Sanguine || Astarion x Reader

His Majesty

In which Astarion gets jealous of His Majesty, the grumpy resident cat of the Last Light Inn

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The day you found the Last Light Inn was the day you believed in hope again. Not that you've truly given up on your cause, but traversing the Shadow-Cursed Lands had the ability to drain one's spirit literally and figuratively.

Without the Moon Lantern you've nicked from Balthazar's chambers by— get this— posing as a True Soul, you would probably be stuck at Moonrise Towers, completely unable to traverse the land without succumbing to the curse.

The inn was in a protective dome created and powered by Isobel, a cleric of Selûne. Much to Shadowheart's chagrin, it didn't take her much convincing to stay within the confines of Isobel's spell. It seems like wounding her own pride was a small price to pay than surviving out there on her own.

With a warm fire before you and a cat— His Majesty— nuzzled on your chest, you sigh in relief. Tonight would be a reprieve from the constant fights with shadow-y figures and pretension by pretending to be a True Soul.

The couch beneath you was plush and comfortable, a stark difference from the thin bedrolls you were used to at camp. You sank into the couch, feeling yourself lose the battle between sleep and consciousness. No one would shame you for sleeping outside of your quarters, everybody knows of the hardships you face everyday just to help them lift the curse from the land.

As you drift further and further away from consciousness, your eyes slowly flutter shut as your breathing slows and steadies.

His Majesty purrs on your chest, quite a miracle if you do say so yourself. The first time you met him, he hissed and fought with all his might and disgust when you tried to pet him. Now, he openly seeks your attention— mostly because you often carried treats for Scratch. Still, a win is a win.

You smile as that thought passes in your mind. His Majesty remind you of somebody.

Your peace was duly interrupted by your favorite companion. Your eyes snap open as you hear Astarion clear his throat somewhere behind you.

You could almost picture it. Him in his usual white blouse and brown trousers, a practiced scowl on his face, while his hands sit lazily on his hips.

Your bleary eyes catch a glimpse of Astarion, your vision clearly made into reality, save for the added arched brow and tapping foot. You would giggle if you weren't so drunk on sleep.

Astarion stalks closer until he was standing at the foot end of the sofa. He clears his throat again.

"Excuse you, that is my spot." Astarion drawls out dramatically.

You try and scramble to sit up without disturbing His Majesty's sleep. You rub at your sleepy eyes, fighting a yawn from escaping.

"Sorry, Astarion. I didn't know—"

The vampire tuts. "Not you, my dear. I'm talking to His Majesty."

You try not to immediately let out an amused snort at his words, but a playful smile does appear on your face. You look up at him, eyes practically sparkling with mirth.

You lay back down comfortably, petting His Majesty on his head. He purrs and Astarion's frown only deepens.

"Darling," you begin. "Are you jealous of a cat?" Lazy chuckles are laced through your words, fond and impossibly affectionate.