#bdg3 x reader

The first time Astarion saw you he didn’t take note of your appearance, he found he was too busy putting a knife to your throat. When the night on the beaches settles and he lays awake by the fire as you get prepared to rest, sanguine eyes watch you carefully as you unroll the bedding on the soft flat dirt. Your hair that you wear tied and away from your hair is half undone, the two braided front pieces flowing in crippled waves from your shoulder to your chest. Your modest and plain clothes don’t  take away from the spring-like beauty you bare. Astarion knows a pretty face when he sees one, and he could admit that as he watched you that you had a fine face.

Your nose is distinct, he can see the small bump on its ridge and finds it charming - same with the smallest induction of a childhood scar on the right side of your nose bridge. There’s a faded, paler pink scar on the corner of your lips and your eyes are framed by wisps of lashes. Shadowheart calls your name, you two girls have developed a kinship in your shared roles as clerics, and Astarion finds himself charmed by the small mole on the hollow of your cheek. You are rather pretty; in the delicate way that finches and buttercups growing through the cobblestone are pretty. Shadowheart says something that makes you smile, you bid her goodnight and Astarion’s gaze then settles on a smaller mole tucked behind the line of your jaw.

His lip twitches, he’s found two already - how long would it be before he finds what other moles, scars and birthmarks that are thrown across your body like an artist flicks paint off their brush onto a canvas.Red eyes wander from your form and lets the path of the where the moonlight shines guide them until they have done a full scope of the area that is light by both the fire and the milk light of moon. The crimson makes its way back to you, only to freeze.

Your arms are bent over your head as your fingers undo the headpiece around your head. More hair, long and shining like expensive silk in the firelight falls around your shoulders. It curls and waves, he can see glints of warmer colors in the strands of your hair. Something to be envious of - how effortless you are in the simplest of movements, you throw your head back to make all your hair fall down one side to let your fingers cob through the length gently. Your head is tilted to the left, eyes downcast and just as your finger breaks through a small knot in your hair -

You meet his gaze.

The flirtatious smile that blooms on his face is near instinctual, and he can’t help but laugh a little at the look on your face. Wide-eyed and lips parted in a sweet, little, flustered gasp. If Astarion was closer he bets he could see the warmth rush to your face. There’s something that lurches in his mind, some tucked away anxiety over even that being too forward for you. Being with you for a few days has already shown him the cards of your person, you are timid and demure. Warm from the heart to your outer self and put all sorts of effort into keeping others happy.

The defining picture of a maiden is exactly what you are and Astarion has drunk from similar goblets before but he finds none where as sweet as you. You smile back, shaky and wobbling in a way that makes him duck his head to snicker at your expression. Such a cute thing you are, the men in the taverns he used to prowl at would eat you alive.

Maybe even he would, if he had the freedom to return you in one piece. His lip tugs down in a sort of frown before his gaze like a moth to a flame lands on you again. The cover of your bed roll is to your waist, and others are asleep but you are still awake. Looking back at him, he sees you attempt to raise your hand in a brief wave. He returns, waiting eagerly for what it is you want.

Astarion almost snorts, when you obviously mouth the word “Goodnight.” to him, moving your lips so he can see how your teeth clink against each other to emphasize the t in the word. He mumbles it back and half waves, letting his hand fall limp when he sees you smile again. It’s softer, more natural and fits across the plains of your face so sweetly. You beam like the sun in midday despite it being well into nightfall ; Astarion can’t help but find it charming, despite the naivety of it all and likens the stars in the sky to the way the embers of the fire glow in your eyes.