#nyari

Eye Color: amber

Hair Style/Color: It's a deep auburn colour with loose curls, but the style changes at different points in her story. While adventuring, she eventually cuts it short (it kept getting in the way).

Height: 5'8

Clothing Style: She focuses on practicality first, although her wardrobe still includes some noble garments that have seen better days. She's not going to get rid of a piece of clothing until it literally falls apart, and even then, she's probably going to try and convince Astarion to repair it for her first. At the point in which my fic takes place, she's wearing a lot more cozy knits and long cotton skirts, since she's not in battle as much. But of course, she's an (ex)paladin so she will always be partial to golden plate armour.

Best Physical Feature(s): I mean, she's gorgeous in general, but she would say her ass is her best trait. This game has limited body types, but in my head she has some curves okay.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: Letting her loved one's down, and also crowds

Guilty Pleasure: gossip, corny novellas

Biggest Pet Peeve: bad manners

Ambition for the Future: to get a fucking break to make her friends proud

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: This woman needs her morning tea before she can form any kind of coherent thought. But she does begin her day with (incoherent) thoughts of whoever she is closest to (read: feels most beholden to) in that moment.

What They Think About the Most: She is consumed by the need to be the best. Whether that's the strongest fighter on her team, or the leader they can rely on, or an endless font of support for those around her, or (when she was religious) how to serve Tyr with a devotion that would make her family proud.

What They Think About Before Bed: “Did I do enough?” It’s a quiet inventory of the day, agonizing over every choice.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Her loyalty. Nyari will stand by those she cares for through pretty much anything, and she romanticizes the hell out of it.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Dogs or Cats? Don't make her choose though, she still loves her cats.

Single or Group Dates? Astarion is a menace and she doesn't need him getting her hot and bothered in front of their friends.

To be Loved or Respected? Even if a lot of her life was built around respectability, she will throw it away in a heartbeat for love.

Beauty or Brains? Nyari is really smart for a paladin. Yes, she still makes some questionable choices.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: Not if she can help it. And when she does, she's cringing the whole time and totally unconvincing. -5 in deception.

Believe in Yourself: Wholeheartedly, and she'll never catch a break because of it.

Believe in Love: To a fault. Like, in a self-destructive way. And I mean that so literally.

Want Someone: So so much.

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: No, and she doesn't intend to. She doesn't have stage fright, but she'd rather leave this to the bards. However, she would be great at giving a speech, she just doesn't love the attention.

Done Drugs: She smoked weed once with Karlach and immediately passed out. I can't say more without spoiling unpublished chapters of my fic.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: She is far too strong in her values to act like someone else. Though, she will be quiet about something if she suspects others will find it unfavourable.

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’S THEIR…

Favorite colors: Gold, wine tones, ivory

Favorite animal: She's obsessed with the owlbear cub and now wants a whole family of them to cuddle with.

Favorite book: I don't have a specific one, but it was probably something with knights and damsels in distress. And dragons.

Favorite game: She enjoys chess and prefers strategy games over games of chance.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: January 9

How Old Will You Be: 42

Does Age Matter: Her boyfriend is about 200 years older than her and their emotional maturity is about matched, so let's go with no. But in all seriousness, she grew up being told she was an "old soul", and it stuck with her.

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: feeling indispensable to others (and she isn't going to unpack that this may be more about the need for companionship and to be loved) and grand displays of affection.

I feel: (as of the beginning of What Binds Us) profoundly guilty for failing those who are most important to me.

I hide: my own needs. I can't be what I need to be if I am distracted by selfishness.

I miss: the way things were before Astarion ascended, travelling with the only friends I've ever known and feeling the first sparks of romance.

I wish: I could travel back in time with the things I know now.

Anya Taylor Joy for Myrkiira. Absolutely someone who could both captivate and (slightly) terrify a room. I was particularly thinking of her in the Queen's Gambit. She can have such an intense vibe, and her voice is very close to how I imagine Myrkiira's. Bonus gif for imagining Myrkiira in the regency AU.

Gugu Mbatha Raw for Nyari. She's so beautiful and poised, and her voice/accent is spot on. Character creation in the game is limited and I have never been able to get Nyari quite as I picture her, so Gugu is actually much closer to how I visualize Nyari in my head. Also, like look at her smile!!! Radiant.

(Also, this game does not have enough curly hair options and it pisses me off. Darker hair is also really hard to get right. Nyari's hair is supposed to be a deep auburn, but whenever I get it to look correct in character creation it's a totally different colour in the sun.)

Taylor Russel for Eris. Eris was fun to think about casting because so much of her look would have to be done with makeup anyways in a movie. But Taylor has these big, doll-like eyes that fit so well. Her beauty feels so ethereal to me which is also how I imagine Eris. She has a very sweet voice as well, which is perfect.

I've seen some of my mutuals say they are skipping this one because they don't have anyone who fits their OCs, which is so fair. So I'm tagging very gently with no pressure.

Surrendering to her need, she slipped a hand between her legs to trace a gentle circle around her clit. The layer of leather beneath her fingertips muted the touch, but still the sensations rippled through her. Perhaps, she could be rid of this within the next few minutes.

Thoughts of Astarion came unbidden. It had only been a couple of nights, but their trysts had bloomed into something sweeter.

For her, anyways.

The glint of panic in his eye had been unmistakable when she confessed her feelings. Not that she could blame him. He had been clear about what he wanted, after all. They had eased back into friendship quite naturally after that, if one could ignore the lingering glances, the easy banter as they hiked side by side, the brushes against her shoulder that felt almost purposeful.

And, of course, she still fed him. Lovers, friends, allies—whatever they were, she would not leave him hungry.

She shouldn't be thinking about him now, not as it became increasingly difficult to stifle her moans. Not as her climax approached. The last thing she wanted was to spoil what was left of their friendship.

But she was so close.

Reaching beneath her waistband, she pressed two fingers inside, curling them towards the spot she knew would offer reprieve. Ragged breath matched the pace of her movements, chest heaving as arousal swelled to the point of pain. Her free hand came to clamp down hard over her mouth, hoping to silence herself as she reached her peak.

So close to relief.

So close when crisp air darted into the tent, its flap beginning to lift. Nyari flung her hands to her sides, scurrying to pick up the nearest book. Sweat beaded at the back of her neck—from lust or embarrassment, she couldn't be sure.

"Are you alright, darling?" His voice startled her. "Am I interrupting something?"

She could barely manage to draw her gaze up to where he stood, looking almost innocently puzzled at the entrance to her tent.

"Interrupting?" She nearly bit her tongue as she spoke, fingers racing back and forth over the book's spine. "Well, yes. Actually, I was indulging in a book."

Astarion cocked his head, peering at the title. "Species of Fungi and Flora. Volume Two? Sounds riveting." He flashed her a grin. "So, is that what has you all hot and bothered?"

"I beg your pardon," she huffed, drying sweaty hands against the tight weave of her bedroll. "It is scorching out today, if you failed to notice."

A pathetic lie. The weather was moderate at best, though most would have noticed the distinct bite in the air. Luckily, he didn't call her bluff—only smiled a smile so exquisitely charming that her breath snagged in her throat.

"I suppose I did fail to notice that. My apologies, darling." He moved closer, welcoming himself inside with an ease that made her curse the tadpole for allowing him to do so without permission. "I was just wondering if you might be available for a little meal together? I am positively starved."

Was it that time of the evening already, she wondered. Without a sun to dip beneath the horizon, it was difficult to tell.

"Oh—" Nyari stammered. It had been enough of a challenge to contain her attraction during their feedings without whatever was now wracking her body. But now? She feared that even a featherlight touch would send her over the edge. "You know I—I would love to, but, I am afraid that I may be… unwell."

"Shall I fetch Shadowheart?" He offered with genuine concern.

"No. I am fine." The last thing she needed was a cleric diagnosing her as horny.

"But darling—"

"I just need rest." She forced a smile. "It has been a long day and—"

Whatever more she might have said vanished from her throat without a trace. The carmine pools of his eyes drew her in like gravity. All she could do was stare blankly like a fool.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, before nodding weakly. "Is there any way I can be of service, dear?"

The thought of his lips trailing against her hot skin flashed in her mind. His hands tangled in her hair, hips against hers, muscles tensing as he—

"Astarion." She shook her head, turning her face away to lessen the temptation. It didn't work. "You are far kinder than anyone gives you credit for."

He exhaled with a light laugh. "And only you would say such a thing to the vampire asking for your blood."

That was why he was here, of course. Nyari had almost forgotten, wrapped in thoughts that felt selfish compared to the very real, basic need of her friend.

"Perhaps, a small amount of blood would be… amenable?" She offered slowly, absentminded fingers rubbing circles against her forearm in a meagre substitute for the touch she longed for. "Just enough to sate you, of course."

"Not a drop more," he promised, with a signature smirk. "But only if you truly are well enough, dear."

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and tilted her neck towards him. She was strong. She had felled enemies far greater than this hunger. She could control herself.

He leaned over her, scanning her face for surety. She nodded.

The moment his fingertips traced the nape of her neck, feeling for her pulse, she bit back a moan. Every nerve flared at his nearness, as if her skin might tear itself from her bones just to be closer to his. She gripped the bedroll until her knuckles paled.

Astarion's lips pressed tenderly to her pulse point, followed by the sharp prick of his fangs. She spasmed beneath him, but his hands came to hold her still, to soothe her as he always did when he drank.

Until he pulled away far too soon.

"What did you eat?" he asked with more amused curiosity than concern.

Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach.

"Fuck."

"Not that I'm complaining, darling," he teased, "but your blood tastes–"

"I did not realize it would affect my blood," she blurted out, scrambling to sit as she buried her burning face in her hands. Distance, she hoped, might shield her from his gaze.

"It?" He questioned. "What is it, exactly? If you're about to tell me we're both poisoned—"

"No. Not poison." She sighed, almost wishing it had been as simple as poison. At least then, someone at camp may have had an antidote. "I was collecting samples today. I do not think it was anything dangerous but one of them must be the reason I am—" she hesitated, searching for the most appropriate word, "unwell."

Tension eased from his shoulders as he laughed. "And here I thought it was just my irresistible good looks."

"You can tell?"

"Of course I can tell, darling." Astarion rolled his eyes. "You give me such little credit."

She chewed the inside of her cheek. "Fuck."

Nyari was far too aware of the bright red that must have saturated her complexion, but of course, he was unbothered. If anything, he seemed entertained.

"You know, this is in the range of things I can help with, dear."

He was too damned flirtatious, dragging a slender finger down her arm and looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

"We agreed to be friends." Her heart slammed against her ribs, betraying every protest she tried to muster.

He rolled his eyes, dramatic as ever, though a faint smile softened his expression. "Yes, and, well, as your friend, I don't want to see you suffer."

Friend. He was her friend. If only her body could understand the word.

"Besides, darling. You know I can help," he went on, voice dipping lower, "unless, of course, you have forgotten my talents. In which case, I'd be more than happy to remind you."

Of course, she hadn't forgotten a thing. From their first night together, she had replayed every caress hundreds of times each night as she tranced. She had rolled those precious memories around in her head, memorizing every detail.

"I can hear your heartbeat, you know," he cooed. "I can smell the mess you're making between your thighs."

A crimson glow painted her chest, skin alight in a million flares of electricity spurred on by his words. Nyari knew better than to surrender to his charm, but the last of her good sense dangled by a thread already beginning to unravel.

"Astarion, I—" She shook her head. "You do not truly want this. It is okay."

Tentatively, she reached for his hand, repressing the thrill she felt at that contact alone. For a moment, he was unguarded as he looked down at her impossibly warm skin against his.

"Perhaps, I do," he said, so quietly one could have missed it. “It may very well be in my system too from that delightful taste you gave me,” he murmured, thumb tracing her pulse. “So, I could retreat to my tent and take care of myself, or you could tell me to stay.”

The mental image of him taking care of himself was a temptation she couldn't afford. But of course, it came anyways, his dexterous hand gliding along his length as his lips fell open in ecstasy—

"You should go," she said, interrupting her own fantasy. The image, however fleeting, had already soaked her through her underthings.

Nyari inhaled sharply, hopelessly trying to keep her eyes from raking over his body. His sleeves were pushed up around his forearms, exposing taut muscles to the dim light of her lantern.

"Well, excuse me while I go die of a broken heart," he replied, tone light but strained. He raised his hands in surrender. "If you want me to go, then of course I'll indulge that request."

"I did not say I wanted you to go." The words came too quick, too brash, but she no longer cared. Her vision swam, everything but him drifting in and out of focus.

Her hand tangled in his shirt, pulling him close until her lips were an inch from his. Words failed. Pleas came in her gaze, in the desperate grasp of her fingers around muslin. Breathing in the heady scent of bergamot and brandy, she swore she could already taste him.

Astarion closed the distance, gathering her fevered body into his arms and kissing her with weeks’ worth of unspoken adoration. Nyari's hands roamed over his chest, his arms, his face, weaving through his tresses before pulling away only far enough to bare her throat.

He bit down again, deeper this time, a tremor running through them both. His knee slid between her thighs, and she moved against him, seeking friction through layers of leather. Each pull of her blood was euphoric. The more he drank, the more her body cried out.

When he pulled back, his lips were flushed and glistening, eyes dazed as if drunk on her. He kissed her again, pressing his thigh more firmly against her heat before murmuring against her lips: "Take what you need, love. Cum for me."

Nyari continued to rock her hips against him, holding him close with a grip that felt too strong to be her own. Astarion lavished her with praises and encouragements between nips at her bottom lip.

The release tore through her before she could breathe his name. Tension dissolved, her body cooling briefly as waves crested over every inch of skin. He continued stroking her hair until her breaths evened, until they both stilled.

"So," he said, "feeling any better?"

"A little," she managed, gaze wandering to his lips. "Thank you."

He laughed, toying with the collar of her shirt, deliberate in his refusal to touch bare skin. "And here I'd almost forgotten how much fun I have with you. You really are a sweetheart, you know."

Her orgasm had done little to quell the effects of the aphrodisiac, but she could at least think a a tad clearer. Still, she needed more. As much as he was willing to give.

"Think you can go for another?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yes." The word came without hesitation.

He smirked at her urgency, "Such a mess for me, aren't you, darling?"

He tugged down at her bodice, freeing her breasts from the fabric's constraints. Despite the swiftness of his fingers, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the chilled touch against flushed skin. He bit down again, this time at the swell of her chest, tugging soft flesh between his lips.

"Please do not tease me," Nyari begged. "I cannot take it."

She felt him smile against her breast, before prying her trousers and underwear to her thighs in one brisk motion. A moan escaped her at the sudden exposure, the breeze soothing her skin, nerves abuzz with the promise of relief.

"I've missed those delicious sounds you make." Astarion tilted her head back by her hair to look her in the eyes. "I've missed you."

There was no time to think about what those words could mean, but her heart fluttered anyways. Even though, perhaps, they meant nothing more than this. Her body, her cries of passion. They were only friends, after all.

But the way he looked at her—with care shining through the haze of desire—that couldn't possibly be the way one looks upon a friend.

Could it?

She could tell him she misses him back, let thought spill out into the air in a mess of words she would regret come morning. But instead, her head fell back in bliss as two lithe fingers stretched her open and curled towards her stomach. His thumb stroked her clit in rhythm with his fingers, years of dexterity honed from picking locks now focused solely on her pleasure.

The sounds that escaped were beyond her control as she rolled her hips against this hand. Her muscles pulled tight around him until tension snapped, leaving her utterly weightless.

She blinked, forcing her vision to steady on him—the radiance before her. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide, lips parted and slick with her blood as he sucked the wetness from his fingers.

"How-" she stuttered between frayed breaths, overcome with with how dishevelled he now looked, "how do you feel?"

He swallowed hard and reached for her hand. It was warm—feverish, even, for a vampire—and a faint flush touched his cheeks.

"How again did you put it?" He tried to tease, but his voice was hoarse. "Unwell, was it?"

Nyari cracked a small smile as her fingers found the laces at his waist. "May I?" She asked.

Locking his gaze with hers, he gave a single nod. She ran her palm over the taut fabric, eliciting a breathy, involuntary whimper.

"Take the rest of your clothes off," he rasped.

She moved before her fingers could catch up, fumbling with the garments clinging to her skin until they fell away. When she looked back, he stood bare before her, pale skin catching the light. His earlier composure had dissolved, replaced by a hunger that mirrored her own.

Restraint cracked. Their bodies crashed together.

Astarion lifted Nyari's leg over his shoulder, pausing only to kiss the curve of her ankle. The reverence in that small gesture took her by surprise, his eyes fluttering closed as he nestled his cheek into the arch of her foot. Raw need replaced momentarily by tenderness. He was already hard, his tip leaking against her entrance. But he lingered there a moment longer than someone simply overcome with lust.

He entered her slowly, luxuriating in every inch. A bestial sound fell from his lips.

The succour of feeling him inside nearly eclipsed the two orgasms that had already tore through her. She clenched around his length. Nails clawed into his forearm to pull him closer. His came in kind around her hips.

Her mind went blank. Any questions about what they were, what he felt, what she felt, or the consequences of their actions dimmed to the periphery. In that moment, this feeling was all that had ever mattered. All that could ever matter. A white hot haze flooded her vision as she convulsed in his grasp. There was no sound but the thudding of her own heart, so tempestuous against her chest she thought she might die.

Her orgasm lasted longer than it should have, cresting again each time she thought it had begun to wane, until she was thoroughly spent. His wide, gleaming eyes snapped her back to the moment—raw, pleading, real. She mapped his chest with the palm of her hand, traced the line of his jaw, before threading fingers through his hair.

Every twitch inside her was amplified, feeling his ache as if it were her own. Clarity shot through her ambrosial daze, and she knew then that she loved him. Her earlier confession had been hasty, yet agonizingly true. She loved him, even if he would never feel the same way. Her lips parted—torn between a moan and a declaration.

His whole body went taut until, with one final snap of his hips, a broken sound slipped from his lips and the tension bled away. Tremors rippled through him in slow waves, as if reluctant to let the moment end. Unsteady breaths tangled with hers before finding her mouth in a lingering kiss, too soft for everything that had passed between them.

Finally at ease, Astarion collapsed against her, head nuzzling into her chest. For a moment, she pondered what he found in her heartbeat. After so many years undead, was there something unnatural about it to him? But he lay there, eyes closed and perfectly at peace. She combed gently through his curls, an onslaught of questions poised at her tongue.