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its-pip-art · 21 days

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absence / suguru geto/fem!reader

suguru's been working away for a few days. time apart always made your boyfriend a little insatiable. sometimes he couldn't even wait for you to wake up before he had a taste.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. (consensual) somnophilia. established relationship. canon!verse but slight au!suguru (not a cult leader/normal sorcerer). cunnilingus. fingering. one pet name, ‘my sweet thing’. spitting. suguru knows how to EAT. he’s also very, very into it if you catch my drift. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 1.9k.

a/n: is this a drabble? how small is a fucking drabble idk - but a lil smth small while i work on a lil smth fatter ehe

mdni.

It’s the throbbing between your legs that eventually wakes you up.

Your head is thick, still dusted and clouded with the heavy remnants of your disturbed dreams. There’s a cool breeze against your skin, and you vaguely become aware of the lack of covers on top of you… and yet your skin feels hot, prickly. You palm at the sheets, go to roll from your back onto your side but a firm grip against your thighs keeps you planted. The feeling of restriction rouses you more, your eyelids fluttering, squinting against the darkness of your bedroom—

—and the long, hot slide of something wet against your clit has you snapping awake.

Your eyes blink open as a breathless sound leaves your lips. Your hips buck up involuntarily against the unknown source of pleasure, a hot flush blooming across your skin. You go to rise up on your elbows, only to fall back again a breath later as you feel a strong suction against your swollen bud.

A soft moan falls out of you, the sound snapping through the silence of your bedroom, filtering with the lewd wet sound coming from between your thighs.

Looking down, you’re greeted by the mess of ink-black hair spilling over your lower stomach, untied and untamed, tickling your skin with every movement. You can make out a single ear and black gauge amidst the dishevelled locks, the soft moonlight catching on its obsidian surface.

Even if you couldn’t see, you could tell it was Suguru by the sounds of his deep groans alone.

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you gasp as those tight lips clench harder around your clit. “Couldn’t… ah, couldn’t wait until the damn morning?”

Something like a grunt and a moan is all you get in reply. Your hips go to roll again, but an arm is winding around your thigh—and a large hand presses down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Those sinful lips pop off of your clit with a wet smack.

“Missed you,” you hear Suguru murmur, the words muffled against your hot flesh before he gives one long lick from your entrance upward. He moans as if the taste is all he needs to sustain him. “Missed this.”

You bite your bottom lip, teeth dragging against the skin as your arm snakes down your body. Your fingers wind into those untamed locks, gripping the strands tightly at the root–and a rumbling moan vibrates against your hot, sensitive flesh in response. Suguru was always weak for having his hair pulled.

You rise up on one elbow. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your grip almost severe, but Suguru only groans again, his wet tongue sliding against your pussy messily. His head tilts up a little, two dark eyes looking up at you from underneath his lashes and the hair spilling across some of his face. Your own arousal glints against his lips and tongue, even his nose. A light flush blooms across his cheeks. He looks almost drunk.

He pushes against your grip easily, face diving back down an inch between your thighs. His tongue circles the slick rim of your entrance once again before sliding inside, a wet slurping sound filling the air—drinking from you like a man parched. A sharp nose bumps against your clit and you clench around his tongue tightly.

“A-ah,” you roll your hips toward his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deeper, and Suguru makes no move to stop you this time. Instead, his large palm slides up across your stomach, dipping under your shirt to grab greedily at your breast. “You’ve r-really missed me, huh?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes out between thrusts of his tongue, voice muffled by your slick heat. Suguru wasn’t one for cursing often, but when he did, it never failed to make you clench, that coil in your gut winding a little tighter. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

Suguru pulls back his tongue, purses his lips, and a trickle of spit falls against your pussy, wetting you further. He smears it with his tongue, his grip on your breast tightening. His ministrations are sloppy, a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal coating his lower face, strands of his untied hair, your thighs and ass.

“So fucking messy,” he groans, pinching at your nipple harshly almost as if you were to blame for all this.

Suguru was typically methodical and precise when it came to your pleasure… that was until distance separated you. Then he became like this–wanting, hungry, filthy. Almost insatiable.

Typically, however, he had the patience and restraint to wait until morning. It seems tonight he had been in a rush—not even bothering to remove take off his own clothes or even your underwear fully, instead tugging them hastily to the side. They were damp too, you could feel it, and you wondered how long he had busied himself licking against the fabric until his impatience had pushed him forward.

Your moans rise in both pitch and volume as he busies his tongue against your clit again, stimulating it in sure, quick circles with the tip. He lets the drool fall freely from his mouth until you feel it drip down between your cheeks to soak the bedsheets below you. You continue to tug and pull at his scalp, your hips twitching and your breathing growing increasingly ragged.

Suguru can tell you’re growing close—he knows your body well enough by now to recognise the signs. Laboured breathing, moans turning to pitchy gasps, the grip on his hair that’s almost painful. He doesn’t waste any time in sliding two thick fingers inside you, the passage barely felt with how slick you are. The pads of his digits pressing against the soft part inside your walls that has your hips nearly flying off the bed; not thrusting, simply curling. Insistently.

A guttural sound leaves Suguru’s lips in response, something like a growl.

“Fuck!” You gasp, the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers massaging your spot sending you dizzy. Your lips are dry, parched, as you pant into the cool air. “I’m gonna’ fucking cum-“

Suguru’s fingers rub more firmly against your spot and that coil in your gut is winding so tight you fear you’ll ache in the morning. You know you’re going to crash. Hard.

“Come on, come on,” Suguru is chanting against your pussy in breathless gasps. “Give it to me, my sweet thing, goddamn, give it—“

You glance down between eyelids that seem determined to clamp shut. You see Suguru’s face buried against you, hear the wet squelch of his fingers massaging you from the inside and you’re so close, so fucking close—

Then you see the movements of Suguru’s hips; small twitches and slow grinds as he ruts his clothed cock against the mattress—the thought that he’s as aroused by this as you are, as he always is when he brings you pleasure like this—sends you careening over the edge.

Your back bows, a harsh cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. Eyes scrunched tight, you’re throbbing, crying out his name you think, but it’s hard to tell. Suguru’s groaning against you, whispered curses and praises falling from his lips like a symphony.

The pleasure is blinding, seemingly infinite—Suguru’s tongue and fingers working you even now, pushing you further and further until you can’t take it anymore. When it gets too much, even for you, you tug his lips away from your oversensitive core by his hair. He removes his fingers of his own accord, a slick sound accompanying the movement.

Your eyes are hazy, clouded, as you look at him, your breaths coming shallow and stilted. His face is soaked with you, his shining lips still parted, his tongue darting out to collect every drop as he stares back. The flush across his cheeks has darkened, and his breathing is shallow, too shallow—you recognise that look, it’s when—

A breathless laugh falls past Suguru’s lips. He seems sated, yet drained. With a breath, he pulls his hand from your shirt and rises up onto his knees, his movements languid and sluggish. As he sits back on his haunches, his knees slightly spread, you get a clear view of the swell in his pants—and the large dark spot blooming around it.

He had cum. Without touching himself.

Suguru’s lips tug to one side as he looks down at you spread out before him. He doesn’t seem sheepish or embarrassed, only vaguely surprised, yet satisfied. His hair is a mess, strands clinging to his damp face and neck. His hand drifts down to his clothed, softening cock, giving it a small squeeze. It twitches in his grasp, and a small ‘hah’ leaves his mouth as his hips twitch.

“Fuck,” he exhales as his eyelids flutter shut. “You made me cum.” He opens his eyes after a moment, letting his hand fall back to his thigh with a small sigh. “Couldn’t hold back. Not when you sounded like that.”

You chuckle weakly as your heart calms down in your chest, feeling exhausted in the best possible way. “Not like you to lose control,” you murmur, a lazy smile on your face.

“No?” He slowly crawls over you, two forearms bracing near your head, his hair tickling your collarbones. He dips down to press his lips against yours in a wet, unhurried kiss. You sigh as you taste yourself on his tongue, the taste of both him and you making you melt against the mattress beneath you. He pulls back after a moment too short, settling his weight down against you, but even in his tired state he’s careful not to press fully. “I think you seem to be the best at making me lose my sense.”

A nose brushes against yours, his eyelids fluttering shut in contentment. The weight against you grows a little heavier, and you imagine he must be beyond exhausted.

But still, you’re both covered in fluid, sweat and spit. It’s a little gross.

“We should shower,” you murmur, and Suguru hums in agreement. He makes no effort to move just yet, though. “And probably change the sheets.”

Suguru exhales through his nose sharply in amusement, his eyes blinking open to look at you through a hooded gaze. “Who said we were done?”

You raise an eyebrow and glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.

“Sugur-“

His hips roll against yours, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your tender heat. You jolt a little, a small gasp leaving your lips in response to the stimulation—and the fact that Suguru is still very much hard underneath his trousers.

You look up at him with a huff of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You need to rest—”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he cuts in, the words deep in tone as his lazy gaze bores into yours from above. There’s an undercurrent of need in his voice, something damningly close to desperation. “Badly.” His hips roll again, more firmly this time. Despite your reservations, you moan at the hard pressure of his cock against you–and the fact that Suguru, composed Suguru, always seemed to be insatiable. Only for you.

His smiles, something frayed at the edges as his grinding becomes more insistent, fervent. “Did you miss me too? Hah, fuck, go on. Tell me.”

And you do.

You tell him how much you missed him many, many times that night—until warm sunlight filters into the room and you both fall asleep tangled together–amidst the very soiled sheets.

masterlist.

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its-pip-art · 1 month

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my pookie

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its-pip-art · 1 month

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The Unbearable Weight of Tenderness

Pairing: Astarion x Female Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit/18+Warnings (will be added as the series progresses): Elves. Blood drinking. Biting. Sexual tension. Mentions of past abuse. Manipulation. Explicit smut (eventually). Slow burn. Like...really slow. Mutual pining. A nickname that is hated at first but then so so loved.

Chapter 1: Suspicious

Chapter Two: Friends

Antillia stared at Astarion’s tent. It was early, the earliest she had been up since she could remember (only weeks, but still, the earliness of it felt monumental) and she was completely and irrevocably focused on the minute movements she could hear within said tent. The moment she had seen Astarion sneak off she knew she had to confront him, and when she saw him return to his tent covered in blood she knew it had to be that morning. The other members of camp and not yet stirred, but Astarion had been awake for some time. Antillia watched his pale hand emerge from the din and she stood straight and braced herself with clenched fists.

Astarion ducked out of his tent and was immediately apprehended by Antillia. “Ah, you’re up early.”

“Are you a vampire?” Antillia asked directly.

Astarion stepped back, eyes wide, “What on earth makes you think that? Of course I’m not.”

“You’re the palest person to walk Faerun, you sneak off at night, there was that dead boar the other day that you were super weird about-…” Antillia’s eyes drifted past him and she caught a rare glimpse inside his tent, “there’s a jar of red liquid right there.” She pointed in accusation. “And I have never seen you eat.”

Astarion’s jaw hung, “I - I’m into necromancy.” He tried to knock Antillia off the scent. There was a heaviness to his limbs.

Antillia’s invasive gaze narrowed. “I thought you were a magistrate?”

“And people can be pale, Antillia.”

Antillia continued to glare at him. “They can be, but rarely are people as pale as the moon.” She yelped when Astarion grabbed her by the arm and yanked her inside his tent. Her eyes darted around the tent to search for any further evidence before she was unceremoniously slaughtered - if Gale found her corpse he would at least cast Speak with Dead on her and she could spill all of the beans on their traitorous vampire comrade.

“Please don’t tell the others,” Astarion said quietly as he released her arm. He tutted at her face wrought with obnoxious glory.

Antillia’s victorious smile softened to comfort him, “I wasn’t planning on it, I just wanted to know for my own sake.” The darkness around them felt safer now that she knew, she closed the space between them and her eyes devoured him. “How are you able to walk in the sun?”

Astarion could hear the rhythmic thrum of her heart and from that calmness in her chest he believed that she had no ulterior motive. “It has to be the tadpole, I…I couldn’t do this before. I couldn’t do anything before.” His muscles began to coil under her scrutiny and he stepped back, “Look, I don’t know why this happened, I don’t know why I can walk in the sun again, or why I can cross running water - I don’t know why I’m still starving or why I can’t see this face…” He quieted for a moment and his gaze met hers, he wondered how her black eyes seemed to glitter in the darkness they were shrouded in… ‘the magic of wizards, perhaps.’ He thought. “But I know that I am better off here, sleeping in the dirt with strangers.”

Antillia bowed her head slightly and offered a smile, “I count you as a friend if that helps.”

Astarion found a short laugh. “It doesn’t, but thank you for trying to comfort me after you rudely imposed such a line of questioning upon me.” He paused and watched her raptly. “Making friends doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?” Not that he had any clue on how to build a friendship, either, but he had certainly read about it enough to know that direct questions about life-altering secrets weren’t on the top of the list. ‘At least she had the good sense to do it whilst the others were asleep.’ He thanked the Gods for small mercies.

Antillia shrugged, “I wouldn’t know, I can’t remember anything before the beach.”

Astarion’s eyebrows flew up his forehead. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“I lied, sorry, I remember waking up on the ship - but before that there’s nothing.” Antillia rectified her previous statement. “At first I thought it was the tadpole, but I’ve been listening to everyone else talk about the before times and I realised this isn’t an us problem, it’s a me problem.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Astarion was the one closing the distance between them this time to study her. He had noticed oddities, of course, most people were inherently strange - especially wizards. She seemed to have more than the average weirdo, however. He had noticed the long scar across her neck and how she reflexively opted for physical violence instead of casting spells. But oddest of all was her urge for blood. He found it charming, of course, but the others in camp did not.

Antillia looked down at Astarion’s neck, the former ‘welts’ now ‘bite marks’ peeked at her beneath the collar of his armour. “I overstepped by asking you if you were a vampire, so I should offer something in return, right? Friend to friend?”

Astarion’s expression shifted from concerned to playful, “darling, we are not friends.”

Antillia smiled. “Yes, we are.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re always near me.”

“I am not!”

“And if you’re not near me you’re always looking at me.”

“Am I?”

Antillia nodded, noticing that the gap between them was very small. “You hardly talk to the others, either.”

Astarion flicked his gaze to her lips when her eyes met his again, he needed her to see his ‘want’. “I don’t think you’re describing a burgeoning friendship, dear.” He lowered his tone to that dangerous depth that always worked on his marks.

Antillia felt her skin prickle with goosebumps and her lips parted, “what am I describing, then?”

Astarion tilted his head to the left, a small action that added just the right amount of movement to his beautiful curls. “I want you to tell me.” A breathy whisper always worked. He watched her shudder. Delightful.

“I swear to the Gods if you two are fucking in there I’m going to scream.” Karlach’s voice ripped through the tent.

“If we were, you would know.” Astarion called without breaking eye contact with Antillia, “You feel it, though, don’t you?” His tone softened again.

Antillia found her backbone. “A lifelong friendship?” She stepped back and gripped the flap of his tent both for stability and to bring light into the space. “I’m glad you feel the same.” She stepped into the light and she bathed in the relief it brought.

They packed up and hit the road, meandering several miles west of the Grove to the Blighted Village.

“What were you two doing this morning?” Karlach drew up beside Antillia and nudged her. “Are you two forming a sexy elf alliance?”

Antillia snorted. “Not exactly.” She adjusted the strap of her pack and sighed - she had thought about it, she had thought about it a couple of times if she was honest. Even in that first encounter they shared on the cliff, the way his dagger pressed against her neck made her stomach knot with arousal. She recalled the way he commanded her to nod only to praise her for doing so. The leather straps of her pack moaned as her grip on them tightened.

Karlach grinned and glanced over her shoulder at Astarion and then back on the path ahead of her. “I’d ride him to the ends of Faerun if I had the chance.”

Antillia welcomed her honesty and she relaxed somewhat. “He is stunning.” She admitted.

“There’s someone up ahead,” Karlach said quietly.

Antillia stiffened and squinted, recognising quickly who stood at the end of the bridge. “It’s that arsehole from the Grove.” She broadened her shoulders as they drew nearer and stood a few paces short of the bridge’s end. “What are you doing here?”

“Well look who’s finally using words instead of punching people.”

Antillia rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t an idiot I wouldn’t have to smack you into the ground…so are you going to be an idiot again?”

Aradin threw a scroll onto the ground. “I’m not dealing with this - I’m done.”

Astarion drew up beside Antillia and watched as Aradin and his men stalked off. “I don’t think he’s forgiven you for punching him.”

Antillia chuckled and reached to pick up the scroll, she glanced over it before pocketing it for later perusal. “Have you forgiven me for head-butting you?”

Astarion pursed his lips in performative thought, “Not yet, but I could be persuaded.”

Antillia looked sidelong at Astarion and waited for his smirk to waver, but it never did. She pressed on into the village, easily convincing the Goblins that they were friends before quickly mobilising the core group in strategic areas of the village to kill them.

A few errant fireballs later the group sat around a large fire, gratefully eating.

“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb!”

They all looked up at the bard from the grove and wondered how she made it to them without making a sound.

“Alfira, wasn’t it?” Antillia stood.

“That’s right - again, I’m sorry to disturb you all…it’s just-…”

“Are you hungry? We’ve got extra.” Karlach offered a plate to Alfira.

Lae’zel stared at Alfira as she sat. “Who is this?”

Alfira sat stiffly, “we met at the grove.”

Lae’zel shook her head, stood and left the fire.

Antillia grimaced and sat back down. “Has something happened to the Grove?”

Alfira shook her head and gratefully ate the hot food. “I want to see the world and I was hoping you would take me with you…” Silence gripped the circle.

“Absolutely not,” Astarion announced on behalf of the group, but Antillia’s elbow struck his ribs.

Antillia quickly sought counsel with the group by staring at each of them - their confused expressions didn’t yield any answer, they clearly weren’t at the level of psychic communication…despite the tadpoles… “Alright.”

“Gods.” Astarion groaned. “No lute.” He pointed viciously.

Antillia rolled her eyes at Astarion, “Don’t listen to him.”

Antillia’s eyes focused on the red haze before her. Gore. Her stomach lurched with pleasure and she dropped to her knees. Through the red, she picked out splashes of soft pink and teal. “Alfira?” She coiled her fingers in Alfira’s blood drenched hair. The tiefling’s intestines sat coiled on top of her stomach. Antillia’s jaw hung and she heaved in air. “Alfira…” Antillia’s black eyes met Alfira’s black eyes - or rather, the cavities where her sunshine eyes had once been.

#bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x durge #astarion x dark urge #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #fanfiction #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion #astarion ancunin

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its-pip-art · 2 months

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The Unbearable Weight of Tenderness

Pairing: Astarion x Female Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit/18+ Warnings (will be added as the series progresses): Elves. Blood drinking. Biting. Sexual tension. Mentions of past abuse. Explicit smut (eventually). Slow burn. Like...really slow. Mutual pining. A nickname that is hated at first but then so so loved.

Chapter Two: Friends

Chapter One: Suspicious

“We’re obviously going to save them, right?” Karlach asked pointedly as she dropped her heavy pack on the ground and began unloading the various foods they had come across that day.

Antillia pushed the balls of her hands into her eyes, “All I’m interested in is killing that damn druid.”

“Why?”

“Why? She’s so irritating.” Antillia stared at Karlach dumbfounded. What she was quickly understanding was that her deep desire for gruesome murder wasn’t shared with the vast majority of people she had come across since she crashed on that beach. Her gaze was raptly fixated on Gale’s hands as they gratefully picked out various vegetables from the growing pile Karlach built. Antillia swallowed hard and looked away, denying herself the fantasy of ripping it off.

Karlach folded her arms and stared at her companion. “You can’t kill someone because they’ve annoyed you.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly, darling.”

“We’re not talking to you, Astarion.” Karlach rolled her eyes, hard.

Astarion arched an eyebrow at the coldness in his companion’s tone, “Shouldn’t you be? This is a group decision after all.”

Antillia was ever so grateful to have him join her, he was the only other soul she had come across that delighted in killing the way she seemed to. Lae’zel did as well, to an extent, but Astarion was much more vocal and enjoyed dissecting all of the wonderful ways to end a life.

Astarion sat opposite Antillia and held her darkening gaze. “I think we should kill Kahga, too.”

Antillia leaned closer to Astarion with a conspiring grin, “how should we do it?”

Astarion hummed and resting his chin on his palm, his ruby eyes searched the skies for sinister inspiration, “I am very fond of a decapitation.” He watched Antillia’s skin warm with delight.

Antillia nodded and tucked her errant hair behind her ear, “I want her to suffer first, though.” She paused and allowed her pulse to quicken. “I wonder what her screams would sound like.”

“You two are fucking perverts.” Karlach grunted with disgust and stood, “Get me when you’ve stopped pleasuring each other with your murder plans.”

Antillia stoked the fire with a long stick and her eyes lit when she was struck by a new idea. “We could burn her…”

Astarion tipped his head to the side and lowered the tone of his voice, “I have a better idea,” he started dangerously, “Why don’t you and I lead those dirty little goblins to the Grove and let them slaughter each other, all we need to do it relax on that little beach amongst the corpses of those harpies enjoy the symphony?”

“Astarion!”

Astarion flinched slightly at the suddenness of Karlach, “I thought you stopped listening.”

Antillia stood quickly and held her hand out to stop Karlach. “We’re not killing the Tieflings.” She assured Karlach before looking back at Astarion in quiet lament of what would be a wonderful way to spend an evening.

“Oh I know,” Karlach chuckled and stared at Astarion over the top of Antillia’s head, “I’d snap him in half if he even attempted it.”

Astarion shrunk under the weight of Karlach’s threat, only straightening when she announced she was going to the river to cool off. “She’s much too hot-headed, maybe we shouldn’t have brought her along with us.” Astarion hissed, his musical tone now barely audible over the shrill sound of Lae’zel sharpening her sword.

Antillia stared into the fire. They sat in silence for a while and Antillia recalled the encounter with Kahga with a sigh. “I did like her snake, though.”

Astarion’s fear subsided. “Gods, same.”

Antillia squatted in front of the fire and stoked it again. She took a moment to let her eyes trickle over Astarion’s neck, a few days prior she had noticed the welts in his otherwise pristine skin and she had wondered ever since what they were. “Astarion?” Surely asking wasn’t an intrusion?

“Yes, dear?”

Antillia held his pretty gaze and then smiled wickedly, abandoning her original question, “Why don’t we cut off bits of Kahga?” she narrowed her eyes just slightly at Astarion’s mouth as it pulled into a pleased smile, the dying sunlight glinted on his teeth…his fangs. But then she remembered that one detail that thwarted her entire theory - sunlight. Her eyes carried to his tent, where she could see a mirror propped up against the side of the canvas wall and wondered if she should try to catch his reflection, or lack thereof if her hunch was true. Antillia glanced at the stump that Astarion had been sitting on but found it vacant and she flinched when she felt him next to her, easing the flaming stick out of her hand.

“Careful, darling, you’ll burn yourself.” Astarion dropped what was left of the wood into the fire and let his fingers linger on her skin just a few moments longer than necessary. He watched her cheeks tinge pink and he inwardly smiled with satisfaction knowing that the first seeds were being sewn. “Now, let’s get back to our devious plans of destroying the Grove.”

Antillia balled her hand into a fist, forcing the nervousness she felt at their proximity aside. “I won’t say it again, Astarion, we are only killing Kahga.” She said slowly, “And the goblins.” She added as a quick afterthought.

“Oh, Gods, Tilly! Goblins have terrible loot.” Astarion groaned theatrically and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. But he couldn’t resist peeking at her through his squinted eyes to watch her brow knit with fury. He promptly landed in a heap on the ground in the wake of her hard shove.

“I told you not to call me that!” Antillia held her fist up in threat.

“Now, now, Antillia, as a fellow wizard I’d like to see some modicum of decorum from you.”

Antillia rolled her eyes and stuck her middle finger up at Gale, who sighed in response. “Besides,” she faced Astarion once more as he wiped himself clean. She helped him to his feet, “Do you think refugees will have anything worth stealing?” She noted that, despite their sustained proximity to the fire, his hand was icy cold.

“You don’t have to persuade me. Goblins are filthy little beasts, after all.” Astarion could see Karlach coming back through the clearing behind Antillia, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Antillia frowned and pointed to the chopping board that Gale dutifully worked at, “But you haven’t eaten.” She watched him go back to the stump he had been sitting on and pick up a bottle of wine.

Astarion shook the bottle, “I’m all sorted.” He tilted his head down just slightly, holding her gaze, “Goodnight, darling.” He crossed camp silently and slunk into his tent. He popped the cork off the wine and rewarded himself with a gulp. He had been carefully considering his position within camp since the moment he had been found on the cliffside by Antillia, and whilst he hadn’t enjoyed the crack of her skull against his in those first moments, he now very much enjoyed her company. He was determined to use her as much as he could for as long as he could and he knew the best way to do that was to bed her. He languidly turned the pages of his newest find, but he felt his gaze pull up more than once to observe Antillia’s dancing lesson from Karlach, which they had done each night for several days now. Astarion thought about the things he had learned about Antillia in the short weeks he had known her. She was a wizard (regrettably). The counterweight of that, however, was that she was a high elf. Her skull was harder than rock. She seemed to like wine enough to drink it but he didn’t know yet if her pallet was refined enough to enjoy it, given the grimace she would often make after downing her cup. Best of all, she was acutely fond of murder. And her skin was soft. Astarion sighed with accomplishment, he knew it wouldn’t be long until he had her beneath him, crying his name into the night. And he’d be safe…or, safer at least.

“I overheard you and the pale one discussing how you would like to kill that druid. Have you considered flaying her?” Lae’zel speared a slice of meat from her plate with her dagger.

Antillia pursed her lips in thought. “Well, I am now.” She drank from her wine glass and shuddered at the sharpness of it. “What do you think about the whole ‘tieflings vs goblins’ thing?”

Lae’zel shrugged an idle shoulder, “It doesn’t much matter, death is death.”

Wyll reached for Antillia’s empty plate and then for Karlach’s. “The tieflings deserve to live.”

“And the goblins don’t?” Antillia challenged. “Why is saving the tieflings the ‘good option’?”

Wyll rolled his eyes, “You know why.”

Antillia smiled as Wyll took away the plates, he was right, she did know. She got up and trailed to her tent, waving off her other campmates as they went to theirs. She picked up her pack, kicked through the flap and dropped down onto her bedroll with a thud. She quietly undressed but could hear a strange sound to her left, almost like splintering wood - which it was. The left side of her tent drooped and she cursed quietly. She heard a chuckle and she knew it was Astarion. “Fuck off.”

“Only when you get better at putting up your tent, darling.”

Antillia considered setting his tent on fire. Later that evening she stirred from her rest and her tired eyes caught Astarion leaving his tent and stalking off into the woods. She pulled her bedroll tight against her chin, her bones chilled.

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