FOREVER
ANONYMOUS ASKED:
I was thinking something along the lines of it’s been about a year or 2 after the end of defeating the absolute and Astarion is wanting to propose to Tav. Due to him trying to plan everything he’s been a bit distant and sneaky so Tav who has had relationship issues in the pasts suspects him of cheating and/or maybe fears he wants to leave. They end up fighting cuz he of course is hurt and upset that she would ever suspect him of such things. Maybe have her run off after the fight and ends up caught by bandits which he saves her from. Happy ending with apology, proposal and some sexy time
𖤝 astarion x fem!reader
𖤝 3rd person person limited - reader | 9.4k words
𖤝 rating: 18+ | nsfw !!!
𖤝 summary: astarion's is bad at feelings yet again when he starts being secretive and won't tell you why. you start suspecting the worst and it all comes to a head one night
𖤝 warnings: violence, blood, weaponizing trauma!!!!, sex (soft and sensual)
𖤝 masterlist | ao3 | requests
⟡ ݁₊ .
It had been nearly two years since the fall of the Absolute. Nearly two years since that damn tadpole had festered in her mind, stealing thoughts and injecting its own. Two years since the looming threat of becoming a mind flayer at any moment was their reality. Two years since then, and the world had begun to remember peace again. The sun rose clearly over the rooftops, and life resumed, for some.
For (y/n), it was a different kind of journey.
Two years of building something fragile and intimate with Astarion – her companion, her lover, her impossible, brilliant, vampire spawn. It had been both rewarding and terrifying. The danger had passed, and everyone had left to continue their own journeys. They all kept in touch of course. But now it was just her and him.
She never expected anything to last after the tadpole. Whether that be due to their untimely demise, or perhaps just circumstance. She thought the kiss they shared before going on to face the elder brain would truly be their last.
The kiss was one she’d never forget:
The sky dark and muddied, fire scorching the crumbling building, the wind tearing through as if it were trying to sweep them away, the distant screams of the people in the city below, it all came to a screeching halt as she gazed into his crimson eyes. There was fear in them, fear that mirrored her own.
His hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek, brushing against the grime that had accumulated. She leaned into his cold touch, tears threatening to escape her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” He whispered. “We made it this far.”
She tried to stop it, but a tear rolled down her cheek.
He took a shaky breath. “I desperately want to tell you that everything is going to be okay, but… I don’t want to lie.” He let out a half-laugh. “I honestly don’t know if we’ll still be alive in an hour!” He swallowed thickly, eyes scanning every inch of her face. “But what I do know, is that these last few months with you have been the best of my life. And I want to thank you, for everything.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss firmly to her lips, both hands cupping her face, gripping her like he didn’t want to let go. He kissed her like it would be the last.
But it wasn’t
Thank the gods.
Now, here she was, living each day beside him.
Life for her had changed. They had carved out a home together in a tucked-away villa near the cliffs just outside Baldur’s Gate and their days had fallen into a rhythm as natural as breathing. She’d wake up before dusk to heavy curtains drawn tight, the villa wrapped in protective darkness. Astarion would already be stirring beside her, cool, pale fingers tracing lazy patterns across her skin as he awoke from his meditative state. Those first moments were always her favourite, when he’d pull her closer with a contented sigh, burying his face in her neck like she was his home.
Because she was.
“Good evening, my love,” he’d murmur against her throat. She’d feel that familiar flutter in her heart.
She rearranged her entire life around his needs without a second thought. Where others saw sacrifice, she saw devotion. She worked in the gardens by moonlight, shopped in the markets before nightfall just before they closed, read by candlelight while he hunted or dealt with matters in the city. Their world had become one of shadows and moonlight, and she’d never been happier.
Astarion worshipped her in ways both grand and subtle. He’d bring her night blooming flowers that he said reminded him of her beauty, commissioned dresses for her in fabrics that felt like sin against her skin. But perhaps the most precious gift came after old enemies forced him into the city’s shadows for a terrifying night, leaving her to pace their villa in fear until he returned just as the sun was about to rise over the horizon.
The next evening, he presented her with a small, smooth stone. She pressed her fingers to it, feeling the warm magic that radiated. It was a sending stone, one of a pair.
“I never want you to feel alone again,” he said softly, pressing it into her palm. “We can communicate with each other now, no matter the distance. Just speak to it and I’ll hear your voice.”
And yet, it was in the small, everyday moments that his devotion shone the brightest. His gaze would follow her around their home with such devoted adoration; it sometimes made her blush. He’d pull her onto his lap when she tried to read, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, her neck.
“You’re perfect,” He’d whisper against her, the firelight glowing on his pale skin.
They were utterly, completely besotted with each other. Onlookers and those in their inner circle would roll their eyes at how they couldn’t stay apart for too long, how they’d get lost in their own little world even in company. She’d catch him staring at her with such intensity it made her heart race, and he’d simply smile that devastatingly beautiful smile and say, “I’d be a fool not to stare at something so exquisite.
But lately, something had changed.
Astarion was more distracted.
It started small, so small she almost didn’t notice. He’d disappear for long hours. Then when she did start noticing, he’d offer vague excuses and kisses that didn’t linger. She’d find him in his study sometimes, scrawling quickly on parchment, flinching and retracting when he heard her approach from behind. Then he started waking up early to check the mail before she did.
His eyes, always sharp and bright when he looked at her, seemed distant sometimes. He was still affectionate, more so some days – but there was a strange tension in the way he held her, like he was holding something back.
And that terrified her.
(Y/n) had been through too much to not recognize the signs. The subtle withdrawal, the ‘truths’ he’d give her that didn’t seem to add up. The way his hand would jerk away, and his defences would raise sky high when she’d press too hard about his absences.
She’d been left before. Lied to. Betrayed. And though Astarion had always seemed different – wounded like her but willing to heal – but doubt crept in, and it began whispering anxieties in her ear.
Tonight, it reached a breaking point.
He’d gone again, long past dusk. The wine she poured sat untouched beside her, its surface catching the firelight like blood. She desperately tried to focus on the book in her hand, but her thoughts spiralled: Was it someone else? A hunger he didn’t trust her to understand? Or had the weight of commitment… forever, become too much for him?
She twirled the sending stone, now enclosed in a necklace around her neck, in her fingers. She knew to use it mostly for emergencies, but she was anxious. To her, this was an emergency. She pressed the pads of her fingertips to it, feeling the warmth beginning to radiate as she softly whispered. “Astarion? Please, come home. I’m worried about you.”
She waited, and waited, and waited. But nothing. No response.
And to that, she drank. She downed the whole goblet, then poured herself another.
Her stomach writhed, her thoughts uncontrollable. She thought of him with another. His hand trailing up her back, his head in her neck, kissing, tasting.
She poured and drank. Another goblet down.
And then, she then did the unthinkable.
She tossed the book aside and poured a third goblet, the bottle of wine nearly empty now. Rising abruptly, she paced the villa with a kind of frantic, aimless purpose. She moved so quickly, the wine threatened to spill with each step. She was blinded by fury, and worry, and anger, and anxiety.
Most nights, she was home. Reading, occupying herself, spending time with Astarion – when he was home, of course. But not always. Sometimes she’d go out into the city for an evening with friends. Perhaps get some dinner and spend time at a tavern or lounge. Those nights would have been perfect for someone to slip in. The thought made her stomach twist beneath her ribs.
She made it to their bedroom, placing her cup down on the mahogany dresser, some of it spilling. She didn’t notice, she was to preoccupied with other things. She looked for signs, anything she could. A stray earring? Maybe a hair that wasn’t hers? Gods forbid… underwear?
She scoured the bedroom, tossing up the pillows, throwing the blankets, lifting the mattress, shifting the entire bed over, but there was nothing. She went to the closet, tossing things, their belongings, her clothes, his clothes. Just anything that would prove her suspicions right.
But why did she so desperately want to be right about him possibly casting her aside for another.
She paused as she looked at his bedside table. She felt the strongest urge to rifle through his things… but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not until she had more proof and reason to betray privacy like that.
Then, she heard the door open and close. She grabbed her wine from the dresser, not noticing it spilled yet again (though if she did, she probably wouldn’t have cleaned it anyways) and met him in the foyer.
She stood, arms crossed. Her goblet with streaks of wine down it caught the moonlight. “Where were you?” She emerged from the darkness.
He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing slightly. “… Out. I told you earlier I’d be late.”
She laughed, the wine doing its job. “You said an hour. It’s been close to six.” Her fingers were tingling.
He took off his cloak, slow and measured. “I had things to handle in the city. Business.” He looked back at her as he hung his cloak on the rack. “Have you been drinking?” He walked up to her. “Gods, (Y/n), how much? I can smell it on you.” He looked down at her bodice. “It’s even on your dress.”
The room beginning to spin, and her vision narrowed. She ignored his question. “Can you tell me about this… business?” she asked, the word slipping off her tongue like she’d tasted something vile. She fidgeted, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, looking up at him expectantly.
Irritation flashed so quickly across his face that she thought that she imagined it. Or maybe she did, she was drunk now, after all.
“Do we not trust each other now?” he questioned, stepping forward.
She, too, stepped closer, wine sloshing in the goblet, voice trembling. “I want to Astarion, but you’re pulling away. Being secretive. I’ve seen this before, the distance, the coldness… You don’t touch me the same. You don’t look at me the same.”
The wine was taking over rapidly. Hurt and anger and intoxication muddling into one horrible, dangerous mess. She wasn't normally an angry drunk. There had been so many nights where they'd venture to the local tavern for drinks and laughter, stumbling home together with Astarion's steady arm around her waist as she swayed against him. They'd collapse through their front door in a tangle of limbs and wine-sweet kisses, making love by the dying embers of the fire until dawn crept through the curtains. The alcohol had always made her soft and pliant in his arms, every touch electric, every sensation heightened.
But this was far different. This was wine laced with weeks of festering doubt, and it was all coming to a head tonight.
She continued. “If you’re fucking someone else just say it. Just leave me and spare me the heartache of not knowing. Because this, leading me on, lying to me, is worse than just saying I’m not good enough for you anymore.”
A mixture of rage and hurt riddled his face. His eyes looked like they were on fire. “Is that truly what you think of me? After everything? After what we’ve survived together?”
"I don't know. Do you really think I'm that stupid that I wouldn't catch on? That I'd sit here like some pathetic little pet, waiting for you to come home after entertaining someone else?"
His jaw clenched. “You’re being ridiculous. I would never – “
“Then where were you?” She snapped, cutting him off. “Six hours, Astarion. You said you were in the city ‘conducting business’.” She mimicked his voice. He would have found it funny in other circumstances. “Six hours, no word, no explanation. I thought maybe you went to hunt, maybe you were hungry. But when have you ever hunted for six hours! And then –“ She ripped the pendant off her neck. “This stupid stone! I called for you! I called and you didn’t answer. What else am I supposed to think?”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re supposed to trust me, not interrogate me like some jealous harpy the moment I walk through the door. And perhaps you should put down the wine before we continue this conversation – you’re slurring your words, darling.” The word fell off his tongue like venom, no love in it.
“Trust?” She let out a bitter laugh, slipping the stone into the pocket in her skirt. “How can I trust you when you won’t even look at me in the eye anymore. When you flinch from my touch like I’m some stranger?”
“That’s not-“ He ran a hand through his silver hair. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” She words came out as a shriek. “What’s complicated about honesty? Unless…” Her voice turned vicious, the wine loosening her tongue. “Maybe you miss it, don't you? All those years of charming your way into people's beds. Maybe freedom means you can finally enjoy the hunt again—choose your own prey this time instead of Cazador choosing for you."
That struck a nerve within him. His voice rose, sharp, like a blade unsheathed. "How dare you." The words came out in a hiss, his fangs visible as his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Two hundred years. Two hundred years of being nothing more than a puppet, a pretty face to lure victims to their deaths, and you think—" His voice cracked with fury and pain. "You think I miss that? That I crave being used like a… like a whore again?"
His crimson eyes blazed with hurt so deep it cut through her wine-addled anger. “Gods… I… I can’t believe you’d say such a thing to me.” He swallowed thickly. "I thought you understood. I thought you, of all people, knew that what we have is the first real thing I've ever chosen. The first time I've ever wanted someone without compulsion, without orders, without fear."
His voice dropped to a whisper, but it carried more venom than his shouts. "But perhaps I was wrong."
The silence stretched between them like a chasm. The goblet trembled in her hands as the full weight of her words crashed over her like a wave. Gods, what had she done?
"Astarion, I—" Her voice cracked. "I didn't mean… I'm so sorry."
But he had already turned away, his shoulders rigid with pain. He was defeated, broken, wounded by her own hand. The sight of him like that made her stomach lurch with something that had nothing to do with the wine.
She stepped forward and grasped his shirt, pulling herself into his back. "Astarion, my love, please I’m so, so, so sorry," she whispered against his back, her voice breaking as tears soaked into his shirt. Her hands fisted in the fabric, clinging to him like he might disappear. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, I swear I didn't mean it."
Her sobs came harder now, desperate and raw. "You're right, you're absolutely right about everything. What we have is real, it's the most real thing I've ever felt, and I—" Her voice cracked completely. "I ruined it. I ruined everything because I was drunk and stupid and jealous."
But even as she pressed closer, begging forgiveness into his spine, she could feel the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he held himself like stone. He didn't lean into her touch, didn't turn around, didn't offer her the comfort of his voice. He simply stood there, letting her cling to him while remaining utterly unreachable.
"Please say something," she whispered, but he only shifted slightly, not quite pulling away but not accepting her either—a gesture that somehow hurt worse than if he'd shoved her off entirely.
"I can't—" She choked on the words, stumbling toward the door. "I can't stay here. I can't look at you knowing what I just—" She wretched the door open.
The sound of the door handle turning seemed to snap something in him.
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist with desperate gentleness. "Don't. Please. You can’t go out wandering in this state."
"Let go." Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and bitter.
"What you said..." His voice was barely audible. "It hurt. More than you know. But you're upset, you've been drinking—"
"Let go." The words came out as a sob.
"Darling, please. Come upstairs with me. Get some rest. I can explain everything. We can talk when you're—"
"Let go!" She wrenched free with such force that she stumbled backward. The goblet flew from her hand, wine arcing through the air like drops of blood in the moonlight before shattering against the stone path.
She didn't look back as she fled into the darkness, leaving him standing in the doorway with her name dying on his lips.
She ran—stumbled, really, her feet catching on roots and rocks she couldn't see properly. The world tilted and swayed around her, trees blurring into dark smears, the path beneath her feet seeming to shift and roll like the deck of a ship. One moment the moon was spinning overhead, the next she was lurching sideways, her shoulder slamming into rough bark.
Her legs felt like water. She careened from tree to tree, using them to steady herself before pushing off again, deeper into the woods. The wine had turned her coordination to mush, her thoughts to scattered fragments. She just needed to get away, needed air, needed space to think without his hurt eyes following her.
A root caught her ankle, and she went down hard, palms scraping against the forest floor. She gasped for breath between sobs, the taste of wine bitter in her mouth.
She gasped for breath between sobs.
And then footsteps shuffled through the bushes.
“Well, now,” an unfamiliar voice in the shadows said. “Look at this,”
More footsteps joined the first, multiple sets, twigs snapping, dried leaves crunching beneath heavy boots.
Adrenaline cut through the wine's fog as she scrambled to her feet, using the nearest tree to haul herself upright. Her head spun violently from the sudden movement.
A figure emerged. A large, burly man. “A little rabbit wandered too far from her warren.”
She tried to summon a spell—anything—but her magic slipped through her fingers like smoke. The incantations jumbled in her wine-addled mind. More shapes materialized from the shadows, five total, circling her like wolves.
Before she could even attempt to run, rough hands seized her from behind, twisting her arms back with brutal efficiency.
Pain flared up her shoulders. She writhed against the iron grip, but her struggles were clumsy, uncoordinated.
"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be wandering alone in the dark," the voice growled against her ear.
“Move,” The gruff leader said. “Odds are someone’s looking for her.” He turned on his heel and pushed past the bushes. “Back to camp. We’ll have some fun with this one.”
They dragged her stumbling through the underbrush, her feet catching on every root and stone. But as they hauled her along, she remembered the stone in her pocket. Though her hands were tied, amidst the movement and struggle, she managed to twist her skirt in a way that allowed her to touch the stone in her pocket, just barely with her fingertips.
She forced her fingers against it, trembling. She felt it warm under her touch. It was ready to use.
“Astarion,” She whispered desperately, “Bandits… woods east of the house… please…”
One of them cuffed her across the head. “Shut it.”
But it was too late. The message was sent.
Their camp was a squalid affair. Bedrolls scattered around a dying fire, stolen goods, weapons, and a chest that lay open, filled with gold, were all piled carelessly in a far corner. The one holding her shoved her down onto a log, the leader’s eyes gleaming with delight. They were jet black irises ringed by scleras the color of old parchment, jaundiced and sickly. The rest of his face was concealed with a mask, but he removed it as he approached.
He was rugged, face worn and tired from years on the road. His hair was long and greasy, hanging in long dark, matted tendrils.
He knelt in front of her, studying her. He dragged his knuckle across her cheek, his finger like sandpaper. “Shame no one was keeping an eye on you.” He stared at her almost wistfully, and she didn’t break eye contact. When he spoke, his breath washed over her face in a wave of rot and decay—the fetid smell of someone who had forgotten what cleanliness meant. She turned her head slightly, fighting not to gag. “Lucky me though…” he drew his fingers to the ties of her bodice. “Lucky me…”
He turned to the others: “Sorry, lads. I think I just might keep this one to myself”
“I’m not so sure about that.” A voice cut through the darkness.
Astarion stepped into the firelight, and even though he was disheveled from their argument, he was terrifying. His usual charming mask has been replaced with something predatory and primal, his red eyes glowing in the dark.
“Let her go,” he said conversationally, “and I might let you keep your throat intact.”
The leader stood to face him, sizing up his opposition. He laughed a hearty laugh. “Five against one, mate. I like our odds.”
Astarion smiled, slow and cold, letting his fangs gleam in the firelight. “Five against one? Oh my, foolish man. I’ve killed more people than you’ve had hot meals.” He stepped forward, his stance shifting into one that was ready to attack. “And I haven’t fed tonight.”
Before any of them could react, he moved. A blur of white hair and deadly grace. There was a wet sound, then a gurgling gasp that quickly faded to silence. Astarion held one of the bandits in his arms, blood spilling from the gaping wound in his neck. Without breaking eye contact with the others, he bent down and fed, his movements unhurried as he savoured the blood.
After a moment he let the body slump to the ground with a wet thud. He hadn’t taken much, but the fresh blood coursed through him, and it showed in the predatory confidence that now radiated from his every movement.
“Now, I don’t like to play with my food,” he said, dragging his thumb across his bottom lip, wiping the stray blood. “But I’m feeling rather… indulgent tonight. I’ll give you a choice: run, or you can join your friend here.” He nudged the lifeless body with his boot.
The three underlings were trembling, the rattling of their rusted armour giving them away. Without a word, they fled into the darkness of the forest, crashing through the underbrush in their panic. That left only the leader.
The man’s bravado had evaporated the moment he’d watched his companion die, but desperation made him dangerous. His hand went to the sword at his side, the blade singing as it cleared its sheath.
The bandit held the sword in front of him, ready to strike, but it trembled subtly in the firelight. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”
“Oh, I don’t think,” Astarion interrupted, circling him slowly like a lion with wounded prey. “I know.” He slowly pulled out his daggers from their sheaths. “You see, that woman you were pawing at? She’s mine. And I don’t take kindly to those who dare to touch what belongs to me.”
The bandit lunged forward with a wild swing, but Astarion moved and dodged effortlessly. He sidestepped the clumsy attack and struck back with precision, one dagger finding the gap between ribs, the other slicing across the man’s sword arm.
The leader’s weapon clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward, clutching his wounded side. “Please,” he gasped, “I’ll go…”
Astarion tilted his head slightly, like one might study a dying insect. “Now you want to leave?” he asked, voice silky and devoid of warmth. “How inconvenient. You should have thought of that before you put your hands where they didn’t belong.”
The final strike was swift and merciless.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the crackling of the dying fire and her ragged breathing. Astarion stood over the body for a moment, his chest rising and falling as the bloodlust slowly ebbed from his eyes.
When he turned to her, the predator within him vanished, replaced by the vulnerability she knew so well. He quickly moved in front of her, crouching and reaching around to cut her bonds. “Are you hurt?” He asked, his voice soft now.
She shook her head, unable to find words. The ropes were cut. She pulled her arms front and rubbed absently at the raw marks they left behind.
As he knelt before her, grief, regret, and guilt welled up inside her heart. A lump formed in her throat and tears brimmed her eyes. “Astarion… I am so, so sorry.” She whispered, words tumbling out. She was still intoxicated, and he could tell. “I didn’t mean any of it I promise.”
“Shh,” he said. “We’ll talk, but not here.” He stood up, eyes grazing the sky. It was getting lighter. “We need to go.” The first pale threads of dawn we beginning to encroach.
In one fluid motion, he swept her into his arms, her weight seeming to mean nothing to him. "Hold tight," he murmured against her ear.
He rushed through the forest, swift as a shadow, his steps silent despite his supernatural speed. Trees blurred past them in the growing light, and she buried her face against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent beneath the metallic tang of blood.
When they reached the house, she caught sight of the shattered goblet glinting on the cobblestones, wine staining the stones like spilled blood. The reminder of their fight twisted something painful in her chest, and she pressed closer to him.
He didn't set her down until they were in their bedroom, and the sight that greeted them made them both freeze. The bed was out of place, things from the closet were thrown about, evidence of her frantic wine-fueled search for signs of his supposed infidelity. The bed was stripped bare, pillows and duvet in a heap beside the wardrobe. He was about to comment when his eyes darted to the window.
"The sun—" he started, but a shaft of golden light chose that moment to slice through the gap in the curtains, catching his hand. He hissed, jerking back as his skin began to smoke. He placed her down gently but hastily.
"Damn it." Moving with desperate efficiency, he yanked the heavy curtains closed, plunging the room into merciful darkness. For a moment he stood there, cradling his burned hand against his chest, his breathing ragged.
The silence stretched between them. She watched him from where she stood beside the bed, guilt and shame mixing with exhaustion in her chest.
Finally, he moved, gathering the scattered pillows and duvet from the floor with careful precision. "We should rest," he said quietly, not meeting her eyes as he began remaking the bed. "It's been... a long night."
When he turned to face her, his expression was unreadable in the darkness. "Your dress," he said softly, taking in the dirt and tears in the fabric, the way it hung askew from their ordeal. "You're hurt."
She looked down at herself—scratches on her arms, bruises forming where rough hands had grabbed her, the wine stain down the front of her bodice. "I'm fine."
"No," he said firmly, moving toward her "You're not."
His fingers found the fastenings of her dress, working with practiced care. The ruined fabric fell away, and she shivered as his eyes swept over her—cataloging each scrape, each darkening bruise. His jaw tightened.
He disappeared into the washroom and returned with a damp cloth. Kneeling before her, he cleaned the dirt and blood from her scratches with tender grace. When he reached a particularly deep scrape, she winced, and he paused.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"It's not your fault," she said softly.
When he finished, he retrieved her nightgown from the wardrobe and helped her into it, his movements careful and respectful. "Better?"
She nodded, suddenly feeling very tired.
He moved to his own side of the room, undressing with methodically before pulling on his sleeping clothes. When he slipped under the covers, he maintained a careful distance between them. The space felt like a chasm.
She couldn’t bare it. She closed the distance, shuffling closer to him, her head pressed against his back between his shoulder blades. She wrapped her arm around his waist, pulling herself even closer to him. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing her hand and pulling it up to his chest, cradling her forearm as she drifted off into sleep.
She woke to the familiar weight of darkness pressing against the heavy curtains, but the bed beside her was cold and empty. Astarion was already up, she could hear him moving about in the adjoining room, the soft rustle of fabric and quiet footsteps.
The events of the previous night came flooding back in a rush: their fight, her flight into the woods, the bandits, his rescue. Her body ached in places she'd forgotten about, bruises blooming purple-black against her skin where rough hands had grabbed her. And her head hurt.
"You're awake." His voice came from the doorway, soft and careful. He was fully dressed, she noticed, nicer than usual, but immaculate as always, and his hair perfectly styled. There was something different about him tonight, an energy that seemed to vibrate just beneath his composed exterior.
"How long have you been up?" she asked, sitting up slowly.
"A while." He moved into the room with that fluid grace of his, but she caught the nervous flutter of his fingers, the way his eyes wouldn't quite meet hers. "The sun set an hour ago. I wanted to let you rest."
The careful politeness was still there, that awful distance that had settled between them like a wall. She wanted to say something—apologize again, explain herself, anything—but he spoke first.
"There's something I need to show you," he said, and there was something in his voice she couldn't quite place. Nervousness? Anticipation? "If you're feeling well enough, that is."
She studied his face, searching for some clue about what this was about. "Show me what?"
"You'll see." He offered her his hand, and when she took it, she felt the slight tremor in his fingers. "Please. Trust me."
They dressed in silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between them. He led her outside into the cool evening air, past the garden where moonlight painted everything silver, down a path she'd never noticed before.
"Astarion, where are we—”
"Almost there," he murmured.
The path opened into a small clearing she'd never seen, and she gasped. Dozens of candles flickered in glass lanterns, casting dancing shadows across the grass. Rose petals—where had he gotten roses? —were scattered in careful patterns, and in the center of it all stood a single chair draped in silk.
"Sit," he said softly, guiding her to the chair. "Please."
She sank into it, bewildered, watching as he began to pace in front of her. His usual confidence seemed to have deserted him entirely.
"I need to explain," he began, his voice tight with some emotion she couldn't name. "About these past few weeks. About why I've been... distant."
He ran his hands through his hair, destroying its perfect styling. "Gods, where do I even begin? You have to understand—for two hundred years, I had no control. None. Every decision was made for me, every action dictated by someone else's will. And now, finally, I have the chance to choose something for myself. To do something right." He paused, his crimson eyes finding hers with desperate intensity. "The first real choice I made was you, choosing to trust you, to love you. And now... now I want to make my second choice…”
He stopped pacing and looked at her directly for the first time that evening. "This had to be perfect. You deserve perfect. After everything you've done for me, everything you've given me, your patience, your love, your trust… I couldn't bear the thought of getting this wrong."
"Getting what wrong?" she whispered, though part of her was beginning to understand.
"I've been researching for months," he continued, the words tumbling out now as if a dam had burst. "The best jewelers, the rarest stones, the most romantic locations. I've read every book on courtship rituals I could find, consulted with merchants from here to Waterdeep. I needed to know everything, needed to plan every detail, because I couldn't—I wouldn't—let this be anything less than what you deserve."
He pulled something from his pocket, a small red velvet box that made her breath catch in her throat.
"But then I started second-guessing myself. What if I wasn't enough? What if, after everything, you realized you could do better than a… vampire spawn with more baggage than a traveling merchant? What if you said no?"
His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she saw the fear in his eyes: raw, vulnerable fear that he was trying so hard to hide.
"I know I've been secretive, and I know how that must have looked. Especially given my... history. But every time I tried to act normal around you, all I could think about was this moment, about whether I was worthy of asking for your hand, about whether I'd chosen the right ring or the right words or the right—"
"Astarion." She stood up, reaching for him, but he ushered her back down.
"No, please, let me finish. I need to say this."
He dropped to one knee then. "Remember when we were in that dusty old library in Candlekeep, and you were reading about rare magical artifacts? You got so excited when you found that passage about the Hearts of The Heavens - going on about how they were said to contain actual trapped starlight, how the colors moved like living things…"
Her breath caught in her throat.
Opening the box with a careful motion, Astarion revealed what he had been keeping concealed for the past few weeks.
Inside lay the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen. A perfectly clear stone that appeared flawless as crystal, but as the candlelight touched its surface, it came alive with color. Flecks of every hue imaginable dancing like tiny flames within its transparent depths, while swirling galaxies of silver and gold light moved between them like captured starlight.
“I love you,” he said simply. “I love your kindness, your strength, the way you see good in everyone—even in me. I love how you make me feel human again, how you’ve taught me that I’m worthy of gentleness, of care, of love. I never thought I’d have the chance to choose my own future, but if I have that choice, I choose you. Every day, for the rest of whatever life we have together, I choose you.”
Her breath caught as she truly looked at the stone, recognition dawning. “Astarion…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “A Heart of The Heavens… it’s… it’s not possible. There's said to be only three in existence…” She looked up at him, eyes wide with disbelief, then back at the stone as more colors rippled through it’s depths. “This is impossible… this stone is priceless…” Her voice broke completely
"This belonged to Cazador. I found it in his collection after... after everything ended. I almost sold it… I didn't want anything that reminded me of him. But then I remembered how your eyes lit up when you mentioned these stones, and I realized... this could be something different. Something ours. Taking something from that monster's hoard and making it into a symbol of the love that saved me from him…there's a certain poetry to it, don't you think?"
He looked at her, his voice growing softer. "I wanted you to have something extraordinary. Something that matches what you've given me. Though, I don't think there's anything in this world that would truly match that."
He cleared his throat, his voice steady now, all his earlier nervousness replaced by quiet conviction. "I couldn't bear the thought of letting something so beautiful remain tainted by his memory. But with you... it becomes something pure again. Something worthy of the love you've shown me."
The words hung between them as he waited expectantly for her reply. Suddenly, she was sobbing great, heaving sobs.
“Oh gods, Astarion, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” The words tumbled out between gasps. “What I said to you yesterday, bringing up Cazador, your past. About you choosing your prey – gods, how could I say that to you? How could I be so cruel?” She pressed her hands to her face, tears streaming through her fingers. “You were planning this the whole time! Planning our future together, and I accused you of the most horrible things. I weaponized your trauma against you.”
She looked up at him. He was still waiting expectantly, the box open in front of her. She looked at the beautiful ring and began crying harder before looking back at him. “I was so scared you were going to leave me that I said the one thing that might actually make you want to.”
Her voice cracked completely. “You’ve spent the last two years showing me who you really are, and the moment I got scared I threw it all back in your face. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this.” She gestured to the ring. “I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm begging for it anyway because I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life and I can't bear the thought of losing you to my own stupidity.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching her cry, expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but steady.
"What you said... it did hurt. More than I thought possible." He reached out, gently wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "For a moment, it felt like you saw me exactly the way everyone else does—as the monster Cazador made me.” He paused, taking a breath before continuing. “I’m still recovering from that. I think about it from time to time…” But then his eyes met hers again. “But then I realized, you weren’t speaking to me in that moment. You were speaking to your own fear. The fear that people that love you will eventually leave you or betray you.”
He traced a thumb along her jawline. “I know that fear, darling. I’ve lived with it for centuries. It makes us do and say terrible things.”
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. “One night of cruel words does not erase two years of love, patience, and acceptance. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re the first person who ever made me feel worthy of devotion and love instead of desire. I forgive you”
He picked up the ring out of the box and held it between them. “Will you choose to trust that I will never, ever leave you?” His crimson eyes held hers steadily, “Will you be mine, forever?” then came the words:
“Will you marry me?”
"Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible through her tears. "Yes, a thousand times yes. Forever. In this lifetime, and the next, and every one that comes after."
He slipped the ring onto her finger with care, the stone of legendary beauty catching the candlelight and seeming to glow from within.
Then she was in his arms, kissing him with desperate relief and overwhelming love. He kissed her back just as fiercely.
“My betrothed…” he whispered against her lips. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, tears still clinging to her lashes. “Let me show you just how much I love you. How much I want to spend forever proving it.”
She nodded, hands already reaching for him as he gathered her closer. The candles fluttered gently while the moon and stars shone overhead. As his lips found her throat, as his hands began exploring, she pulled back with a shaky breath.
“Take me home,” she whispered.
“As you wish,” he murmured, “my love.” And in one fluid motion, he swept her into his arms.
The cottage door barely had time to close behind them before she was pressed against it, Astarion's mouth claiming hers with desperate hunger. Her hands tangled in his silver curls, pulling him closer as she arched against him.
"I love you," she breathed between kisses, and he pulled back to look at her, his crimson eyes soft with wonder even as they burned with desire.
"And I love you, darling. More than I ever thought possible." His thumb traced her cheek tenderly before his expression shifted to something darker, more promising. "Now let me show you exactly how much."
He lifted her again, carrying her toward their bedroom with reverent care, the stone on her ring catching the moonlight that trickled through the windows one last time before they disappeared into the welcoming darkness beyond.
He brought her to the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed as if she was a fragile porcelain doll. He hovered over her for a moment, then, bending down, he kissed her hungrily. He pushed her ever so slightly, giving her the indication to lie down.
She slowly fell back on the bed, then they parted.
His palms were planted on either side of her shoulders, staring down at her with loving eyes. His gaze roamed around her face, memorizing it though he had seen her thousands of times before
Tonight, things were different.
And, gods, she was more beautiful than ever. Cheeks flushed with desire, hair fanned across the sheets like spun silk. The curve of her lips, her elegant cheekbones, the delicate place just beneath her ear where her pulse beat soft and sure. There was a small mark there from the last time he'd fed from her, nearly faded now but still visible to his keen eyes.
The moonlight filtered in through the window, casting silver light across the room and painting him in ethereal beauty. He looked like something sculpted by the gods themselves, all sharp angles and pale perfection. And yet his expression, his reverent silence, was the most radiant thing about him. His eyes, those bottomless garnet depths, were so full of love and wonder it took her breath away.
She’d never seen him look at her like that.
Her hand rose, drawn to him hypnotically, and brushed along his jaw, her thumb tracing the sharp hollow below his cheekbone. He leaned into her touch with a soft sigh, eyes half-lidded but never breaking contact with hers. He exhaled slowly, before lowering himself to find her lips.
He started light, as if kissing her with too much intensity now would shatter the spell they'd woven around themselves. His lips moved against hers with careful devotion, tasting and savoring rather than claiming. But when she responded, her mouth opening beneath his with a soft sound of need, something in him unraveled. The kiss deepened, became something desperate and consuming. His tongue swept against hers as his hand cupped her cheek, before threading his fingers through her hair. He kissed her like she was air, and he was drowning, like she was salvation and he'd been lost for centuries—which, perhaps, he had been.
He pulled her back up, so she was sitting now. His lips were still moving against hers as he let his hand glide across her breast, then her ribs, finally settling on her waist. He gripped her firmly as he pulled away.
Her heart leaped to her throat as his hands found the hem of her nightgown. He slowly began pulling it up, and she let him take it off her, baring her to the cool air of the bedroom.
She breathed, slow and patient as the air became thick with the kind of anticipation that bloomed in the chest and fluttered behind the sternum like wings. Her heart was pounding, and he must have felt it as he pressed a kiss just above it, the tenderness of it making her skin tighten. Her hands fisted the sheets, grounding herself.
Even after two years together, after countless nights of intimacy, she still felt that flutter of shyness when he looked at her like this. Tonight especially, when his gaze held such profound reverence, such worshipful attention that made her feel both utterly cherished and beautifully exposed.
“You are beautiful, you know that?” he said simply, drinking her in.
The heat rose to her cheeks faster than she thought possible. She pulled her hands to her face in embarrassment, but he stepped forward, kneeling as he gently grabbed her wrists. “Don’t hide yourself, my love. I want to look at you.”
Her blush deepened as she ducked her head against his shoulder, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin as he tilted her chin up to capture her lips again. She melted into him as his mouth moved against hers, tender at first, then with growing passion. His hands traced paths along her bare skin before settling at her hips, drawing her closer until there was barely space between them. As the moments stretched, his touch like fire against her skin and their lips moving in perfect harmony, her embarrassment melted away entirely, replaced by pure, aching desire that pulsed from her core.
Her trembling fingers found the collar of his shirt, working the clasps with careful deliberation, one by one, until the fabric fell open completely. She let her palm glide across the cool expanse of his chest, trailing lower and lower until she reached the ties of his trousers. With gentle fingers, she pulled at the string, the bow coming apart effortlessly under her touch. Her hand slipped inside, finding him through the thin fabric beneath, and she felt him draw in a sharp breath at her touch.
He stepped back just enough to look at her, his gaze drinking her in completely. "You take my breath away," he said softly, "Every single time."
He undressed next. No haste, no pretense. Each piece of clothing slipped from his body and was tossed aside on a nearby chair.
He pressed his lips to her again, desire evident this time in the way he moved. It was predatory now but still held the same softness and care – almost like he was fighting with himself. Holding back.
His lips moved against hers with desperate hunger, and he guided her back down to the mattress carefully, one cool hand pressed to the small of her back. As she sank into the softness beneath her, he moved with fluid grace, positioning them both at the center of the bed before settling above her. Her hands explored him freely, tracing the planes of his chest, the corded strength of his biceps, finally threading through the silver curls at the nape of his neck. She gripped his hair like it was her lifeline.
Astarion was rarely vocal in his pleasure, but when her fingers scraped gently against his scalp, he let out the softest sound against her lips, barely more than a breath, but it sent heat racing through her veins like molten gold.
They parted; she gasped slightly. He moved down slowly, dragging his lips across her skin delicately, peppering kisses on the way down: on her jaw, her neck – stopping momentarily, as if contemplating whether to have a taste, then to her breast, sucking softly. Just enough to draw a quiet involuntary sound from her lips. She clutched at his shoulders, her breath catching in her throat as he lavished attention there. The graze of his fangs was barely perceptible, but still just there. His tongue circled her nipple, lazy and languid, until her hips shifted beneath him without thought.
He moved lower yet again, pressing a kiss to her stomach, then her hips. He kissed lower and lower, his cool hands coaxing her thighs apart tenderly and gently. When his mouth reached her core, he didn’t dive in, he paused, long enough for her to go still. His eyes met hers for just a moment, sending something electric down her spine, before he began.
He kissed her as if she were something to be worshipped. Soft, fluid strokes of his tongue, precise and deliberate There was no haste in his movements, only the patience of someone who had all the time in the world. He savored her slowly, building her pleasure with care as he held her open with gentle hands. Her fingers found his hair again, twisting gently, her lips parting, a hush of pleasure escaping them.
He gently moved a hand from one of her thighs to her opening, sliding a finger slowly inside her warmth. Her breath hitched at the intrusion, back arching as he began a slow deliberate rhythm. He worked her carefully, skillfully, adding another finger when she was ready, stretching her further while his tongue never faltered in its attention.
Every nerve in her body felt alive, pleasure radiating from where his tongue and his fingers were working with such skill. His rhythm was perfect, each press of his tongue, each movement of his fingers driving her closer to the edge. He pushed his fingers further, curling upwards to hit her sweet spot. Her hips involuntarily bucked. He hummed in response, moving his hand from her thigh to her pelvis, holding her down, the gesture only adding to the pleasure.
Then he pressed his tongue flat against her, one long languid lick, and his fingers curled just right, and she melted.
She came with a breath that sounded like his name but fell short as she was overcome with pleasure. The warmth overtook her, wave after slow rolling wave rolled through. He held her through it, tongue never ceasing movement, easing her through her release. He coaxed out every last tremor until her back finished arching and she settled back down on the bed, boneless and blinking.
He pressed a kiss to her thigh one more time before he rose.
When he returned to her, it was as a man undone. His eyes were dark with pure loving desire. He positioned himself above her, kissing her lips with fervor as he guided himself to her entrance, his other hand steadying himself beside her head. Her hands found his nape again, tugging gently at his curls once more.
Then with one sweep, they joined, slow and steady. The sensation was otherworldly, her breath catching as he filled her completely. He brought his other arm to the other side of her head and lowered himself onto his forearms, bringing them closer together. He stilled with a quiet, exhaled sound against her lips.
“Gods,” he whispered, “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”
“I will always be yours,” she breathed, closing the distance between their lips. Slowly, tenderly, savoring every last drop of each other.
He parted their kiss, burying his head into her neck, drinking in her scent before he began to move. A slow rhythm, a gentle roll of his hips as she gasped into his ear. Her arms were wrapped around him, one hand still digging in his hair, the other splayed across the muscles of his back, the ridges of his scar noticeable beneath her fingertips.
The only sounds were the whisper of their breath, the faint protest of the bed, and the soft evidence of their joining.
“Astarion,” she breathed. His lips found her temple in response.
He spoke through his touch. He moved a hand towards her hips, cradling it, then he deepened his movements when he felt her nails digging gently into his back. He attuned himself to her completely, reading every shift, every flutter of expression.
Pleasure bloomed within her again, bolder this time, and no less consuming. She involuntarily dug her nails into his back. “Astarion,” she whispered again, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, wanting to sink her teeth in it as he moved. He answered with a deliberate roll of his hips that drew a cry from her as he ventured deeper than he ever had before.
When release claimed her again, it was with her mouth pressed to his shoulder, her legs wrapped around him, trying to pull him in closer, and her body trembling in surrender. He held her through every wave again, never rushing and never stopping. When it was all over, she was seeing stars.
Only when he was certain she had received everything did he allow himself to follow. His release tore through him with devastating intensity, stealing his breath and unraveling him completely. His body pressed flush against hers, jaw tightening as he let out a muffled groan in her ear as he spilled into her, his face buried in the curve of her neck.
Afterward, they remained entwined in perfect stillness. He lay half atop her, one arm curved beneath her shoulders, the other tracing lazy patterns across her skin.
She turned her head, pressing her lips to his cheek. He returned the favour, bringing his hand up to cradle her face and placing a kiss on her forehead, then her lips.
His hand drifted from her face, fingers trailing softly down her neck, along her arm, until he found her hand. He lifted it, allowing the stone to glitter and shine in the moonlight that streamed through the window.
“I love you,” she whispered.
His crimson gaze turned from the stone to her eyes, bright with wonder and love. “Say it again.” The words came out almost desperate, as if he thought he was dreaming.
“I love you, Astarion. My heart, my home, my forever.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “You know, even after two years of hearing those words, I still can’t believe you chose me. Someone who forgot how to be gentle. Someone who didn’t think he deserved this.”
“You chose me too,” she whispered, fingers tangling in his hair. “Every day you choose to let me in. You choose to be vulnerable with me, to trust me with your heart.”
He intertwined his fingers with hers, the stone seemingly shining brighter at the gesture. “Be that as it may, let us not forget that you decided to trust a monster.” He smiled.
“Ah yes, and now your my monster. My very own monster!”
He smiled brightly, laughing softly, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes, I’m your monster.”
His expression grew more serious then, vulnerable. “I never thought I could have this. Have you. Some nights I still wake up afraid it’s all a beautiful dream…” He breathed in. “Gods, if it is… I never want to wake up.”
She laughed softly. “I’m real, my love, this is real.” She brushed a stray hair from his face. “And I’m all yours. Forever.”
His laugh was soft with joy. "What a wonderful fate," he murmured, his smile radiant in the moonlight. "An eternity with the woman who saved my soul."
He inched closer, his eyes tracing her features, as if he still quite couldn’t believe she was his. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, the emotion seeming to emerge from the depths of his soul that was once locked away. “I love you,”
It was different than all the other times he said it in the past. Not the careful admission of the early days, when saying it with meaning felt foreign on his tongue. Not the passionate declarations in heated moments of desire. This was far deeper, akin to a vow, or a prayer. It was a promise that encompassed everything that they’d been through and everything they would face together. It carried the weight of his proposal, the weight of forever.
The overwhelming joy of knowing that she would be his forever.
“I love you, too” she breathed as he pressed his lips to hers fervently.
They held each other as the night stretched around them, two souls who had found each other in a world that had wronged them both in different ways.
It was here, in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, surrounded by moonlight and the gentle sounds of their breathing, they spoke in whispers of wedding plans and shared dreams, of fears soothed and promises made.
Her ring. Her priceless ring, the Heart of the Heavens continued to catch the moonlight. It would shine forever more, passing eventually into legend as a symbol of a love so pure that bards would sing of how the vampire spawn who once knew only darkness found salvation in the arms of his beloved, their story becoming as eternal and precious as the very stone itself.
⟡ ݁₊ .
a/n: woooow i have a habit of getting absolutely carried away when i write! 9k words!? FOR WHAT!?
i really hope you enjoyed it! i didn't go too crazy with the nsfw cause i think it should have been a nice sensual encounter rather than rough and wild !
sending stones - yesss i know it says only once a day but sometimes we break the rules around here <333
and the ring! i tried doing some research on other rings in dnd i thought would work but none were speaking to me, so i made one up, i kind of imagine it looks like the arkenstone from the hobbit :)
anyways... yeah!
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