infatuation ☾ bg3 writings

raw devotion - astarion x fem!tav

astarion x fem!tav

fluff (with some suggestive comments and allusions)

!! nudity, casual nudity, non-sexual intimacy, suggestive dialogue, bathing, bathing together, astarion is not used to acts of service, mild dissociation, allusions to past traumas

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The sun had long since hidden itself beneath the horizon when Tav had pulled her silvery-haired vampire from his bed. The book he had previously busied himself with lies open on the borrowed Elfsong mattress, forgotten, pages illuminated by the flickering flames of cream-colored candles left melting into warm, transparent pools.

The upper floor of the tavern is quiet for once. The rest of their party had gone out to explore the city after dark, offering up their coin to The Blushing Mermaid in exchange for a mug or four of cheap ale. Astarion had feigned indifference about going out, and Wyll had put on quite the show to try and sway him into joining them, dancing around on light feet and acting out how he'd make good friends with one of the drunkards stumbling around on the streets below, expertly selling him an unpredictable and unforgettable night of fun that he wouldn't want to miss. By the end of it all, Gale had been in stitches and it had taken everything in Shadowheart to suppress her chuckle behind the back of her hand. She ultimately had failed, and Astarion had caved, and that was what had prompted Tav to fake a sudden, threatening sickness that kept them both rooted to the upper floor of the Elfsong while everyone else set out in search for the Mermaid.

The second the door had closed behind Halsin, leaving them alone in the room, he'd let out an exhale that had been trapped in his chest and thanked Tav with a lingering kiss to her temple.

—

Two pairs of bare feet pad across smooth floorboards that squeak with age, and a shorter body leads another blindly, clasped together by a hand. She leads him through the tavern's private halls and around corners until they reach a door that is nothing short of ordinary. It's the bathing room–a place to cleanse the body. They've both turned the water pink more than a handful of times before, cleansing their skin clean of their sins.

"Oh, darling," he says, his voice silky smooth and his tongue dripping in honey. Tav reaches for the knob, twisting cool bronze in her palm and pulling him inside after her. The vampire spawn huffs through his nose, his eyes on the back of her head, and continues. "If what you wanted was to get wet then we could've snuck off into bed earlier..."

She chooses to pretend to not hear him.

The rich and melodic song of a flute somewhere outside floats in through the window left ajar, and Tav drops Astarion's calloused hand, making her way towards the beautiful, hand-carved cabinet full of jars and bottles of every color and shape while he remains stuck to the floor where he entered, unsure of what is expected of him. Potions crafted carefully for the bath line the shelves when Tav pulls open the door, not for healing nor for harm like they've become so acquainted while weighed down by leather and metals and surrounded in the heat of battle, and the pad of her index finger glides over the faded labels while she reads.

"Astarion, my love, you're nothing but correct. But I would've done so an hour ago if that was what I was up to."

She glances over her shoulder to catch his crimson colored eyes, a blue bottle with a thin neck and curving handle clutched in her hand, and watches as his brow pulls together only slightly. His head tilts to the right and a flutter of fondness builds in her chest at the sight.

"I'm afraid you've lost me."

Tav continues to gather a selection of bottles and jars, arranging them on the nearby vanity and collecting a pile of fresh towels to join them, all while the man behind her watches and makes the occasional suggestion about getting messy. The tub in the center of the room has been filled prior to their arrival and the water inside is a nice warm temperature. Tav dips her fingers into it, humming in approval and looking up to Astarion who has busied himself fiddling with the edge of his shirt. He rubs the mended hem between his fingers. Worrying the slide of the fabric back and forth between his fingers until the threads snap again and the fabric goes thin.