. Lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist, another echo to when you both didn't know yet what you would become.
Each other's ruin.
Back in those woods, in those early days. As his fingers trailed over your skin for that first time, his eyes wide with lust and desire and an adoration that tasted so sweet, you wanted to hold onto it forever."
Some is under the cut, the full story is linked on my AO3 below.
Tumblr Masterpost | Ruin on A03
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Maybe coming here was a bad idea. It had been five years, and you knew you wouldn't find what you were looking for. Not really. Even if it looked like him, it would be a cruel joke. One that you had played on yourself only too many times as you attempted to mask the wreckage he had left behind.
You had left behind.
You're not the man I love anymore.
Good. I would have ruined your love anyways.
You didn't know then how those words would haunt you. How you would lay in your bed at night and when you closed your eyes you would see him leaning forward to kiss you. See him the way he looked when he was bathed in moonlight the night he whispered into your ear that he loved you.
Was he still there? That Astarion? Your Astarion? You didn't know. It was a question you asked yourself every day until the day you left and it was a question you had asked yourself every day since.
He had not kept quiet though, and he was causing havoc in the city. So of course they reached out to you. Everyone was aware of the hero of Baldur's Gate who had walked away from the city, from her title, and from the man who loved her. He had not been peaceful, in his attempt to get you to stay. You had refused him anyway.
You expected hostility maybe, or a cool indifference. What you received instead was almost worse. As you opened that door and stepped into his hall and his eyes found yours, you could feel yourself fighting the urge to run to him. To fall into his arms. Gods. He was just as achingly, painfully beautiful as you remembered. As if he had been carved from stone, a lethal beauty etched into every muscle of his body. His snow white curls perfectly framing his face, the flush of his cheeks as he pulled a smarmy smile at you. It made you want to fall to your knees and tell him how wrong you had been. How much you had missed him.
“Did you miss me that much, darling? Finally come to beg for my forgiveness?” There. There was the reminder you needed that this was not your Astarion. That this was a different man even if he wore your lover's face. Funny, that after half a decade you would still call him your lover, your Astarion. But he always would be, wouldn't he? And in so many ways, you would always be his too.
“Astarion, you've been changing people. Too many people. It hasn't gone unnoticed.” He only smirked back at you.
“Why little love, have you come here to kill me then?” You hadn't. Sort of. You had a little, but you were hoping that you could get away with a warning. That small part of you that hoped he was still in there. You still weren't sure which way you were going to need to go. Could you even convince him that what he was doing was wrong? He had been explicitly clear when he told you he was not the same, that he would never be that weaker version of himself. The version you loved. The version that haunted your dreams in the most deliciously painful way possible. This is a gift, you know.
You wondered what might have been different if you hadn't helped him ascend that day. If you had listened to yourself when you looked into his thoughts and saw how afraid he was. That this was desperation and a brute desire to break his chains, and that maybe there had been a better way. Maybe you didn't save him after all, even though that was all you wanted.
Maybe you damned him, in the end.
You weren't really sure.
You took a step back as he took one forward, his eyes dancing with a predatory gleam that you knew only too well. And then he was in front of you. You'd forgotten how quickly he could move now. Be in one place and then another. You don't let him show you it unnerves you to have him this close again, to smell that familiar crushed bergamot scent and feel like you've just walked into your home after having abandoned it for so long. You swallow around the pain of it, reminding yourself this isn't him. Not really. That only gets harder when he leans in, his voice caressing the shell of your ear.
“Tell me, darling, why are you here then?” Did he miss you too? Did he think about you as often these last years as you had thought about him? Did he too walk through the pieces of your relationship, wondering if there was ever a moment where you could have salvaged the love you both so desperately wanted? Promised to each other?
No. Probably not. But couldn't you pretend there was? For a moment, couldn't you let him lull you into believing that this is no different than the man who held you gently in his arms, kissing your temple while he whispered to you that he wanted something real? You could pretend that he had never told you he would ruin all of your love for him. Because it was still there anyways. All of your love for him. It was always real, to you at least. Every moment of it.
Back again for the third time today, this time with some porn with a plot.
I'm really on one with the Dadstarion fics. Something has been unleashed inside me, people.
I need to edit all these headers at some point.
Warnings: babies, angst w comfort, smut, nipple play, breast milk, breast milk drinking, breeding kink, daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, a bit of soft dom Astarion vibes, 18+ only please
A/N: Most of you already know I'm a degenerate.
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Astarion had been uncharacteristically melancholy this week.
Sure, it wasn’t unusual to witness him in one of his moods of irritation or frustration, particularly when some business deal or another was not going particularly well, or a contract he’d already drafted more times than he could count came back to him with more rebuttals.
But to witness this cloud of sadness around your husband, especially after Gale’s birth, was odd. He’d been the picture of domestic joy and fatherhood, completely over the moon in his new role. He even wore the sleeplessness better than you in the first few months, happy to assist where he could so that his little love could get more valuable rest.
However, just recently, his mood had become detached and distant. Everything he did and said seemed tinged with worry or sadness. It reminded you of the spawn version of Astarion from several years ago, almost always caught in a poor memory or concerning line of thought. That version of Astarion hadn’t shown up in a while. You couldn’t be sure what triggered it.
“Gale’s getting quite good at holding his head up,” You inform your husband as you crawl into bed with him after just putting the three-month-old down for the evening.
“That’s wonderful news, darling.” Astarion replies, with that same distant, pensive air he’s addressed you with all week as he focuses on the book in his lap.
You sigh, and put your hand over the book, obscuring the pages and forcing the elf to acknowledge you, “What is it, Astarion? You’ve been in this… mood all week and I’m beginning to worry you’re regretting parenthood.”
Your husband’s eyebrows crinkle as he places the book on his nightstand, staring at you with a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, “Darling, do you truly think that? What have I done besides absolutely dote on Gale? And on you!”
You realize you’ve misspoken. You see the wounds on your husband’s face as he assesses you, and your hands come to his cheeks, searching his eyes, “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I know you don’t regret Gale… I just. I’m worried, Astarion. You seem… sad. Lost in thought in a way I haven’t seen in years and… I don’t know why.”
There is a moment of silence as Astarion’s eyes flash through several thoughts, filtering through a week's worth of garbled noise within his mind. And then he sighs, “I…” he pauses and blinks, forcing himself to meet your gaze, “I’m worried that I won’t be the right masculine role model for Gale. That I’m not strong enough to show him… to show him how to be a good man.”
Your mouth falls open in shock. You cannot even think of something to say, because this certainly wasn’t the direction you thought Astarion would take. He was always quite self-assured in his talents and never hesitant to be the true version of himself after the parasite fiasco over a decade ago.
He continues, “I don’t live in the woods, or whatever it is exactly Halsin does. I’m not an especially talented spell caster like Gale. And I’m fair with a blade but it’s been years since I’ve had use for one and I don’t have the level of training nor regular practice like Wyll nowadays, dear. I review contracts and make investments; I run the winery. I embroider. I’m not exactly the picture of masculinity in comparison to… others.”
There is a moment of quiet between the two of you. Concerned tears form in your husband’s eyes, which he quickly blinks away.
“Astarion… you are the strongest man I know.” You murmur, running a finger along the elf’s cheek as he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes jerk away from your face; clearly, he does not believe you.
You gasp in shock as you cup his face harder, willing the elf to understand how serious you are. You continue, vehemently, “My love. You cannot seriously believe otherwise! You have endured more than any of us could ever imagine. Over 200 years of… horrible atrocities. And then you came out on the other side of that, after having sacrificed so much — and Astarion, do not ever forget how much you willingly sacrificed — to be better. To choose differently. To be so much more.”
You are ripping the blankets away and crawling into your husband’s lap now, wrapping your limbs around his torso. His head comes to the side of your neck as you hold him, hoping to convey the love and respect you have for the elf with the warmth of your arms. Your fingers latch into the curls on the back of his neck as you speak in a reverent whisper, urging him to believe you.
“I watched you endure years without the sun in more stride than I could have possibly thought. And you are perhaps softer than you were when we met, yes. But this version of you gives me and Gale everything we need and more. I cannot imagine someone stronger or more courageous than you, my love. And I think you have forgotten how much strength it took for you to become this soft in the first place. I love this version of you. And Gale has a wonderful, loving, strong father in this version. Please do not ever doubt that.”
A quiet hum of acknowledgement comes from your husband, but no other words escape him as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and envelopes your lips in a soft kiss. A thank you.
Your heart is pounding from the passion with which you spoke, and when Astarion’s lips press into yours, that passion and love begins to flow throughout your body. Pieces of you start to wake.
It had been a while since you two were intimate. Not since before Gale's birth. Days and nights had recently been filled with parenthood and left little time nor energy for much else. But as Astarion pushes forward, wrapping his arms around your back, you feel the stirrings of desire deep in your core. A soft moan leaves you as a fire begins to grow where mere glowing embers had been left several months ago.
Astarion must be feeling the same pull, because his hand trails from your back and sneaks under your nightdress to brush along your thigh. He slowly traces up the length of your leg to cup your bottom while he deepens the kiss with a soft, breathy moan of his own. He’s flexing his hips up toward you, the growing bulge in his trousers begging for further stimulation. Your lover’s tongue swipes along your lower lip, asking for entry, and your mouth opens to accept the swirling heat of desire from the elf.
He explores your mouth and caresses your bottom for a while, tenderly, slowly, and in no rush to further things along despite the mutual growing desire between your two bodies. It’s you that finally breaks the kiss before ripping your night dress over your head, exposing two heavy, milk-laden breasts in the process. Astarion brings the hand not kneading into your ass to cup your breast before thumbing the pert nipple.
You gasp, and your husband’s brows crinkle for a moment as he pauses his ministrations.
“Too sensitive?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your other breast.
“No, keep going,” You urge him, closing your eyes and rolling your hips forward to grind into his groin. He bucks forward to meet you instinctively.
He tentatively thumbs the nipple again and you moan in response. Without thinking much about it, Astarion brings his mouth to the other breast and wraps his lips around the bud before sucking gently. You release an ecstatic keen in response when his teeth graze against the tender flesh. You are continuing to roll your hips into him when he suddenly retracts from your chest with a shocked gasp.
Your eyes snap open, and you catch the final glimpse of your husband wiping breast milk from the side of his mouth as his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink. And then you feel your own embarrassment growing as rosy patches flush across your chest and cheeks. You quickly move to cover your breasts.
“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper, “it slipped my mind. I forgot about the…”
You’re thinking the moment’s ruined, and moving to climb off your husband, but he quietly brings his hand to your waist and stills you. His eyes search yours silently for a moment, and you’re still so consumed by your own embarrassment that all you can do is stare dumbly back at him, eyebrows furrowed.
But then Astarion lifts one of his hands to your own, slowly lowering it from where it had been covering your breast. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he once again leans forward and wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking gently. Warm milk flows into his mouth and you inhale sharply, unable to look away as your husband removes his lips from your breast, opens his mouth to show you the white liquid, and then closes his mouth and swallows.
He swallows.
And then he smirks up at you with a self-satisfied, mischievous glint in his eyes that causes the slickness between your legs to instantly double.
Gods, this man.
You are convinced your entire body is flushing red at this point as Astarion slowly brings his other hand up to palm the flesh of your breast.
“Would you like daddy to do it again?” He purrs before his tongue laps circles around the side of your heavy tit.
“I— gods, yes.” You respond, blinking down at the elf.
“Okay. But you have to ask me very, very nicely, little love.” He responds teasingly as he trails kisses to your other breast, waiting for you to say something.
“Please suck my nipple,” You whisper, eagerly rolling your groin into your husband's raging erection.
But Astarion doesn’t do what he’s asked. Instead, he’s teasing the bud with the flat of his tongue and humming contentedly, waiting for something from you.
“Please suck my nipple, daddy.” You amend, and the elf instantly engages his lips around your other breast with a soft groan. He’s drinking with vigor as your hands find the curls at the nape of his neck and take hold. Before long he’s retracting again, his mouth full of liquid gold.
And he pulls the same maneuver. Mouth open, flashing the white liquid as he looks directly into your eyes. Mouth closed. Swallow. Devious smile.
“It’s delicious, you know.” He murmurs as you stare at him, still in shock and still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that you are actually enjoying this. His hands come to either breast, both now significantly lighter, and he fondles the soft tissue.
“You shouldn’t be so surprised that you like this darling, I distinctly remember a time when I made you orgasm by mere nipple play alone.” He whispers, a glint of that cocky rogue playing across his face before he trails kisses up your chest and along your neck.
“Gods, Astarion,” You respond, “I need you inside me, now.”
You’re done with the foreplay. Your husband has you ridiculously hot and bothered, and it’s been far, far too long. You're on your knees, which are straddled on either side of his hips as you urgently tug at the waistband of his trousers, trying to work his pants and underclothes off in one motion. But your husband is purposely resisting and refusing to lift his hips, watching you with that same arrogant smile.
Oh, he's toying with you.
“Darling, why am I always the one dirty talking you?” He asks, pulling back from your neck and cocking his head just slightly as he studies your face.
“I— what?” You ask, still pulling insistently at his waistband.
“I’m always the one charming the pants off of you, dear. In over ten years, it’s never really been the other way around. But you know that I love to hear your beautiful words.” He continues, moving one of his hands to stroke between your still-clothed folds.
“Astarion, please fuck me.” You try as you struggle to keep your composure. The slickness of your cunt is making obscene noises as he expertly maneuvers between your slit, watching your expression attentively as you come undone.
He chuckles darkly as he brings his lips to your breast once again, trailing kisses along the side of the flesh, “I think you can do better than that, my love.”
You groan in dismay as the bastard continues to tease you. Several months without sex and somehow you’re still the desperate one while he’s effortlessly maintaining his cool.
“What do you want daddy to do to you, darling?” He purrs, teasingly, as his other hand that isn’t stroking between your legs trails across your skin to fondle your ass once again.
“I want you to fuck me and fill me with your seed.” You whine as his ministrations on your clit become more insistent. You’re trying to play into his desires, to convince him to stretch you open with his thick cock.
Your legs are trembling now. He’s going to make you come embarrassingly fast. You know it. He knows it.
“Won’t you beg me, my love?” He murmurs as his eyes trail across your chest, admiring your larger-than-usual breasts before his gaze locks back onto yours, fingers still strumming your clit, now adding more pressure, “You know I love to hear your sweet little pleas.”
“Please— Astarion. Please, daddy. Please fuck me. Breed me like your good little wife and fill me with—“
You gasp and then moan as your orgasm rips through you with little warning, drenching your husband’s hand in your arousal. The release causes your legs to turn into jelly, and Astarion uses the opportunity to quickly maneuver you into a new position. You are sitting on the side of the bed, and he is now standing, quickly lowering his trousers.
His cock springs free, and the sight causes your eyes to widen in shock. It’s so engorged that the head is slowly turning from that gorgeous pink to a deep purple, begging for release. Thin rivulets of pre-cum are falling in strings from the tip; much of his shaft is glistening from the same evidence of his arousal.
Astarion glances down at his own erection and then warns, “It’s been a while darling, not quite certain how long I will last.”
“Just get inside me already, daddy.” You plead and that’s enough to make your husband growl as he strokes his own member once, twice, prepping himself. He peels your drenched undergarments down your legs and tosses them aside.
As Astarion’s cock slides between your folds you gasp. Gods, it really has been too long. And then he’s pressing into you slowly, groaning deeply with the amount of effort it’s taking him to not release his spend right upon entry into your tight cunt. When he reaches the hilt, the elf stills for a moment and lowers himself down to kiss your lips before pressing his forehead against yours. And then Astarion is slowly rolling his hips, his mouth hanging open in a gasp at the delicious sensation of your walls clenching around him before he closes his eyes to focus.
It isn’t long before he's losing control. Your husband normally prides himself on being a consummate lover; it’s quite typical that he brings you to orgasm twice before finding his own release. But it has been quite some time and perhaps holding off in an attempt to hear your pleas wasn’t as easy for him as it appeared on the outside.
“Gods, darling. You feel so perfect.” The elf pants, almost breathless, his hips stuttering as he jerkily thrusts into you, trying and failing to maintain some rhythm as the pleasure overwhelms him, “So perfectly wet and tight.”
“Come inside me, daddy.” You whisper as you bring your hand to the side of Astarion’s face.
The command shocks him. Like you, he’s suddenly coming with very little warning. His eyes rip open as he’s spilling into you with a loud groan, his cock jerking inside your walls where he’s instinctively buried himself to the hilt.
“Fuck-- gods, Tav--" He hisses through the waves of pleasure racking his body as his eyes roll back. His thighs are trembling as his member continues to throb, spilling several streams of hot, thick seed into you as you watch his face in awe. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed. You love the way he looks when he loses control.
You smile and kiss your husband gently as he comes down from his high, your hand stroking his cheek. And then he’s laughing and pressing his forehead back against yours. A few of his curls fall haphazardly and you reach up to lovingly comb them back into place.
“You are… still full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks as he slowly withdraws from you, causing the slickness from your lovemaking to run down your thighs and into the sheets.
“I thought you would like it,” You offer shyly, now somewhat embarrassed at your own crassness as the tides of passion recede.
“Oh, I certainly did, darling.” Your lover reassures you as he bends down to retrieve his trousers from the floor, "You cheeky little degenerate."
Just then, Gale lets out a sharp cry from the nursery. You move to stand up, but your husband stops you with a gentle hand and a soft, adoring smile.
“I’ll go and get him. Don’t waste the seed still inside you, dear. Give it a few more precious moments to try and do its thing, hm?” Astarion says, partly teasing and partly serious as he shoots you a wink before heading out the bedroom door to retrieve the infant.
This one won’t take, you know as much. You aren’t ovulating. But as you watch the love of your life exit the room on his way to retrieve the other love of your life, you think you may actually be ready to start trying for another one sometime soon. You know Astarion is simply waiting for your cue.
Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for Astarion redemption arc. This is timed a few months after the elf turns mortal. For more info, see “The wish spell worked.” But never fear, you can read it as a one shot if you’re new around these parts.
Warm, slender fingers trace a line across the fang marks on your neck. A single reverent kiss is placed upon the two tiny dots, causing a shiver to run down your spine.
Ten years of memory is a long time. Even though fangs will never be inserted into those small notches again, the mere suggestion of the act is enough to cause your sex to clench. It’s practically an instinct by now; biting and lovemaking had been so intertwined for years.
The sensation of your walls quivering causes your lover to buck his hips forward, burying himself entirely within you. A soft moan escapes his lips as he watches you through thick eyelashes. His face is illuminated in an amber glow by the candles flickering around your bedchamber; his hands are pressed into the silken bedsheets.
He’d just bathed not long ago. His hair is still partly damp and he smells so strongly of his signature scent.
He smells like comfort. He smells like safety.
“Do you miss it, little love?” Astarion asks, voice husky, dripping with lust. He lowers his mouth to your neck again and trails tender kisses to the spot just behind your ear that always makes you purr in delight. The sound causes a satisfied smirk to cross the elf’s face as his breath dances upon your skin.
“Sometimes,” You admit before lifting your hand up to rest it upon your husband’s chest, right by his heart. It beats a steady, stable, mortal thrum nowadays. You gasp when you feel blunted teeth graze against your earlobe before murmuring, “But the trade off is much better.”
Another roll of Astarion’s hips compels you to raise your own, desperate to meet him. Your husband retracts his teeth from your earlobe and moves to tenderly press his lips against yours. It’s a soft, slow, gentle kiss where his tongue barely dips to the entrance of your mouth.
In the warmth of your bed, in the glow of a dozen candles, there’s no need to be eager nor frantic here.
You feel the elf’s heartbeat kick up a few notches as he repeats his slow, deep thrusts, plunging himself into you a few more times. The sensation of his thick length languidly dragging against your walls makes you whine for him.
Astarion lets out an appreciative moan as he buries himself to the hilt within you. Then he ceases his movements entirely, simply reveling in the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He breaks the kiss and brings a hand to the side of your face before pressing his forehead against yours.
Another snap of his hips, this one a bit harder. Another breathy moan from you.
“And what, little love, is the best part of the trade off?” He asks in a purr as the hand held to your cheek trails back down to your neck. His nimble fingers lightly, lovingly graze against those pinprick marks again, causing you to shiver once more.
“Besides the most obvious things, like you being able to stand in the sun?” You ask, bringing your other hand to trace along the point of your husband’s ear, causing his breath to catch.
The pinna instantly flushes, as do his cheeks.
“Too many things to name, really. For one, I love watching your ears turn so deliciously pink every time I do this.” You whisper, repeating the motion again and ripping a moan from Astarion in the process.
“I— they’ve gotten more sensitive since the change.” Astarion admits as his eyes roll back into his head when you gently grasp the shell of his ear between your thumb and forefinger.
You hum in acknowledgment as you continue your ministrations. You add a bit more pressure, causing the elf to gasp in delight. A euphoric grin spreads across his face as his eyes shut, focused on the feeling of your hand. It isn’t long before Astarion is rolling his hips again in time with your fingers.
You feel your pleasure building now as his cock begins to pump in and out of you at a steady pace.
“B-but what I’m most excited about is the potential to start a family,” You admit breathlessly, causing Astarion to growl and briskly snap his hips forward, sinking himself so deeply the tip of his cock brushes against your cervix. You keen in a mixture of surprise and delight.
His cheeks are stained pink from his arousal. Gorgeous.
His eyes snap open and he peers down at you through half drooped lids, pupils blown wide with lust. He’s beginning to lose his breath as he changes the angle of his hips just slightly, aiming to hit that perfect little spot inside your sex.
“You want me to put a baby in you, is that it, darling?” Astarion asks, trying desperately to cling to his control. He knows the answer. He just loves to hear it.
“Yes, my love,” You whimper, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock presses insistently into your walls.
He’s rutting harder into you now, setting an almost punishing pace. One of his hands comes up to protect your skull from slamming into the headboard from the sheer force of his efforts.
He’s close. The beautiful noises you’re making are almost enough to make him lose it. But he wants you to get there first, wants to push you over the edge so that he can follow.
Before, in instances like this, he would sink his fangs into your flesh and coax a release from you that way. But in the past few months, he’d had to adapt his tactics and find other ways to pleasure you.
He knows you need more.
Your husband presses himself flush against your body and smoothly rolls you both so that you are now astride.
At one point, he never would’ve willingly allowed this loss of control. But the two of you are far past that now.
You are gazing down at your lover, face flushed as you lay your hands on his chest. He angles his hips just so, knowing that when you rock your hips back, the tip of his cock will press right where you want it and when you rock forward, his pelvis will provide perfect stimulation to your clit.
You were made for him.
Or he was made for you.
You two were made for each other.
He smiles softly as he looks up at you, “You are so beautiful.”
You smile at him through hooded lids and then begin to rock your hips, sheathing and unsheathing his length with your sex. Before long you two have found a rhythm that makes both of your mouths drop open in pleasure.
Both of Astarion’s hands come to your hips, and he presses down, adding more pressure, forcing you to grind further into him. He’s guiding your movements now, using the sheer strength of his arms to rock you back and forth atop him.
You gasp and lower your body so that every movement of your pelvis causes your breasts to drag along the elf’s chest. The sensation sends a line of goosebumps trailing up Astarion’s torso.
You bring your hand back to your husband’s ear, gripping onto the lobe. A shocked moan escapes Astarion’s lips and he suddenly bucks, stuttering the rhythm you two have created before finding it again.
“Little love,” He gasps, his eyes rolling back once more, “If you keep doing that I won’t last much longer.”
You don’t respond because you’re so close it’s all you can focus on. A few more rolls of your hips, the sensation of Astarion’s thick cock stretching you wide, and you’re sent over the edge into ecstasy.
You cry out when you reach your peak and your walls begin greedily clenching around your lover. As your orgasm ripples through your body, you grasp harder onto your husband’s ear and pull down slightly.
“Fucking hells—“ He chokes out and then he’s slamming himself into you, pressing his pelvis as close to yours as he can manage with the force of his hands on your hips. You continue to throb around him as he spills his warm seed inside with a loud groan.
You manage to open your eyes and catch the final moments of your husband’s orgasm. His eyes have slammed shut and his mouth is agape. Both his ears are positively red with arousal. He’s still gripping onto you, fingers pressed firmly into flesh as the final ropes of his spend bury themselves in your walls.
Beautiful.
And then suddenly Astarion’s cock becomes over sensitive and he gasps, his thighs are trembling as he uses the last of his energy to continue shakily thrusting into you.
It always feels divine. Perhaps more divine as a mortal than it ever felt as a vampire.
He doesn’t want to stop, despite having already reached his peak.
Your lips press against his and Astarion’s focus is pulled back to you. His hips still as you bring both your hands behind his head, threading your fingers between his damp curls. A contented hum escapes him as he focuses on the tender kiss; you sigh and practically melt into your husband.
After a few moments, you break the kiss and rest your head on his chest, listening to the stable thrum of his heart. One of the elf’s hands comes up to your back while the other rests on your bottom, simply holding you against him. He’s still inside of you, albeit soft. Your mutual arousals begin to drip between the two of you, but it’s no matter.
“Do you miss it, Astarion?” You ask, lifting your head up to peer curiously into your husband’s eyes. They’re green now, not red. But still just as gorgeous.
Astarion hums as he considers, staring back adoringly at you while you bring your hands to card through his curls.
“Sometimes,” He admits, mirroring your confession from earlier, “But like you said, darling, the trade off is much better.”
You positively glow when you beam at him and then he brings a hand to your chin, pulling you back for another soft kiss.
Astarion knew mortal life would certainly be far better than undeath. It already had been these few short months. And creating a new life between the two of you? He knew that would be incomparable.
In this moment, neither of you were aware you already had.
Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)
Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth
Word Count: 2.2 K
A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all!
I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)
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If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay.
The wish spell worked.
It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality.
More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully.
It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.
Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin.
And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.
While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face.
After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.
“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”
And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?
Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige.
As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.
“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance.
You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”
Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”
You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”
Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”
-----
You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?
As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.
“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”
It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.
Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.
Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”
As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”
Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell.
The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf.
Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.
“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.
You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”
The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”
“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”
Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.
The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”
Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.
“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”
A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him.
While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”
Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.
The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring.
Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last.
Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.
Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers
*
Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.
He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?
You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.
*
You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.
“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.
He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.
“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.
You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.
Blood. Of course.
His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.
“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”
*
One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.
It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.
You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”
He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.
“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.
“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”
You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.
Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.
“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”
His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.
“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.
You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”
You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.
“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.
He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.
“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.
But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.
You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.
*
That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.
“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.
He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.
His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?
“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.
“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”
Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.
“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.
You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.
He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.
He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.
“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”
You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.
One, two, three beats of silence.
Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.
Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.
You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.
When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.
He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.
Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.
How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.
To have and to hold.
Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!
Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)
Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.
A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.
Word count: 2.3K
-----
“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.
It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.
He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.
It’s horrible.
How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?
Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.
You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.
“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.
“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.
He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.
“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.
You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.
“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.
The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”
“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”
“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“
Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.
“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”
“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.
“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”
“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.
The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.
*
The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.
The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.
Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.
“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”
You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”
Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”
“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.
Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.
Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.
Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.
“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.
“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.
He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”
*
Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.
When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.
“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.
You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.
*
When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.
“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.
“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.
Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.
Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.
“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”
“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”
You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.
*
Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.
“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.
“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”
“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.
“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.
Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?
He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.
“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“
“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.
He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.
When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“
You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.
“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”
Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.
When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.
You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.
*
Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.
“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”
“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.
“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.
“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.
“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”
And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.
Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.
