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acourtofwhatthefuck · 2 years ago

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Practice On Me — Part Four — Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s Solstice! Reader decides she should probably be honest with Azriel about some stuff. Things don’t quite go to plan.

Oof. Okay. This could be uncomfortable reading for some. There are some hints and depictions of domestic abuse and also of alcoholism, so if that’s something that might trigger you, please, please do not read this. The last thing I want is for my writing to be harmful to anybody. Read with caution. Take care and put yourself first. Lots of love.

Also, please don’t hate me for this 😭we know I’m a hoe for angst and it wouldn’t be one of my fics if there wasn’t some sprinkled in there lmao.

Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Depiction of abusive behaviour. Heavy drinking. Some violence.

On a brisk winter morning, when the sun hasn’t yet graced the sky, the last place you wish to be is at the Windhaven crèche, watching over a group of tired, grouchy younglings. Every second thought that passes through your mind is a longing one, lamenting on how desperately you wish to be back in your bed.

But alas, you owe your friend, Vegha, a favour, making you the sole minder of ten restless little girls, all annoyed that their brothers get to join their fathers for training, while they have to stay back and be…girls. A downfall, according to most Illyrian males.

You’re supposed to be watching over them for a couple of hours while Vegha runs an errand. And that time is going very, very slowly.

You’re in the middle of reading a storybook — and, yes, doing all the voices — when the door opens behind you. You feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps Vegha is back earlier than planned, but when you swivel on the child-sized chair you’ve perched yourself on, it’s Azriel who looms in the doorway.

And you…your heart does a silly little thing in your chest.

“Don’t let me interrupt.” He says. “I can wait.”

Your eyebrows flick up in amusement. “Come take a seat, then. It’s story time.”

His lips twitch, and he goes to reach for one of those infant chairs — which you’re not at all sure can handle all his muscle — but this sparks a flurry of complaints from the girls, who all insist that they want to sit with Azriel the most, and within seconds, he’s cross-legged on the floor with the children somehow managing to settle around him without bickering, and they’re all able to command his attention at once.

Happy mediums, and all that.

Your gaze lingers on him as he does all the right things; leaning his head down so he can appear less…huge, while listening with rapt attention to one of the girl’s chattering; steadying another one as they climb over him to get themselves seated; gently telling them all that they have to be quiet if they want to hear the rest of the story. That, of course, achieves immediate near silence.

And thus begins an entire performance of you continuing the tale, and the girls — and Azriel — responding in all the right places. They howl when they’re supposed to make the sound of a wolf, and roar when it’s a mountain cat, and you don’t miss that Azriel helps the tiniest of the girls to remember which animals make what sounds.

Most males in this gods-forsaken place are an intimidating presence to these children, frightening them into silence whenever they’re around, because girls are supposed to be seen and not heard. But Azriel is always gentle, always kind, and they adore him for it.

It’s a combination of all these things that force you to face a truth that’s been rapidly snowballing inside your mind and heart for the past four days — something has changed. Shifted. Has been shifting and changing for a while.

You laid awake for hours that night in the dormitory, listening to Azriel’s breathing as he slept deeply, happily sated from the pleasure you’d given him. Your mind had been too much of a war zone for you to drift off.

Nine years, you’ve called this male your closest friend. Ever since the very first day you’d met him, when a group of males had pushed you to the floor and kicked mud at you, and he’d jumped in and defended you for no other reason than that he’s good to the bone. Nine years, you’ve been by each other’s sides, and it’s been comfortable and familiar and just…right.

But now — now, you think you may have jeopardised that all by going along with Azriel’s request for help. Help with kissing. Touching. Experiencing.

You’ll always want to help him in any way that you can, of course. But you didn’t quite anticipate the predicament you now find yourself in. That you want all of those things and more, not just under the ruse of building your friend’s confidence. You want to explore more with him, feel more with him. You’ve been able to think about nothing else for days.

And it might make you a total wretch, but you want Kaeda to be a distant memory. The thought of Azriel taking what you’ve shown him, shared with him, and putting his all into somebody else…it sours your stomach. Makes you feel sick.

Makes your heart hurt.

And, well, you’re fucked, really.

It’s a kind of hurt that won’t go away on its own. It isn’t avoidable nor ignorable. And so your only option is to confront it, be honest about it. Whatever the outcome may be.

The story comes to an end, and the girls are calmed and sleepy enough that they look ready to curl up on the floor and doze off. Azriel peels himself away from the cluster of clingy children and stands up, strolling over to you.

“Well that was fun.” He comments quietly, taking the book from your hands. “Who knew I was so adept at doing animal impressions?”

“One of your many talents, I suppose.” You smile, drinking in the sight of him. He looks tired this morning. Tired, but beautiful. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His expression sobers slightly, and he tells you, “We’re leaving this morning. For the training exercise.”

Immediately, your stomach churns. Being away from your friends sets you on edge. Windhaven is a lonely, lonely place to be without the love of Rhys, Cassian and Azriel to warm you. And not even Rhys’s mother is here to make it a little more bearable.

Az immediately recognises the bleakness that passes your face. He steps closer, his hand a gentle brush against yours. “I’ll be back for Solstice.” He reminds you yet again.

“I know.” You attempt to force an easy, breezing smile. “What’s the plan for Solstice, anyway?”

Normally, Rhysand’s mother would cook a meal in the cottage. You wouldn’t be able to attend, given that you’re always stuck at home with your father, but by the time he would pass out drunk, you’d sneak out and make it to the cottage just as the games were starting. Some of your happiest memories are of being curled up on one couch with Az, Rhys and his mother on the other, and Cassian stood in front of you, making a terrible attempt at playing charades.

But it’ll be different this year. With the High Lord keeping a tight leash on his pregnant mate in Velaris, there will be no meal, no charades. You, Azriel and Cassian would most certainly not be welcome at their intimate family celebration.

“Rhys will spend the day in Velaris.” Az tells you. “Cass and I will be getting drunk. There’s a celebration being held at the dormitories in the evening, so I suppose we’ll all end up there.”

You dip your chin. “I’ll come and find you there, then.”

His responding smile is a gentle one; one that says he sees right through you, right through to the panic that’s eating away at you, and he understands.

There’s no way he sees everything that you’re feeling, though. Perhaps that’s a good thing.

Your body goes slightly rigid as he dips down and presses a kiss to your forehead. His hand squeezes yours, and then he’s pulling away. “See you on Solstice.”

He bids a quiet goodbye to the dozing girls. It’s as he’s heading for the door that you find yourself stepping after him. “…Az?”

He turns, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“There’s…something I need to talk to you about, when you get back. Something I need to tell you.”

Okay. Shit. You’re really doing this.

Azriel’s eyes rake over you, and then he smiles. “We’ll talk on Solstice.”

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Your head’s not all there today, as you stare out of the window of your father’s forge. Azriel and the others have been gone almost a week, and you’ve spent every one of those days thinking about how you’re going to tell him…whatever it is you’re going to tell him.

You’re not even certain, yourself.

Just that…that things are different. That you know, to begin with, that this was about him and Kaeda — but it’s shifted in your brain at an alarming rate, and now that you’ve shared something so…so meaningful, with him, you’re not sure you can go on acting as though it was all just a favour.

Yeah. That should do it.

And it’s a huge fucking risk, of course. There’s every chance he won’t return the sentiment, and then a giant wedge of unresolved feelings will exist between you.

But you need to — perhaps selfishly — confront this before things between him and Kaeda progress. In case there’s a slight chance that it’ll alter the path it’s heading down.

And you haven’t thought any further than that.

The snow has started again, and you watch the flurries sweep past the window and join the thick layer on the ground. You’ve become so accustomed to the noise of the forge that you hardly notice it anymore — not the constant clanking, nor the heat that the fires swathe the shop in. You used to beg your father to teach you his craft, to allow you to get stuck in and get your hands dirty, but he’s always stubbornly maintained that it’s a male’s job, and that he needs you for the bookkeeping. You’re surprised he trusts you with that.

You breathe a soft sigh, your thoughts once again flitting back to Az. To what he might be doing, thinking, feeling. Whether he misses you as much as you miss him.

But before those thoughts can take a hold of you and sink you deeper into your predicament, the door opens, the bell above it ringing and a gust of cold air momentarily biting you.

It’s rare for females to come to the forge. Very rare, indeed. Which is why, for a second or two, you just stare.

That — and because she’s incredibly beautiful.

Her eyes — the colour of emeralds — sweep the workshop, before landing on you, and she smiles. She has the telltale tanned skin of an Illyrian, but instead of the dark hair that’s so typical around here, hers is red — not orange, not auburn, but blood red. You’ve never seen a shade quite like it.

And if that’s not enough to completely bowl you over, your gaze rakes over her clothing, and you stop, stunned.

Females around here wear homespun dresses of simple brown shades. A few, like yourself, favour basic tunics and breeches. Clothing is just a necessity, not something you lend much thought to.

But this female wears Illyrian leathers. Never, in your life, have you seen females wear Illyrian leathers. It’s simply not a done thing.

But she looks resplendent in them.

They cling to supple curves and accentuate a figure that you don’t think you’d ever be able to achieve with any amount of training. And perhaps the most shocking thing of all — and the most enviable — is the presence of brilliant, beautiful wings at her back. Unclipped. Untouched. Unruined.

How your wings might have one day looked, had your father not destroyed them.

You’re not entirely convinced that an angel hasn’t just stepped into your father’s forge. Or perhaps this is the Mother that everyone worships. Part of you wants to worship her, too, and beg her to bestow upon you her blessings—

You snap yourself out of it before you can fall head-over-heels in love with her. She’s just a customer.

A very, very beautiful customer.

“Good day to you.” She says, approaching the counter. Her voice is like pure music.

You incline your head in greeting. “And to you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m interested in having some gifts made for my father and brothers. For Solstice.”

Once again, you’re gawking.

Another thing that’s unheard of; females liking their family members enough to have gifts made for them.

You clear your throat, blinking out of your thoughts. “What…what kind of things were you looking for?”

“Personalised daggers.” She answers, and then she grins in a way that makes you want to tell her your life story, and leans closer. “A male can never have too many daggers, right?”

You breathe a laugh. It doesn’t sound natural. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll be needing three. One for my father, and one each for my two brothers. Can that be done in time for Solstice? I can pay extra…”

This female has beauty, leathers, wings, a relationship with her family members, money. She’s magnificent. A few exchanged words, and you’re awed by her.

Who is she? How have you never seen her before?

“It can be done.” You tell her with a flustered smile. “I’ll just need to sit with you and get some details of exactly what you want made, and then my father will get straight to it. I imagine they’ll be ready for collection by Solstice Eve.”

Her eyes light up in a way that reminds you of sunrise. “That’s perfect.”

There’s a second or two where you just…can’t help staring. Her beauty has knocked you speechless.

But once again, you snap yourself out of it and try to retain some semblance of professionalism.

“Can I take your name down?” You say, and clear your throat again. Gods, you hope you’re not blushing. “For the order.”

You grab a piece of parchment and a pen, hoping you’ll remember how the fuck to write.

“It’s Kaeda.” She says, and the pen nearly slips from your hand. “Kaeda Baralas.”

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Solstice morning sweeps in just as abruptly as the fresh onslaught of snow that once again batters the camp.

It’s going to be a rough one. You can feel it in your bones.

You dread it every year, but this year is made even worse by the constant stream of thoughts that have been plaguing you over the last week. About whether telling Az about your feelings is a good idea. Not just because of what it could do to your friendship, but because…

Because you can’t deny that since seeing Kaeda in the flesh, you’re doubting yourself more than ever.

Of course, you can see why Azriel would want her. And why he’d want to be good and experienced for her. And you…you’ve been facilitating that. You’re the practice dummy. Kaeda is the real thing.

At least the chaos of Solstice keeps you busy.

You wake early, and from the noise and foot traffic outside your bedroom window, you know Az’s unit has safely returned from their training exercise. Your relief is short-lived, replaced by the dread of your father hitting the bottle.

Every year is the same. You spend the day trying to focus on your preparation of the huge meal you’re expected to cook, while your father knocks back drink after drink and gradually gets rowdier. You tell yourself that the more he drinks, the better — he’ll fall asleep eventually, and you’ll be out of here.

But then the front door bursts open.

It’s four of your father’s friends who pile into your cramped home, singing at the tops of their voices and reeking of booze. You’re only just able to stop one of them knocking a pot of potatoes off the counter with a careless, wayward wing. They barely acknowledge you, filing through to the sitting room to greet your father. Their voices get louder, and an ache is building behind your eye.

Day bleeds into late afternoon. You try to ignore them, to focus on the task at hand. Cooking is usually enjoyable for you, but with an unwelcome party happening in the next room, you find yourself getting more and more stressed.

By the time your father bustles his way into the kitchen and begins sniffing around the food, you’re close to losing it.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Your father rudely demands.

You stare out of the kitchen window, at the dwindling light of approaching evening, clenching your jaw. “It is. I’m waiting for your friends to leave.”

“They’ll be eating with us.”

You whirl on the spot. “We don’t have enough food for that.”

“I told you we’d have guests.”

No, he absolutely hadn’t. This is a power play. He does shit like this all the time. Backs you into corners.

“I bought food for two people.” You snap, unable to stop yourself. “Not six.”

Your father’s nostrils flare. You know that look on his face a little too well — the one where his cheeks redden and his eyes turn cold. It’s always, always made your stomach lurch.

He steps closer, and you press your back against the counter, trying your utmost not to look intimidated.

“You’d better rectify that, hadn’t you?” His tone is deceptively gentle. “Be a good girl and find a way to make the food go around six people. You wouldn’t want to ruin Solstice.”

It’s a veiled threat. One you’d be wise not to ignore.

So you stare at him and he stares at you. And when he eventually nods and leaves the room, you turn and try to work out how to make a meal for two a meal for six.

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The mountain of a male beside you jostles your chair so violently that you almost fall out of it.

His hand grabs a roast potato from your plate. He shoves it into his mouth, chews, and grins. “You weren’t going to eat that, were you?”

The entire meal has been like this.

Perhaps it’s your ice-thin temper that has you staring him right in the eye; a thing many Illyrian males consider a great disrespect from females. “Would it matter if I was?”

He swallows and swipes the lone, remaining potato you hadn’t planned to touch. “Not really, no.”

The dinner is usually the only part you enjoy of Solstice. A meal that you spend hours perfecting, of slow-cooked meat and roasted potatoes and a colourful array of different vegetables that are cooked to perfection. It’s the one part of the day where you can just sit and breathe, because even your father doesn’t usually have a bad word to say about the meal you’ve presented.

This one has been pure, unadulterated hell.

To accommodate your unwanted guests, you’ve skimped on your own food, barely affording yourself a couple of mouthfuls. Wine and ale has been spilled across the table, and the conversation around it has only grown more and more uncomfortable — and vile — as the night has worn on. You want nothing more than to get out of here and find your friends, but your father and his cronies show no signs of slowing down.

You sit, staring emptily at the plates, the little remaining morsels of the meal you spent all day cooking. You try to block out the laughter and jeering, the disgusting comments, the blatant disrespect, but it’s all getting to you, riling you up. You’re not sure how long you’ll last without snapping.

Your answer comes when your father looks at you. And he snaps his fucking fingers at the finished plates.

“Clear this up, Y/N.” He says.

You know your father. You know what he can be like, the damage he can do. Your ruined back is evidence enough. And you know the wisest and safest thing is for you to comply and rant about him to your friends later.

But you’re far beyond that point.

You meet his gaze, and your jaw ticks as you shoot back, “Why don’t you clear it up yourself?”

You regret it the second the room falls deathly silent. All the noise is gone in an instant. Every face is looking your way.

But it’s your father’s face you’re concerned with. The expression that tells you you’ve made a grave, grave mistake.

“What was that?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You look away. Wish you could cram the words back down your throat. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” The male beside you sneers. “You speak to your father like that, girl? If you were my child, I’d string you up by the remains of those wings you never should have been born with.”

“I’d do a lot worse than that.” Another one remarks, a sickening laugh in his voice.

Throughout it all, your father is staring at you. Saying nothing.

“Did it hurt, anyway? Having them ripped off like that? I bet it did. I hope it did.”

Your final straw is when the pig at your side has the audacity to reach around and touch your back. You tense immediately, and you’re shooting up from your chair, knocking it over as you do.

“Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.” You will your voice to be stronger, firmer, but it won’t comply. You shake as you gather the plates up in your hand. “I’m cleaning this up.”

That’s met with a chorus of laughter, a pelting of comments. You tell yourself to block it out, block it the fuck out, balance as much as you reasonably can in your hands and book it into the kitchen. You dump the plates onto the counter and grip onto the sink basin, trying to draw in deep, slow breaths.

But then there are footsteps behind you. And the kitchen door closes. And you know that’s not good.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes shutter. You release one of those useless breaths before you dare to turn and face your father.

And when you do, his face is…soft. Eyes filled with concern.

But you’re not stupid enough to buy it.

You’re taut as a bowstring as he approaches you, stopping inches away. He drinks in the sight of you, tilting his head. You wait for him to tell you that you look just like your mother — a fact that only contributes to his vitriol. As if it’s your fault that she abandoned him, abandoned both of you.

He thinks it is.

His hand touches your cheek, his thumb sweeping the skin there. You swallow, hoping he can’t feel the way you tremble beneath him.

“What’s gotten into you, my girl?” He asks quietly. “What did I say about not ruining Solstice?”

You swallow. Lower your gaze. “I thought it would just be the two of us.”

“Do I not have the right to invite my friends into my home?”

“I’m just saying that a little bit of warning would have been appreciated. I didn’t spend hours cooking a meal just for your friends to come along and ruin it.”

“Your attitude has become insufferable. Perhaps it’s those three males you’ve been spreading your legs for. Giving you too much of an ego boost.”

You almost want to laugh in his face — laugh at his cluelessness. But your anger wins. Maybe you’re more like him than you ever thought.

“Or perhaps, father,” you snap, “it’s an accumulation of anger and desperation after twenty years of living with a repulsive, sanctimonious—”

He strikes you so hard that for a moment, you’re simply stunned as to why you’re suddenly on the floor. But the thwack of his hit rings in your ears, echoes through the kitchen.

And then the metallic taste of blood is coating the inside of your mouth. It’s streaming down your chin, and you’re not even sure where it’s all coming from, only that it hurts and your eyes are stinging.

Your father stares down at you. And in that moment, you realise that the eeriest thing of all is that he never glares at you. You think you’d prefer that.

He always stares with that emptiness. That icy vacancy. It makes his actions more unpredictable, more dangerous.

He lunges down so suddenly that you flinch, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. Your legs don’t want to comply as he shoves you towards the door.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” He hisses at you, ripping the door open. “Go on. Fuck off, just like your mother did.”

And then he’s shoving you into the snow, a plume of it erupting around you. You hardly notice the cold. You’re too stunned.

Not stunned enough, though, to refrain from biting back at him. Just like a threatened animal would.

“Fuck you.” You sneer, the words contorted by a mouthful of blood that you spit onto the snow. “Fuck you, father.”

The bastard laughs in your face. Just as he’s always laughed in your face. And then he kicks snow at you because he can and steps back into the house.

When the door shuts behind him, you push to your feet. You’re trembling all over. It might be the cold. It might be the shock.

There’s only one person you want to see right now. So you wrap your arms around yourself and head towards the dormitories.

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Halfway through trudging across the camp, your shoes sodden with snow, your lip still bleeding, the emotions begin to hit.

You resent them. You resent feeling anything at all towards the male who is your only blood relative in this hollow, hollow place. The one who took your wings. The one who has tried to keep a firm grasp on the control he has over your life.

But you do feel things. Hurt and rage and humiliation and — bizarrely — betrayal. As if some small slither of hope had followed you from childhood into adulthood — that your father would one day miraculously awaken as a different person. A family member worth holding onto.

He never would.

No, your true family has always been the small, loving group that crams themselves into a cottage across the camp; a place of warmth and welcoming.

Rhysand and Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand’s mother, too. They are your family. They have always cared, since the moment you met them.

It’s for that reason that you persevere with your walk, even though you’re frozen to the bone. You think you might be crying. You’re not too sure anymore. Your friends will make it better. They always make it better.

The dormitories glow in the distance; a welcome sight, for once. You kick through the snow with desperation, and you’re definitely crying, definitely shaking all over, but the sounds of the celebrations coming from inside are a relief. Playful jeering and someone strumming a lute and off-kilter singing.

You push your way through the door. Inside is as crowded as you expect it to be, but you don’t even care. Anywhere is better than at home.

Your eyes — not really taking in much at all — scan the corridors, the common area, looking for any of your three closest friends. You see none of them, but a hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to find Vegha there. Her eyes widen immediately at the state of you. You dread to think how bad you look.

“Y/N, what the fuck?” She blurts. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Fell over.” You know how stupid it sounds. “I…I need to find Azriel. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I think he skulked off to his room a little while ago. Everyone knows he hates big parties like this—”

Perfect. You’ll hole up in his room together and block the rest of the world out. You’re already turning and pushing through people. You’ll apologise to Vegha for your rudeness later. Right now, you just need Azriel’s comfort, his love. The conversation you planned to have with him tonight is now a distant memory, an issue to confront later. You just…just want him. He always makes everything better.

You don’t notice the drink that gets spilled on you, or the disgruntled groups of people you have to shove through. None of that matters. Azriel is your family. He matters.

Finally, you make it to his room. The soft glow of faelights shine beneath the door — an indication he’s inside. You almost sob with relief as you grab the handle and burst in.

Two faces immediately look round at you.

Azriel’s.

Kaeda’s.

Kaeda lies on top of him, hands either side of his head. Her lips are swollen and inches from his. Azriel is palming at her waist, holding her against him. They’re both fully clothed, but…but you get the sense they wouldn’t have been for much longer, had it not been for your interruption.

Azriel drinks in the sight of you, his chest heaving. He blinks. You…you’re rooted to the spot.

And you fucking wince as Kaeda sits up slightly. Az’s hands fall back to his sides.

The beautiful female eyes you, tilting her head. And you want to get out of there, to fucking run, but you can’t do anything but stand and blink as something shatters inside of you.

“The shop hand from the forge.” Kaeda states in surprise, as if it’s ludicrous to consider that you might sometimes venture outside of your father’s workshop. “What happened to your face?”

Azriel is finally springing into action, then, sitting up and scooting out from beneath Kaeda. “Y/N…”

You cannot bear the gentleness of his voice. It may just finish you off.

All of this might. Staying here a second longer might.

So you, for some reason, shake your head and back slowly out of the room. Azriel lurches up, but you’re grabbing hold of the door handle firmly.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Your voice is all wrong and fractured. You quickly shut the door before it can morph into a sob.

You think Azriel might call after you, but it’s probably wishful thinking. You don’t know. Don’t know anything. Don’t know what to do next.

So you simply walk away.

You suppose you’ve taught Azriel everything he needs to know.

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pursuitseternal · 9 months ago

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“I wanted to hear you whimper…” ✨Update to “Bites in the Night”✨

Act 1 Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3K

Summary: After fighting your way out of the Githyanki Crèche, your vampire has a raging… ego. And you need to check it, to remind him his place… and to hear him whimper.

CW: Subby Astarion, Whimper alert, mild bondage, inappropriate use of grasping vines, begging, brat taming, face sitting, anal fingering, oral sex

Ao3 link | series on ao3 | Masterlist

“Well…” he purrs, that aspirate ‘h’ somewhere in the middle of the word making you bristle with irritation. “I thought they’d never leave…” Astarion grins, spattered in Githyanki blood as he casually licks his blade clean.

He’s the image of cool and collected… as if you all didn’t just fight your way out of the entire Crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. As if Gale didn’t almost die three times and as if you didn’t get your favorite weapons disarmed from your hands twice. “Leave?” you snap at him. “They’re dead!”

Astarion sheathes his blade and starts to suck the blood clean from under his fingernails. “Seems hardly a difference worth fighting over, darling. Same result.”

“No, it’s a result of your big… fat… mouth,” you snip the words, closing the distance to poke him in the leather armored chest with every word. “And you defaced their painting of Vlakith! You’re lucky your undead guts aren’t being used for training targets.”

Astarion just gives that same conceited, shit-eating grin. “My guts are perfectly fine. Theirs are spread on the ground… and, since you seem in a feisty mood…” he leans in close to purr in your ear, “perhaps you’d like your guts rearranged, dear?”

“Ugh!” you gag in disgust at the suggestion. “You arsehole. You should be apologizing for that smart mouth of yours.”

“Darling, I rarely apologize, and I never do when I’m in the right. Thanks to me, we can leave this mausoleum.” He comments with a flick of his wrist, ignoring your enraged glare and heading for camp.

That’s when something snaps inside you. The other companions are already well up the trail from the Monastery. And, by now, when you and Astarion disappear, they know better than to come looking… and Shadowheart usually has her hands already glowing with Lesser Restoration. A nice treat for after feeling the blood loss on your end of your trysts.

But not this time.

“You’re a proper bastard, aren’t you?” you hiss at him, heart racing with the need to fight.

But he just flashes you that cool, collective seductive smile. “Such a mean spirit, you wouldn’t want me to have to teach you some manners… would you?” His lean frame crowds you, one arm reaching to cage you in against the tree behind you. “I’m feeling rather good right now… all that Githyanki blood has given me quite the raging… affliction. I could use your help…” his eyes flash dangerously seductive as he grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his clothed erection.

Tearing your hand away, you cuss at him. “Fucking arrogant Elf,” you hiss, grabbing him by the top of his flushed and pointed ear. “You’re going to learn manners, not me!”

Astarion crumples between your pinching fingers. Knees buckling, voice cracking, eyes tearing… you’d think you had kicked him in the balls with how pathetically he’s reacting now. “Ow, ow, ow,” he whines as you drag him off the path into the sunny woods of the Mountain Path.

You have to reach high to grab it, that pink tip of his ear, but the ache in your shoulder is worth it for how he instantly cows to you. He’s sputtering curses and calling you names, but it’s hard to take them seriously as his voice breaks with shrill whines.

Like a boy in puberty, every word cracks in his voice.

“Cheeky little… argh!” He squeals as you squeeze harder, making his feet stumble. Just in time. You find what you’re looking for.

Grasping vines, a nice little patch.

“You, my vampire, have been insufferable long enough today. Apologize,” you command.

He scoffs, trying to reach for your punishing fingers on his most tender of spots. “I won’t apologize for killing our enemies in battle. They had it coming, those Gith…”

“Hmmm, guess what, my dear,” you cup his bloodied cheek with your free hand, bringing him in for a kiss. His lips tremble against yours, his ear is still nabbed tightly in your grip, after all. You whisper in delicate and threatening tones against his mouth. “Now you’ve got your own thing coming as a result.”

He gasps, cool breath on your face as you guide him to the ground by his ear. “Hands above your head, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll even let you come.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarls, trying to jerk his ear free as he lies in the grass and dirt, but the pain only makes him hiss and relent as you hold fast.

“Oh I dare, Astarion. I dare because you’re being an obnoxious, unbearable… louse!”

“I think you mean leech,” he tries to giggle, a snap of his fangs beneath you. “I have more in common with leeches.”

Your withering glare gives him just enough pause, those hard lines of his eyes softening, gaze widening as he realizes you aren’t joking.

“Hands above your head, leech,” you give your icy command.

Those elegant hands move in obedience, slender, skilled digits twitching slightly as they extend across the forest floor until…

…with a creaking groan, the grasping vines do their job, locking his wrists and upper arms neatly in place.

“Wretched hells, you have to be joking,” he growls, fighting against the vines as anger flares in those crimson eyes. “You have got to be joking, darling.”

“Serious as death itself,” you smirk down at him. “Now all you can use is your smart mouth, and until you apologize, I’m going to give it something to do.

You pull off your leather armor and underthings slowly. A smile turns your lips as you watch Astarion try to slip his hand from the vines unsuccessfully. A sweat is dotting his brow, eyes roam your exposed skin and follow your hand to where your fingers slide themselves to bury into your own cunt.

His fangs catch in the patches of sunlight through the canopy. Pupils blown wide, he watches your hand, his pink tongue wetting his lips at the sight. It doesn’t take any effort to perceive the prodding, twitching erection in his leathers. “Are you going to apologize for being a proper twat?”

“As I demonstrated today with our Gith friends, I’m not one to back down from a fight… darling….”

Oh, that smug grin on his face, that tongue teasing the corner of his mouth… you want to smack it from his handsome face, you want to… to…

You step over him. Feet framing his chest, you lower yourself to your knees, fingers parting your folds to show his hungry eyes your swollen little clit. “If you insist on being a cunt, you can taste mine…”

He smirks wider, purring and stretching beneath you. Proud of himself. “Oh darling, I…”

The groan that comes from your mouth as you cover him with your folds is so loud, birds startle from the trees. You grind, slow rolls that push his prominent, aquiline nose right against your aching clit. Finally, that tongue that has caused you nothing but trouble today is put to good use as it thrusts in and circles around your channel. His laughter tickles up your spine from your sex, and you can almost feel his self-satisfaction as you positively drench his face.

But this is supposed to be retribution. A lesson to tame his brat behavior. So you grab a fist of his perfect, blood-streaked silver hair and yank. “Mmmph,” he whines loudly into your folds. Desperation and pain. It’s high pitched, pitiful. And you shake him a bit, your breathing ragged from being driven so close to your release already.

“This isn’t for you, Astarion, it’s for me,” you snap, watching the twinkle of mischief flash in those crimson depths. “You’ve been naughty… intolerable. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Oh I quake in my boots,” he thrusts his hips up behind you into the air, miming what pleasures await. “I’m all a-quiver with fear,” he sniggers.

You fist your hand tighter in his hair until he hisses and whines that you’ll ruin it. “Just remember, it’s a good thing you don’t need to breathe.”

Those eyes widen at your implied threat as you sit firmly on his mouth and nose and chin. His skin already slick with your arousal, he works his head and tongue inside your folds for far longer than any mortal would survive. You grind slowly, careful not to let in too much air, savoring all the friction he can give you.

And he… he knows his duty. All fangs and tongue and lips as you roll your clit on his nose. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your pulse thumping in your ears now, no longer from rage but from hot, desperate arousal. “I’m close,” you gasp, and you know he hears you as his pointed ears twitch. “Make me come, and I just might let you, too.” You give a low, threatening laugh, “eventually that is.”

That’s when you feel it on your clit, his face sliding in your folds as he catches your bud in his front, blunted teeth and nips.

You groan, voice breaking in a scream as you come around nothing. Holding yourself up with your fist in his hair, you can’t just let yourself pitch forward or you’ll end up in the vines too. So you shake in your bliss, braced against his face and scalp as your tremors wrack through you.

Raising up, you move to kneel beside him, pulling out a rag from your bag of holding to wipe his face off.

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, even after you’ve come. Isn’t that right, darling?” He gives you that arrogant asshole of a smirk, and you mirror it. Slowly, you pop open the fastening of that blue and burgundy leather armor until his cream undershirt lies damp against his skin. You can feel his belly clenching under your feather light touch, watching it rise and fall with ragged breaths.

As your hand brushes gingerly over the rock hard bulge in his leathers, he hisses, a low giggle of a laugh in his throat. “I’ve made you feel good, haven’t I? I think I deserve a treat,” he sasses you, another roll of his hips to push his erection against your palm.

But you’re not done, and you give his cock a punishing squeeze through his leathers. “Hush,” you snap. You reach into your bag again, pulling out an eagle feather and a bottle of oil. “Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open your mouth to do one of two things: apologize….” You lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips, “or beg.”

He laughs, catching you off guard as he bites your lips until you taste blood. “You know by now, I never beg,” he growls, pride dripping from his words.

“First time for everything,” you hiss, pulling your mouth out of his reach and licking your blood from your lips. Reaching for the feather, you tickle it over the sharp, mouthwatering line of his jaw. “We’ll start with something soft, I think…” Just that downy tip traces the lines of his chest, the chiseled muscles underneath flex and constrict as his belly clenches.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his breathing light and rapid. You hear his hands straining against the vines, their growth creaking as he fights for freedom. “Mmhm,” you hear him whine, that feather tracing the line of his waistband as his cock remains twitching.

Untouched.

His eyes are blown, pupils wide and dark as his body undulates under your teasing touch.

“I think I heard you speak, but not to apologize or beg…” you taunt, leaning over him, setting aside the feather in favor of a single finger. Your isolated touch trails the same pattern, those ridges of his abdominals are a map you know by heart now. “So you’ll have to suffer having me touch you like this ‘til you ask nicely…”

Your finger wanders to his hips, just brushing the outline of his cock. He bucks into nothingness, into open air… his breathing rough, his belly rapidly rising and clenching repeatedly. “Eugh,” he whines, your finger tracing that prominent ridge at the base of his cock head.

“Ready to apologize or beg?” you lean down to whisper in his ear, but by the way his fang bites his bottom lip, you can see he’s still clinging too tightly to that insufferable pride.

“Neither,” he says bravely, but the sensation of your hand reaching into his leathers makes an open-mouth whine rip from his mouth. You force your hand into that waistband. It’s snug, especially with how hard he’s gotten. And all you have room to do is squeeze, pulsing your fist around his shaft. You can feel the slow thump of his undead heart in his dick, so hard and so aroused as he is. “Hells… fuck… damn you…” he whines something new with every squeeze you give him.

“Just say ‘sorry,’ or ‘please,’ and all this can go much faster,” you taunt, a singsong in your voice as you release him to unlace his pants. He just gives a pathetic sigh as his cock is freed. You know it aches. All that blood from the Gith, all your teasing has made him flushed and hard and leaking precum profusely. His crimson eyes stare at your lips as you lick them, his whole world narrowed to their wet promise of release and the aching tingle in his cock. It takes a second to shimmy his leathers to the tops of his boots and to uncork the bottle of oil.

A generous amount on your hands and you smile at him. “Come on, you rascal. After all the trouble you caused, don’t you feel the least bit sorry?”

His fangs bite his lower lip tighter again, the sharp lines of his face set, determined to prevail.

Your mouth quirks to one side, hand wandering a single oily finger up his taut thigh, then between those pert ass cheeks of his.

His voice cracks in a whimper, fangs piercing into his own skin as you tease one, single finger around the tight ring of his hole. He tries so hard to snarl, to buck his hips as if he has any control. His cock just juts into the air, twitching and leaking, as you tease inside that ring of muscle just a little more… and more. The oil helps to slide your finger in, just the one digit you thrust in and out. He voices his rapid breathing, quick fire noises that sound so pathetic from his throat, you’re almost tempted to give in and bring him the sweet release you both crave.

“By the hells,” he opens his mouth, whining like a child, “you’re going to really make me pay for just being myself, aren’t you?”

“And just who do you think you are?” You snigger, all those feelings of sympathy evaporate, and suddenly you have two fingers knuckle deep in his ass. Jamming them in slowly, you crook over and over until you find that spot inside him that makes him shudder and writhe. “Ha… huh…” he’s huffing with each stroke you make inside him. “P….p….”

“Is that a ‘p-p-please’ that’s starting to finally form on your irritating tongue?” you chide him, pressing your lips on the spasming plane of his belly even as your fingers fuck him. “And don’t fool yourself, I’m making you pay not because you’re insufferable… or mischievous… or down right maliciously cruel…”

Your fingers continue their torture in his tight walls. Another kiss on his stomach, a flick of your tongue below his navel and more along those deep v cut grooves over his hips, and you hear the most divine noises from his lips. “Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this to show you your place… to remind you, you need to be a member of my party… and just because I want to hear you whimper.” You lower your mouth, his eyes almost black with lust as they stare at you. He watches you lick your lips slowly only to just breathe warm, damp air on his cock. He grunts, fangs and teeth grit as it jerks widely from the promise of contact. “Beg for me, dear…”

You can hear his little swallowed growls in time with your fingers that are still thrusting inside him.

“Beg for me to let you come…”

His breathing comes in rapid succession, hissing between his clenching teeth. Until… finally… he opens them for a single word. “Please…”

But you just laugh, low and rough in your throat. “Louder, you proud, arrogant bastard.”

“Hells, just…. Fuck me… please!” He finally breaks, voice high and breathless as he bucks his hips into the air closer to your face. A desperate attempt at contact. Any contact.

You stick out your tongue, a teasing lick up the underside of his shaft to clean the mess of precum that’s positively dripping in streams. His cock twitches away from your tongue, a mind of its own. And you laugh, letting your lips and throat vibrate as you slowly suckle him down. Your fingers prod just right, and those warm, tight muscles inside him pulse and tighten… until his cum fills your mouth. He erupts with the most pathetic sounds yet… all rapid whines that crack his voice box until he can only grunt in time with his cock spasms. He fills you; the taste is familiar, but his seed is strangely warm on your tongue. Perhaps it’s from positively gorging himself today. Maybe that’s one thing that you could enjoy because of his arrogance. You smile as you swallow, savoring the look on his sweaty face. You pull your oiled fingers free, cleaning you both with a rag.

“Still feeling like a brat?” You taunt him, as you wipe his softening cock.

“I’m hardly ever a brat, darling…”

You scoff, throwing the rag on his face. “Maybe I should leave you like this until the vines decide they’re tired of your attitude too.”

“Gods, no, please,” he adds quickly. And you just smile down at him, naked and triumphant as you say two more words…

“Good boy.”

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fascinationstreetmp3 · 2 years ago

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"Githyanki are hatched in crèches all throughout Realmspace. K'liir is one of many. It's there I first saw a kith'rak mount a red dragon. Where I slit my cousins' throats at the varsh's command."

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3edit #gamingedit #videogameedit #gamingladiesedit #videogamewomen #lae'zel #*#she's so pookie here

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happysparklingshadows · 1 year ago

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𝙱𝙶𝟹 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚜-𝚂𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝙼𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚢! 𝚃𝚊𝚟

Note: some spoilers for Act 2 and Act 3 of the game. Some mentions of smut but mostly fluff.

Lae’zel

-When Lae’zel first met you, she didn’t notice your body too much outside of usefulness. At first, she had her sword your throat, and then when you fought together, she noticed your swiftness and cunning. Once she could be around you more, she started to notice. Women where she is from don't come so curvy or lush by any means. She is fascinated by the way your body curves and jiggles. The big breasts and hips were very new to her, and at first, she rejected the fact she liked such an alien look on a person. I mean, it’s ridiculous? But like most people who reject what they want the most, she couldn’t help but obsess with your body. She wanted to conquer this obsession before it distracted her.

-Lae’zel isn’t one to be gently parented; she is firm and doesn’t listen to things that don’t make her stand at attention. Mommy Tav, I feel they need to be stern in some ways with her. A firm “No, Lae’zel.” is like a commander's word to her if it comes from you, but you must have earned that right to speak to her like that.

-She isn’t one for open affection or love. It was ingrained in her that it is weak and needless for a warrior. She at first finds that helping people without benefit to yourself is aimless and indulgence of your time. It annoyed her and made her eyes roll often behind your back when you talked to these random helpless creatures running around. But slowly, over time, especially after she turns her back on Vlaakith, she noticed the strength underneath all your fussing and helpfulness. You wanted to help people because you could. You did it just because you could, and you wanted to, and you would kill anyone who got in your way. The way you smiled with bright eyes at a child were the same eyes that happily killed goblins that caused their pain, and you would be damned if you wouldn’t make them happy and safe. Lae’zel grows to understand this mothering energy from you. She thought the way people of this plane were disgusting for how they reproduced and thought it odd how needy people were for their parents, but she learns why it was so hard to leave such a warm embrace.

-Lae’zel doesn’t mean to be mean, and she doesn’t understand sometimes when her words cut more than usual. She was raised to cut others with words like blades, so when your eyes flash with surprise and hurt when she says something, it makes her feel horrible. She would never admit guilt, but she does try her best. She is annoyed by herself for hurting you and even more annoyed that she cares about you.

-The annoyance doesn’t last long, though. It almost melted as your hands touched Lae’zel’s shoulder softly when she did well in battle, or the way you smiled at her when she talked about her studies in crèche K'liir, or the way you always seemed to have food for her to eat on the road. She wasn’t dense enough not to notice how you care about her, even when she is being mean and doesn’t know how to feel about it. It confused her, and it made her feel nervous.

-Lae’zel is swift with claiming you. She knew she wanted to taste you and be your lay, but she couldn’t handle the possessiveness that overcame her at the thought someone else could have you. Your sweet hands touch someone else, soothing them as they do her? How soft you were was for her alone. She isn’t very soft in many ways but feels soft with you.

-Lae’zel is beyond protective over you. Her hand is on her sword if someone speaks to you in a tone she doesn’t like. She would have their eyes dug out with her thumbs if she thought you would look at her with those warm eyes and be pleased with her.

-Lae’zel realizes being with you that she has had a hunger her whole life. A hunger for acceptance and unconditional love, she chased it from Valakath since the time she hatched. She found it with you. With her head in the crook of your neck and soft body pressed against her lean body, she feels a warmth that has thawed more parts of herself than any accomplishment for Valakath could.

-She doesn’t like most of the food she is given. No fault of your own, but it isn’t what she is used to expecting. But she loves apple pies and spiced meats, and her eyes sparkle when she sees you near the hearth cooking. Her ears quirked up as she heard the hissing meat in the pan. She intensely stares you down before hovering over your cooking. She is like a cat who likes to be in your way. She just wants to observe and be a part of it, even if she isn’t doing anything but watching you.

-She gives a sharp “chk” when you kiss her bandaged wound you dressed, and she moves away from you when you do that. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel so weak at how good it feels. You just chuckle, knowing at this point of your relationship that she isn’t rejecting you, and say, “Well, when it heals faster, you will not be so against it, my champion.”. And after that point, she would expect you to bandage her wounds and kiss them each time.

-Lae’zel needs guidance and patience, as well as a teacher. She needs someone to educate her on this plane and how to act in certain situations on this plane that doesn’t end with bloodshed. But she needs someone who doesn’t hate her for being reckless and violent that she is.

-Lae’zel takes some time to learn how to love and be loved, but for a soft mothering person, that isn’t very hard to be patient with her. She learns from example the easiest, and that love is as warm and fulfilling as killing, if not more so.

-Lae’zel was beyond happy when Xan was hatched, and she couldn’t think of someone better than the source of her joy to co-parent with her. Lae’zel gives off avoidant Midwest dad vibes that are really focused on teaching Xan to fight and giving him the discipline to achieve anything he longs for. It eases her that Xan doesn’t have to be beaten into a ridged warrior like she did because he is loved like the children of Faerün. With kisses and hugs, soothing words for laughing, and tickles for cheekiness. In a different life, she would have scoffed and killed you for treating a gith with such tenderness to ruin his resolve at such a young age, but now with you at an inn together. She can only bring herself to chuckle at the scene of Xan wiggling in giggles on your lap, happily content with her family.

-Lae’zel would one day be laughing with the two of you, Xan giggling in your lap, and realize she was where she was always meant to be with you, and Xan giggling over the most minor thing that wasn’t even funny. It wasn’t becoming the strongest warrior to make her happy, but having a family she could protect was all she needed.

Karlach

-When Karlach first met you, she saw you. If you aren’t used to someone openly hitting on you, now you do. There is a whistle when you bend down or jump; her tone always becomes soft, and the words “baby” become your new name, and she openly stares at your breasts when you speak (no cleavage needed). Karlach doesn’t care because she can handle a whole lot of woman happily. Just wait until she can get her hands on you.

-Karlach is a partner who needs to be gently parented, but she is so sweet that it is used sparingly. Karlach sometimes needs a sharp look to stop talking in front of some people or someone to talk her out of violence gently. Karlach is a sweetheart, but she has a temper that sometimes needs to be chilled, and your soft hands rubbing on their biceps are just that.

-Karlach starts daggers into the knocked-out Drow as you softly rub her biceps, “Baby, calm down. You’re going to burn the whole place down. Baby, breathe slowly, deeply.” And she looks down at you, her eyes melt as soon as she sees your worried face and closes them. She takes deep breaths to calm her temper down; she needs to chill out, or she will burn down this whole place.

-When Karlach can touch you, she loves to rest her head on your stomach. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath of you in. Her hands constantly touch you, finding safety on your waist or shoulder. Her lips kiss the back of your neck when you read, her heat being felt close behind you.

-Karlach NEEDS some soft tender care and knows it. She unironically purrs when you put your hand on her cheek; she leans in your hand always. Karlach is very much someone who loves when you baby her and is always so grateful about it.

-Karlach is a munch in so many ways, she will eat whatever you place infront of her, and it is the most delicious meal she has ever tasted. Karlach always hovers over you when you cook, always ready to be a helper in the kitchen out of curiosity and love. Karlach relates food with love because of her mother, and I feel like in Act 3, after stopping by the graveyard, you are on a mission to find Karlach Sr. Cookbook.

-Karlach would cry happy tears when you found a stew her mom wrote, and she sobbed when she ate her mom's cooking in a good way. She missed her mom a lot, and not having the heart her mother gave her made her feel this emptiness. And she is forever grateful to have known you, loved you. She would softly pull you into her lap and hold you close, crying and eating.

-Karlach REFUSES for you to leave camp without her and doesn’t let you carry heavy things anymore. Did you get camping supplies? A gunpowder barrel? Mama k got it.

-Lowkey is possessive and clingy with you once you say, “Karlach, I’m yours.”. Karlach has you move your things into her tent and sleeps with her big arms wrapped around you tightly. She doesn’t like the idea that someone else could have you even when she couldn’t touch you, but she was being fair. Now she can touch you. There is no question you are hers, and she is yours.

-Karlach loves to suck on your nipples and just suckle on you. It feels so comfortable and pleasing to her. She likes the heat of your breasts and the way the breast touches her cheek. She likes to see and have them in front of her, but she doesn’t pay attention to much else. She loves how they hang on your ribs and bounce with each step of your body. She usually, on tiring days, just curls up to your chest and rests her head.

Shadowheart

-Shadowheart was so frantic and scared when she first saw you that she didn’t think much about you, but she noticed your protective nature as you focused on getting her out. She almost felt uncomfortable when your caring hand helped her off the ground when she fell. When you both were safely on the ground of the beach, she noticed when you walked over to her that your body had a sway to it. An almost unconscious sensual from the way your hips perk softly as you stride towards her. But also, how strong you seemed in the moment and how determined you looked had a heat run through her. She blushes and keeps it to herself. She decided to travel with you since you saved her and because she didn’t mind seeing the back of you for a while.

-Shadowheart is similar to Lae’zel in that she pushes her feelings aside and denies them. She noticed how you took care of people and liked to comfort people, and she saw how you smiled when everyone praised your food. She keeps herself quiet for the most part, but she does thaw her heart to your seemingly endless warmth.

-She realized she was denying her feelings once she opened up about her past and earliest memory. You actively listened and softly touched her forearm when she finished; all you said was, “Thank you for sharing with me. I promise that I will help with whatever I can for you.”

-Of course, she falls for you. It was hard. But she would be hard to get, and she wanted you to prove yourself more. She was waiting for you to make a mistake.

-But there was none. You were no hypocrite and were this caring and nurturing to your friends. You were a person wrapped up in goodness and light and beauty.

-Shadowheart's defenses crumbled, and she quickly told you her feelings when she learned more about herself. Something for her that didn’t cause pain or suffering. Something good.

-Shadowheart eyes melt when you come close to her.

-Shadowheart would benefit from gentle parenting but is so stubborn that you have to be occasionally firm with her. She likes to be talked to softly, and how you look at her like a precious gem. But a little pain of rejection or shame doesn’t hurt her at all.

-Shadowheart, at night, always cuddles into your back. She sighs contently when her head rests on your pillow. She could bury her face in your back for decades if she could. Her hand resting on top of her beloved hips and pulls you in closer to her body. Shadowheart loves to hold and be held.

-Shadowheart's favorite thing to do is be buried in between your plush thighs, having her ears silenced to the world with your flesh wrapping around her head. It was warm and welcoming, with your beautiful sighs of pleasure.

-Shadowheart confides in you a lot after you two become official. You are the first person she goes to for advice to help her think clearer about a situation, even with her disillusionment of Shar, which was talked about with you. She is typically secretive and calculates what to expose about herself, so getting her to talk to you about her feelings is very big.

-Shadowheart finds out that she does have a soft side, and you comfortably reside there. She looks at you with her big blue eyes melting when you speak to her. She doesn’t care if this makes her reject Shar. If she wants a life with you, she will do it. She could do anything to have a quiet and peaceful life with the woman she loves and be healed some more by the unconditional love she has found.

Minthara

-Minthara has daddy energy, and she likes that you compliment her with the mommy energy you give off. She, however, is not one to be guided or nurtured but loves to be babied (in Drow terms) when she gets the chance.

-Minthara knew that she would have you when you walked into her chamber. She felt a low hum in her body when she noticed the way your body carried itself. The breasts, the arms, the stomach, the hips, the legs, Hmm. But she didn’t have many plans for you, not until you proved yourself to her with blood. She was thrilled to find out that under the soft, innocent look, there was a murder underneath. She felt some kind of pride knowing she found someone to fight alongside her that was actually worthy. She was smitten even if she wouldn’t admit it.

-Minthara sees weakness or softness in any light besides malice. Weakness needs to be beaten out of a person until they are strong. She wasn’t blind to how you seemed sweet and caring and how your eyes seemed coquettish under her gaze. She didn’t know how to feel about this seemingly powerful but weak leader helping her on her mission for the absolute. She would peek into your mind when you weren’t noticing and could tell you were this caring and murderous.

-Obviously, she grows soft towards you with time. Even when she tried to kill you, she wanted it to be mercifully quick and painless. She couldn’t have your warm eyes on her. She does want to be known by you, and she wants to hold and caress you. You made the world quiet, from gods and her self-doubt. Your tender cuddle at night after a fuck, the delicate rubbing of her back as she lays on your breasts, it was everything she had ever craved from any god.

-Minthara doesn’t like surface food at all, and she doesn’t make any comments when she is given food. She does watch from a distance as you cook the group their dinner, and she says a “thank you” when you hand her her portion. She eats all of it for strength and has been trying to get used to the plainness. To her, everything tastes like oatmeal and soulless.

-Her heart almost dropped when she noticed you walking up to her with a bottle of Underdark wine and a wheel of cheese from her rival house's family. She doesn’t know what to say when you happily explain that you had killed a horde of rich drows and then found this and that it made you think about her, handing over the items. She feels herself blush and stares at you. She puts the items down in her tent and drags you off to be claimed again by her.

-Minthara knew she loved you at Moonrise and surely knew when you saved her from Moonrise. Her eyes melted as soon as she felt your figure again. She didn’t even allow herself to hope that you would come, and yet you did. You did with a fierce protective energy as you escorted her out of the castle and killed the guards that kept her.

-Minthara, like Karlach, is possessive and clingy with you once you two become official. She doesn’t like the idea that someone else would get to know this tender and sweet person. She would kill someone over weirdly looking at you. Minthara hovers over you wherever you go and is your plus one in everything. She would scoff and laugh at the mention of you leaving camp without her, and it’s not going to happen.

-Minthara would have a breeding kink so hard with you once she is settled in with you. Minthara would know very early on that she couldn’t imagine a life for herself now without you, and she wanted to keep you beside her forever. She wanted to have a family and continue her bloodline as a noblewoman should, but she wanted you to carry her baby. Trust and believe that Minthara will find some magic device to get you pregnant after you finish the Netherbrain

-Lowkey knew she would marry you and keep you with her for the rest of her life. She quickly knew you were wife material for her and acted like you were already married.

-Minthara doesn’t listen to you even when your tone is strong and demanding, like a mother's. She has enormous dom-daddy energy, and she will not take commands from her sub (except in the bedroom; she is a consent queen).

-“Minthara, stop.” You say as you watch her tower over a dwarf with her poisoned knife to his throat. She doesn’t react at all as she puts the fear of the gods into the poor man, “Minthara!” You hiss to her as you start to walk away. Minthara doesn’t listen to you and slices the dwarf's neck, but she quickly drops him to get beside you. You give her a soft glare, and she glares back as playfully as she can muster.

-Don’t get me wrong, Minthara has mommy issues and she does use you as some kind of new mothering figure. She lays in your breasts at night for safety and comfort, she holds your soft skin with adoration now that she loves you-knows you.

-Minthara likes to grab your hardened nipple sometimes to surprise you and have you make that breathy moan of shock. She likes to pull you in closer with a hand firmly planted in your ass; she pulls you into an intense kiss. She likes to have control over you and to have you writhing with pleasure because of her.

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tossawary · 9 months ago

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Watching "The Clone Wars" show now and look, I know, I KNOW it's a kids' show and that's why there's a 14yo(?) girl acting as not only a child soldier but a military commander. (I'm developing a headcanon / interpretation that legal adulthood in the Republic starts at 13. Ex: Padmé being a queen at 14, Obi-Wan nearly aging out of the Order at 13, Boba is apparently going to be sent to maximum security prison at 12??? Haven't gotten there yet.) I honestly kind of enjoy the fact that "Star Wars" depicts a Jedi Order that kind of sucks sometimes and keeps having these incredibly deadly kids who are a little fucked-up.

Nevertheless, I AM low-key judging these characters a little bit for the fact that 14yo Ahsoka has apparently also been sent to act as (21yo?) Anakin's impulse control and emotional management. Or has herself taken on that role a little bit regardless of initial intentions. (I already don't love that Padmé's key role (as the only major female character) in the prequel trilogy films is to deal with Anakin's big feelings. This threatens to become a repeat of that.) It's reminding me of Yoda throwing Obi-Wan at Qui-Gon in the "Jedi Apprentice" series; and also Obi-Wan taking Anakin on immediately after Qui-Gon's death instead of maybe claiming him but putting him in the crèche to cook for a few years first.

Like, guys, you can't just keep throwing padawans at these problems. It's giving "having a baby will fix our marriage" vibes, a little bit. It's kind of fun to see this cycle play out again and again in these stories, I am generally loving the flawed mentors and generational damage here, but I do pause every once and a while just so I can also say, "Yikes, my Jedi dudes. There's some patterns in your lineage here."

#tossawary star wars #tossawary watching #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #spoilers

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bestanimal · 3 months ago

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Round 3 - Reptilia - Phoenicopteriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Phoenicopteriformes, commonly called “flamingos”. They are comprised of one family, Phoenicopteridae, and 3 genera.

Flamingos are most well-known for having varying degrees of pink coloration derived from their diet. Young flamingos hatch with grayish plumage, but adults range from light pink to bright red due to aqueous bacteria and beta-carotene obtained from their diet of blue-green algae (phylum Cyanobacteriota), diatoms, and/or small invertebrates such as Brine Shrimp (genus Artemia). Some species, such as the American Flamingo (Phoenicopterus ruber) (image 1) tend to be more reddish-pink due to a greater availability of beta-carotene, while other species are a more pale pink due to ingesting a smaller amount of the pigment. Due to their filter-feeding diet, flamingos have unique bills which are specially adapted to separate mud and silt from the food they eat, and are used upside-down. Hairy structures called lamellae line the bill and tongue, filtering out food particles. Flamingos have long necks and legs. Their feet are webbed to aid with swimming and to stomp their feet in the mud to stir up food from the bottom. They live in tropical areas in the Americas, Africa, and Eurasia, typically in saltwater lagoons or high saline freshwater environments. Though flamingos prefer to drink freshwater, they are equipped with glands under their eyes that remove extra salt from their bodies. This organ allows them to drink saltwater as well, and many flamingo species are extremists: animals which live in extreme environments that many other organisms can not survive in.

Vocalizations play an important role in parent-chick recognition, ritualized displays, and keeping large flocks together, and flamingos are quite noisy. They are very social birds, and live in colonies whose population can number in the thousands. Before breeding, flamingo colonies split into breeding groups of about 15 to 50 birds. Both males and females in these groups perform synchronized ritual displays, which involve stretching their necks upwards, head-flagging, and flapping their wings (see gif below). The displays do not seem directed towards an individual, but occur randomly, and help pair up those birds that do not already have mates. Flamingos form strong pair bonds, though in larger flocks they may change mates due to having more options. A pair will establish and aggressively defend a nesting site, usually from other flamingo pairs trying to commandeer it. The nest is typically made of mud, into which the female will lay one large, chalky-white egg. Both the male and the female contribute to building the nest, and to protecting the nest and egg. For the first six days after the chick hatches, the parents and chick stay in the nesting sites. Both the male and the female feed their chick with a kind of crop milk, produced in glands lining the upper digestive tract. Crop milk contains both fat and protein, as with mammalian milk, but unlike mammalian milk, it contains no carbohydrates. At around 7–12 days old, flamingo chicks begin to move out of their nests and explore their surroundings. When they are 2 weeks old, the chicks congregate in groups, called "microcrèches", and their parents leave them alone. After a while, the microcrèches merge into "crèches" containing thousands of chicks, which are marshaled by a few adults. When young flamingos are around 3 to 3.5 months old, their flight feathers will finish growing in, allowing them to fly and join the main flock.

Phoenicopteriformes evolved in the Eocene, with modern flamingos, such as Elornis, appearing in the Oligocene, around 25 million years ago. They form a clade, Mirandornithes, with the grebes (order Podicipediformes), and the ancestor of both orders was likely highly aquatic.

Propaganda under the cut:

Flamingos often form same-sex pairs, and may adopt orphan eggs or even steal eggs from other flamingos to raise as their own.

Flamingos are known for standing on one leg with the other tucked against the body. Many birds do this behavior, though it is most noticeable in flamingos due to their long legs. Standing on one leg allows the bird to conserve more body heat, and reduces energy expenditure, as the one-legged pose can be held without any muscle activity.

The Greater Flamingo (Phoenicopterus roseus) (image 3) is the tallest of the six species of flamingos, standing at 1.2 - 1.4 m (3.9 - 4.7 ft) tall with a weight up to 3.5 kg (7.7 lbs).

One of the oldest flamingos in the world was Greater, a Greater Flamingo who lived at the Adelaide Zoo in Australia. Greater was euthanized January 2014 (they were arthritic and their health was deteriorating rapidly) at the age of (at least) 83 years old. Greater Flamingos usually live to about 60 years in human care, and 30–40 years in the wild.

The near threatened James's Flamingo (Phoenicoparrus jamesi) (image 2) was once thought to be extinct until a population was discovered in a remote area in 1956.

Many species of flamingos are threatened. The main threat is loss of habitat, as flamingos require specific habitats to live and feed in; habitats considered of little use to humans. The loss of one saltwater lagoon or soda lake can be a huge blow to a flamingo population. They are also threatened by commercial mining activities, poaching of eggs, and climate change raising the water levels, hindering their ability to access food.

#I read a short story in Ranger Rick as a kid about a world where flamingos were extinct or near extinct and this kid dreamed of seeing one #The story ended with the kid thinking they found a whole flock of them to slowly realize they were all plastic lawn ornaments #The metaphor of replacing wildlife with plastic has stuck with me my whole life #animal polls #round 3 #reptilia #Phoenicopteriformes

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frostbitebakery · 1 year ago

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Nutshell.

“Let’s put you out of your misery,” Doom says, checking the charge on his blasters while keeping an eye on the stray droid crawling towards an abandoned E-5 rifle.

“You’re mine,” Doom grits out, gets his fingers around the leg of the droid making for General Tiplar. He pulls, rolls. The droid is on his chest and he clamps an arm around it, sinks his knife into its neck. Wipes the blood out of his eyes.

“I need answers,” Doom says, arms crossed so he doesn’t try to strangle the holo. “See that you get them.”

“I will get them,” Rex promises, voice stoic to resemble a Commander’s.

Doom doesn’t snort but it’s a close call.

“I’m sorry for your lo—“

He flicks the comm off. He doesn’t have the capacity for niceties.

Tiplee is slowly finishing the transport box for her sister. “We fought a lot growing up,” she says. “We were in separate crèche clans even.”

His jaw ticks under his bucket.

“We only grew close once we were both adults. People are in motion, always. In body, in spirit. Sometimes you are only meant to meet at later points in your life even if you’ve known each other since you were born.” She strokes a careful hand over Tiplar’s forehead. “I will let you say your goodbyes.”

Doom steps up to the box once Tiplee is gone.

Tiplar hasn’t gone grey yet. There’s a furrow burnt in her brows, the confusion over a clone shooting her carrying her to death.

“I will watch over her,” he states. Promises don’t mean anything in war. So he doesn’t promise. His heart skips a beat. He was meant to watch over Tiplar as well.

“Botany,” he slurs out, clinks his cup to Tiplee’s when she holds hers up. “I love sunshine. And plants. There’s so many!”

“I’m gonna,” she hiccups, booze sloshing over the rim of her cup when she points at him, “I’m gonna sneak you into the gardens in the Temple and show you the strawberry patch.”

“Sneak?” He thought everything in the Triple Zero Temple is free to roam for all Jedi.

“Totally,” Tiplee agrees with an enthusiastic nod and he realizes he’s spoken aloud. “But sneaking is funnierer— funner— funyun?”

He nods right back. “Funyun sounds right.”

“What do you mean, poisoned?” Doom asks. According to survival sim training, the strawberries look pretty unpoisoned.

Tiplee holds up a berry, turns it around a bit. “The Dark is ever growing. Spreading throughout the Galaxy, into the earth of every planet. It has changed the very matter of things.” She smiles up at him. “I remember them sweeter.”

“I will help your strawberries be the best they can be, I— promise.” He wretches the word out of himself. Pulls and pulls until it’s off his tongue and out in the open. “Hold on until then, yes?”

Tiplee smiles at him, taps her thumb against his temple. “Doom, you have found a place where you feel you are meant to be. It will be alright even if my time has come.”

“Uhm,” he says. Blinks. Swallows.

Maxir leans back, hands disappearing into the robe sleeves. “I’ve read this wrong?”

Probably not? “I don’t know,” he almost says until instinct takes over to not show indecisiveness. “Yes.”

Maxir’s face colors. He doesn’t tend to get cute blush spots high on his cheeks but rather an all consuming flush that looks close to blistering. “I’m sorry. I misjudged. It will not happen again.”

Jedi are so graceful in their apologies, Doom has learned. It’s charming.

He holds up a ripe non-perfect strawberry. “You look like this.”

“I beg your pardon—“

“You’re safe,” Doom gasps, wildly looking at Maxir’s frozen figure. “You’re safe.”

“Come here. Sit down.”

The calm authority in Maxir’s voice has him on his feet and back on the ground before he knows it.

“You are safe,” Maxir reassures him for whatever reason, filling Doom’s spotty vision and leaving room for not much else. “May I touch you?”

It’s a new helper droid. Gangly limbs for reaching deep into the foliage without damaging it. Looking like a B-1. The clippers looking like a blaster.

Its head lies halfway across another crop’s field. The body stabbed with its own limbs and the clippers.

“You are safe.”

Doom doesn’t believe him yet.

“I don’t recognize you anymore,” Doom says to his reflection.

There’s laughter lines around his eyes, his mouth. He has freckles from the sun. Permanent dirt under his nails he recognizes as dirt, not blood. His body is covered in flowers.

Last night he met up with the last of the 962nd and Master Tiplee. Six, Mimic, and a few others had helped him haul around the huge crates of produce into the AgriCorps’ building and kitchen.

They’d blasted each other’s asses while peeling, tasting, cooking, and fighting over seasoning. They fell asleep under the stars, occupying chairs and hammocks dotting the terraces. Tiplee had drooled on his shoulder, the tips of her fingers still red with strawberry juice.

“I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“Mrnng,” Maxir mumbles, slowly shuffling his way past Doom to the shower.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Doom says to his reflection.

“No,” Doom murmurs, wrings his shoulder against the doorframe to Maxir’s office.

The desk is cluttered with data pads and flimsiwork bearing the AgriCorps seal. Analyzing crop conditions and rotations has taken up most of what is left of their day after tending to the fields and labs.

Maxir looks at him over his glasses before pushing them up, ruffling the short hair just under one of the horns. “No? I surely thought there was caf left…”

Doom pushes himself away from the door, takes the three steps to the desk before sitting down on a free-ish spot. “No, you didn’t read it wrong,” he non-explains. “Also, for safety reasons I disposed of the last of the caf.”

Maxir glances at the clock above the desk. “It’s been five hours. The sludge level must still be within reason.”

Doom blinks blandly at him.

Maxir blinks back before it visibly clicks. “Oh!” He buffs the back of his hand against Doom’s thigh. “I told you I’m nearly always right. Also,” he parrots back with a mischievous grin, “the fact we’ve kissed and held hands and you let me dote on you—“

“Excessively.”

“Excessively,” Maxir agrees. “I broke all constraints when I bought you last meal that one time.”

Doom pushes Maxir away from him by way of the rolling chair he’s sitting in while Maxir recalls in detail and with a lot of hand gestures how Doom had gracefully accepted being cared for.

“Or when you let me clean all the petri dishes by myself,” Maxir says excitedly, seat slowly spinning in a circle. “You were snoring so adorably on the lab bench.”

“I regret meeting you.”

“Mimir shoo for half the night cycle!” The chair slowly rotates back towards Doom. Maxir’s eyes soften. “I, for one, am very glad we met when we did.”

WIP and backstory

#commander doom #star wars #star wars tcw #star wars fanart #commander doomxoc #<- sorry about that #my art #frostbitebakery art

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thehistoriccemetery · 2 years ago

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I saw you were in need of requests, so I bring you one.

how would the ladies react to a usually pacifistic Tav sucker punching someone, seemingly out of nowhere? when pressed as to why they did it, Tav reveals they'd been hearing the person they punched make gross comments about their partner all evening

I only did Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Karlach for this one. Hope you enjoy anon!

CW: Violence

Shadowheart

Shadowheart’s eyes widen in surprise when your fist meets the Sharran priest’s face. He falls backwards, nearly hitting his head against the alter. She covers her mouth to conceal a smile. The smile, however, is quickly replaced with a concerned look. She couldn’t hear your conversation, what could he have possibly said to set you off? You walk back towards her, accidentally smearing blood across as you try to itch your nose.

“Is that his blood or yours?” She asks.

You turn your hands over, just now noticing there is blood on them. “Oh?” You tilt your head. “Probably both?”

“What did he do? Did he hurt you?” She asks.

“No he didn’t hurt me, he… it’s not important,” you said. “Am I gonna get like… smited if I wash my hands of in Shar’s fountain? Smited? Smoted?”

Shadowheart laughs. “It’s actually smote. And if you’re going to get smote for anything, it’s shoving her priest’s head into her alter.”

She takes your face into her hands and presses your foreheads together as you both laugh. She kisses your forehead and you wrap your arms around her. The move surprises and her hands shoot into the air, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You made the right choice… sparing Aylin I mean. I know it was the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but it was the right thing to do.” You say.

“I know, darling,” she says, relaxing and returning your hug.

Lae’zel

When Lae’zel sees you move to punch the old scholar, she’s by your side before you even make contact. The scholar hunches over, groaning in pain. Lae’zel takes the opportunity to take her greatsword down on her back. The body falls limply to the ground. “Kainyak!” She spat. “What did the istik say?”

You smiled. “You didn’t even hear her and you still struck her down?”

“If it was enough to incite any violence from you, I’m sure a swift death was a blessing,” she responded.

“The crèche is that way,” you say, pointing in the direction of the Rosymorn Monastery. You hoped it would distract away from original question. Lae’zel shouldn’t have to hear the racist and repulsive way the woman had spoken of her people.

Luckily, it was enough.

“Then that is the way we will go” she commands, pointing her greatsword in the direction.

Karlach

Karlach almost misses it, but she turns her head at the last minute to see you sock a bard right in the nose.

“Hell yeah!” She shouts, pumping her fist in the air. She’s still about 50 feet away from you, so she definitely didn’t hear what the man said or know why you punched him. She starts approaching a bit more quickly, breaking into a light jog.

Before you know it she’s standing next to you and looking down at the now dazed bard on the ground. “That was awesome!” She says, slapping you lightly on the back. “So uh… what did he do? Must’ve been a hell of a song he was playing to get a rise out of you.”

“He was… he’s not a fan of tieflings,” you sigh. It’s not a complete lie, more of a fib. He’s not a fan of a tiefling, one you are particularly fond of.

“A lot of people aren’t, unfortunately,” she says, reaching a hand out to help the man up. Your heart aches at the act of kindness for such a cruel man.

“I’ll not be taking assistance from you, hellspawn!” He spits, standing up himself and spitting at Karlach. Blood and teeth spattered against her chest.

You glare at him, ready to knock him out for good this time. A swift kick sends him tumbling back to the ground and a stomp to his right hand cause him to shriek. You won’t kill him, but his broken fingers ensure he’ll never play another about your Karlach again.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 lae'zel #karlach #lae'zel #laezel #laezel x reader #karlach x reader #bg3 karlach #karlach x tav #shadowheart x reader #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart x tav #lae’zel x tav

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questforgalas · 2 years ago

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Random clone and padawan headcanons

I will die on the hill that every padawan was extremely connected to/close with their clone battalion

Certain clones have closer bonds, but every clone trooper saw anywhere from a child to barely teenager standing in front of them on their Venator and went “protective instincts initiated”

Ahsoka and the 501st are the closest only because Anakin encouraged they interact with the men as if they were troopers and not their commanding officers whenever not in a professional setting (think missions camps, off duty, in transit to missions). This helped Ahsoka acclimate because it reminded her of the crèche days and the bond she formed with her crèche mates

With that said, Rex was fondest of Ahsoka (big bro mode activated double time when he saw a child standing in front of him) but she and Fives together were his biggest headache

Cal was a babay when the war started so the 13th battalion, yes respected him as their commander, but their relationship was much more "little bro surrounded by 100s of big bros" (with how young Cal was, I firmly believe he rarely saw the field)

Cal loved to watch the clones train, and once and awhile they'd let him join in on their sparring. Due to the fact he was maybe 100lbs wet, they'd go easy on him, but it was the highlight of Cal's day

Caleb/Kanan wanted to be the cool commander so badly. Like so so so so badly. During down time, you'd find him in the mess hall with a group of clones around him while he told what he thought were his coolest stories or about all the cool things he's done on Coruscant (Depa Billaba would never admit it, but she enjoyed coming to the mess during these times and oh so casually correcting an over-embellishment of Caleb's like oh interesting she doesn't remember him pulling off a double flip she remembers him face planting in the temple fountains, but maybe that was another time. Caleb gives her the "mom stop embarrassing me in front of my friends" look and she laughs to herself as she walks away)

To help pass the time while Jaro was leading a campaign on the ground and Cal was on the Venator, Cal and the clones not involved in the battle would play a version of hide-and-seek. One time Jaro came back from the battle to a bunch of sheepish clones admitting they had no idea where his padawan was after they'd been seeking for him for over an hour. That's when they learned Cal can fit into spaces previously thought only a mouse could access

Ahsoka was a very curious teenager who loved to learn. Much to Rex's chagrin. After Christophsis, back on the Resolute on their way back to Coruscant which was a day or so journey, Ahsoka followed Rex around asking a million questions about life on Kamino, their training, what it was like growing up surrounded by the same face, who his favorite trooper was, who his favorite Jedi was, what his least favorite part of the ship was, etc.

#star wars #the clone wars #jedi padawan #ahsoka tano #cal kestis #caleb dume #kanan jarrus #captain rex #13th battalion #arc trooper fives

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honeybummer · 4 months ago

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NO SAINTS HERE - PT 5 on A03

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Fem!OC/Tav

Summary/Setting: Astarion gets into some sex pollen in the Underdark. Tav is unfortunately there. And she is still dating Wyll.

(This chapter gets pretty dark, FYI)

Word count - 8k

Rating: EXPLICIT

(I haven't been posting enough on Tumblr, but I'm posting chapters every 2-3 days on A03!!!!! Chapters 1-12 are currently up!!!)

The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning ozone.

The Inquisitor’s chamber lay in ruin behind them, githyanki bodies sprawled across the stone floor. The walls still hummed faintly with residual magic, the echo of Vlaakith’s command fading into silence.

Lae’zel stood in the center of the room, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Her sword arm trembled—whether from exertion or fury, Tav couldn’t tell.

“She would not—she could not —have lied.” Lae’zel’s voice was raw. “Vlaakith is eternal. She is truth.”

Shadowheart, still gripping her spear, took a step forward. “Then why did she want you dead? Why did she send you to slaughter mind flayers, only to order your execution the moment you questioned her?”

Lae’zel’s teeth clenched so hard Tav could hear it. “It was a test. A test I failed.”

“A test meant to kill you ,” Shadowheart pressed. “Your people are nothing to her. You are nothing to her!”

Lae’zel recoiled as if struck.

“We have to move, now !” Tav motioned toward a narrow passageway, carved into the rock. She hissed at Astarion as he lingered by the fallen bodies, looting whatever he could. “Astarion—leave it.”

He didn’t even glance up. “I will not leave behind perfectly good valuables for a pile of ash.” But still, he moved, slipping into the shadows behind them.

The rest of their companions were back at camp. They couldn’t risk bringing too many into the crèche.

Lae’zel whirled on Shadowheart, her eyes burning. “And if I said you were nothing to your goddess? Would you disgrace her? Would you cast her aside so easily?”

Shadowheart huffed as she climbed over the rubble after Tav. “This is different!” she snapped. “Shar is not manipulative!”

A bark of bitter laughter came from Astarion, somewhere to their left. “That’s rich.”

Tav ignored them, focusing instead on the path ahead. The crèche would soon find out about their attack. They have to move.

The passage was riddled with traps, meant to keep them from something important. Tav nocked an arrow, aimed carefully, and fired. The string snapped, the arrow striking true, disabling a nearby power source.

Another trap, another shot. Tav moved swiftly, collecting her spent arrows when she could. She was running low.

Astarion moved beside her, his steps soundless. As she reached for her next arrow, she felt something brush against her palm—when she looked down, a black-feathered arrow was resting in her hand, passed to her without a word. She glanced up, meeting his crimson eyes, but he only looked away.

It had been a few days since their last…well, tryst.

In the bathing room, Astarion had hidden behind the door when she had left to go with Wyll. He didn’t seem to notice that she had just been utterly fucked.

Afterward, Astarion hadn’t talked to her, and she hadn’t talked to him. It felt like something had shifted, but she was still too angry to acknowledge it.

Astarion had used her, made a mockery out of her pleasure. Again and again. And Wyll had been right there . Behind the door.

She was lucky Wyll had a terrible sense of smell.

Even Tav felt she could still smell Astarion on her. Especially between her—

“Your people are mindless!” Shadowheart yelled, throwing up her hands.

“You know nothing of my people,” Lae’zel spat. “Vlaakith has led us for a thousand generations. She is the light in the darkness. The path to greatness. If she deems me unworthy, then I am unworthy .”

Shadowheart scoffed. “You can’t actually believe that.” She took a step closer, challenging. “You think a queen worth following would throw away her own subjects like scraps? If you were unworthy, why did she send you on this mission at all? Why tell you to seek the Prism?”

Lae’zel hesitated, just for a breath.

They entered a vast chamber, the golden glow of something ancient and powerful spilling from the center.

The room pulsed with energy, humming with divine power. Tav could feel it in her bones, a thrumming warmth that prickled at her skin.

But Shadowheart saw the crack in Lae’zel and pushed harder. “You are worthy, Lae’zel. That’s what terrifies you, isn’t it? That Vlaakith is wrong? That you don’t need her to tell you who you are?”

Lae’zel’s blade swung in a flash of steel, stopping just shy of Shadowheart’s throat. “Say another word, Shar-worshipper, and I will cut it from your tongue.”

But Shadowheart didn’t flinch. “Go ahead.” Her voice was soft, almost pitying. “Wouldn’t be the first time you killed for her, would it?”

Lae’zel’s breath was ragged, her knuckles straining against the hilt.

Tav stepped between them, hands raised. “Enough. Both of you.”

Lae’zel raised her sword and—

The entire room shook.

A low, grinding rumble echoed through the chamber as golden mechanisms, long dormant, began to rise from the floor. Their ancient gears clanked into place, pulsing with radiant energy.

At the center of the room, a great construct shuddered to life, its core burning bright like a captured sun. Flames erupted from its top, searing arcs of light launching toward a waiting portal. The fire disappeared through the shimmering gateway—only to reappear outside, redirected by another unseen mechanism.

The cycle began, growing in intensity, building toward something—toward destruction .

And at the heart of it all, Astarion stood frozen, a glowing mace in his hands— the Blood of Lathander . A wall of force had snapped into place around him, a red shimmering, impenetrable barrier.

Tav’s heart lurched.

Lae’zel whirled, eyes wide in horror. “What have you done?! ” Her voice was a roar of fury, of despair .

Astarion’s own eyes were just as wide. “Oh.” He blinked at the mace in his hands. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Lae’zel, what’s happening?” Tav demanded, already reaching for an arrow.

The gith was already moving, darting toward the nearest mechanism. “He’s activated the final defense! If the fire gathers enough energy—” She gritted her teeth, cutting herself off.

Tav didn’t need her to finish the thought.

The entire crèche would be reduced to nothing.

Another shockwave sent them staggering. The fire shot through the portal again, the outside mechanism spinning faster, its golden edges vibrating with stored power.

“Lae’zel, tell me how to stop this!” Tav shouted.

It cannot be stopped. We run.”

“What about Astarion?” Tav demanded, heart hammering.

“Leave him!” Lae’zel snarled, whirling back. “He has brought this upon himself! Now, come!”

Shadowheart hesitated, her gaze flickering to Astarion, trapped behind the barrier. For a brief second, uncertainty clouded her face. Then she set her jaw, steeling herself.

“There is no other way,” she said. “We have to save ourselves.”

She grabbed Lae’zel’s arm and shoved her toward the portal. “Go!”

Tav’s breath caught. “But Astarion—”

“Leave him!” Lae’zel repeated, already vanishing through the portal.

Shadowheart lingered just a heartbeat longer, then turned and disappeared after her.

But Tav couldn’t move. Her body refused.

Her eyes found Astarion’s, trapped within the pulsing forcefield. He wasn’t panicking. Wasn’t begging. He was just… looking at her.

His face—

Never mind.

There had to be a way.

Tav’s gaze darted around the chamber. Energy sources. The glowing conduits that fueled the firestorm. She could already see two, and a glow from under hidden beneath the pathway.

Without thinking, she loosed an arrow, striking one with deadly precision. The magic flared—then shattered.

Another. She reached for an arrow, hands quick, movements automatic. It flew straight and true, slicing through the second conduit.

The room trembled, the swirling fire losing momentum. But the last one—

She reached for a third arrow and—

Empty.

Her heart stuttered. She had no more. No more—

Except—

Tav’s fingers closed around something smooth and familiar. An enchanted arrow.

Gale had given it to her, warning her to save it for an emergency. A last resort. A weapon with teeth.

Save it for the last battle, Gale had commanded.

She didn’t hesitate.

Tav sprinted to the edge of the platform, scanning the chamber. The last conduit—there. Hidden in the shadows, pulsing erratically.

She notched the arrow, drew back.

She exhaled.

The arrow flew.

It struck true. The impact sent a ripple of violet light through the air—then an explosion. The final energy source shattered.

The mechanisms whined, their golden structures flickering, failing.

Then the forcefield around Astarion disappeared .

But only the red barrier around him fell. The rest was still whirring, still charging up.

He stumbled forward with a laugh, brushing ash from his leathers. “Well, that was exhilarating.”

Tav barely had time to breathe before the entire building shook, and she began sprinting, making sure he was right behind her.

They plunged into the portal just as the chamber behind them erupted into golden light.

And then—

Birds chirping.

They were free.

But Tav’s heart was still racing.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

“Come on!” Shadowheart yelled, waiting several yards away.

They had to run as far from the crèche as possible. The only way out was the ledge ahead, a sheer drop into the open air. If they could jump far enough, they’d land in the grassy expanse below. If they didn’t—

Tav didn’t let herself think about that. She ran.

Rocks tumbled around them, the very foundation of the crèche coming undone. They jumped over roots and skidded over ledges, until they made it to the furthest one.

It was just up ahead.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart disappeared over the edge.

Tav pushed forward—then her foot caught on something.

The ground gave way beneath her, and she slammed down hard. Pain shot up her leg. When she tried to move, her boot wouldn’t budge. It was wedged deep into a jagged crack in the floor.

Her breath hitched.

Astarion looked back, just as his boots met the ledge. Rocks were raining down, the sides of the building already falling toward her.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met.

Then—

He jumped.

No hesitation. He vanished over the ledge, swallowed by the smoke and fire.

Tav’s heart stopped.

He wasn’t going to save her.

Like she had saved him.

Panic surged through her, but she forced it down. Move. She wrenched at her trapped leg, twisting, pulling—pain shot through her ankle, but she didn’t stop until it finally wrenched free.

She scrambled to her feet and ran.

The ledge was right there. The walls were collapsing. Fire burst through the cracks like hell itself was reaching for her.

And then—

The crèche exploded.

Tav leapt.

The force of the blast hit her mid-air, heat and debris swallowing the sky. She braced for the impact—

But cold hands caught her.

He pulled her aside, yanking her out of the way just as a chunk of burning rock slammed into the ground where she would have landed.

“Go!” he urged, shoving her ahead.

Then the shockwave hit them.

A deafening roar, a blast of heat—Tav barely had time to brace before she was thrown forward, rolling through grass and dirt.

Pain. The sky spun above her. The ringing in her ears crescendoed.

Burning blackness swallowed her whole.

~~~~~~

Tav awoke to sunlight searing through her eyelids. A dull ache settled deep in her ribs, her ankle, and her entire body felt like it had been trampled by a pack of gnolls.

Something cool pressed against her forehead.

She turned her head slightly, vision swimming as Wyll wrung out a cloth and pressed it to her forehead again.

“There you are,” he said, relief softening his voice. “You took quite the fall.”

Her mouth was dry, her ribs ached, and before she could respond—

“You miserable, self-serving filth!” Lae’zel spat.

She forced herself upright. The blanket covering her slid away, and that was when she noticed—

She was in nothing but her pants and breast bindings. Her exposed skin was marred with scrapes, and a deep bruise was blooming across her ribs, an ugly, mottled purple. Her ankle was swollen—almost twice its normal size.

Wyll reached for her arm. “Easy, Tav. You—”

She shoved him aside and stumbled toward the commotion.

Lae’zel stood before Astarion, sword drawn. “Do you even grasp what you’ve done?”

Astarion tilted his head, mock innocence laced in his voice. “Acquired a legendary weapon and saved our hides from being hunted? You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You destroyed a sanctum of my people!” Lae’zel snarled. “An armory. A training ground. Warriors meant for glory, reduced to ash! ”

“And yet, no one is here to thank me,” Astarion mused, inspecting his nails. “Ungrateful, truly.”

Lae’zel’s teeth bared. “You act as if this is a joke! You have no understanding of the sacred purpose of the crèche, no respect for the might of my kin!”

Astarion waved a dismissive hand. “I understand perfectly . It was a lovely little death cult. I’m simply not mourning it.”

Lae’zel lunged.

Her sword was at Astarion’s throat in a breath, and Tav sucked in a sharp gasp.

But Astarion was faster than she thought. With a flick of his wrist, he parried the blow with only a dagger, deflecting the steel just enough to send it skidding past his cheek. He moved with an effortless grace, shoving her sword away from him and reaching for his mace in one fluid motion.

Lae’zel snarled, her grip on her greatsword tightening. “ You have cost us everything! Vlaakith’s vengeance is not something to be trifled with!”

Tav staggered forward, her limbs still sluggish. “Lae’zel—”

But she didn’t turn. She didn’t hesitate. She raised her sword again, eyes burning with fury, and swung.

No!

Tav’s body moved before her mind could catch up. She stepped between them, arm outstretched.

She didn’t see the bewildered look that flickered across Astarion’s face—shock, confusion, something unreadable in the depths of his crimson eyes.

Lae’zel’s blade halted an inch from Tav’s outstretched palm, the force of it stirring the air between them.

Breathing hard, Lae’zel bared her teeth. “Move.”

“No.” Tav’s voice came firm despite the way her body swayed. Her other hand clutched at her bruised ribs.

Astarion scoffed behind her. “Darling, I appreciate the gesture, truly, but I don’t need —”

Tav ignored him. “Lae’zel, I am so sorry for what happened to the crèche.” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to hold steady. “Astarion did a terrible thing. I won’t make excuses for him. But we need him.”

Lae’zel’s nostrils flared. “ Need him?” she spat. “For what? To stab us in the back the moment it suits him? He is a coward. A thieving leech.”

Tav flinched, but she shook her head. “We need all the hands we can get, if we are to save Baldur’s Gate. And Astarion has uses. He may have stolen that relic, but we need him.” She breathed in deep, body throbbing. “You don’t have to trust him. I won’t ask that of you. But right now, we have bigger threats than each other.”

Lae’zel stared at her, the muscles in her jaw tightening.

Then, with a growl, she lowered her sword.

“Make no mistake,” she muttered. “If he betrays us, I will cut him down. I will not hesitate.”

Astarion sighed dramatically. “Oh, bite me.”

Lae’zel shot him a glare before turning on her heel and stalking away.

Tav let out a breath, her body trembling now that the moment had passed.

Astarion was silent as she turned.

For a second, she almost asked— Why did you leave me?

But she knew why. She meant nothing to him. Nothing.

Her throat tightened, but she just shook her head. “Get out of my sight, Astarion.”

His smirk faltered, just for a moment—so brief that she might have imagined it. But there was something in his eyes, something hollow beneath the practiced indifference.

Then, just as quickly, the mask was back in place. His lips curled, his crimson gaze sharpening with feigned amusement, as if none of this had touched him.

He inclined his head ever so slightly, about to turn—

Tav moved before he could. She snatched the mace from his hands.

Astarion blinked, his fingers curling instinctively—but he didn’t stop her.

Tav barely spared Shadowheart a glance before tossing the weapon toward her.

“Here,” she muttered. “This is yours now. Don’t give it back to him.”

Shadowheart caught it easily, raising a brow but saying nothing.

Astarion stood still, his hand half-raised where the mace had been. His smirk was gone, his lips slightly parted—just for a heartbeat.

Then he scoffed, rolling his eyes, and strode away without another word.

Tav didn’t watch him go. She just turned, pressing a hand against her aching ribs, and let the weight of exhaustion settle over her.

She had saved him twice .

And he had left her behind.

She wasn’t sure which of them had made the greater mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days had passed since the crèche fell. Tav no longer ached from the fall, her body had healed, but the weight in her chest remained.

They were due to enter the Underdark tomorrow.

The night was quiet, save for the soft murmur of wind through the trees and the distant crackle of the campfire. Wyll stood before her, his dark eyes warm. He had always admired her, she knew. And she—she wanted to want him.

So when he kissed her, she let him. His lips were steady. His hands cradled her face as if she were something precious.

“You’re so beautiful, Tav. Do you know that?” he murmured against her lips. His thumb brushed gently over her cheek. “Not just in the way you look, but in the way you fight, the way you lead. The way you care.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

The words should have meant everything. But…

He kissed her again, slower.

She let him.

Because he cared for her. Not anyone else.

Wyll pulled her into his tent. She followed, let him lay her down, let him kiss her deeper. She wanted to lose herself in this—this certainty.

But as his fingers trailed down her back, her mind drifted— Astarion.

He was staring at her from across the camp.

Through the slit in the tent, she caught the flicker of firelight against pale skin, the sharp glint of red eyes watching, studying. His expression was unreadable, his face carved from shadow and stone

Her breath hitched.

Wyll didn’t notice. He was focused on her, on the slow drag of his fingers lifting her shirt, tracing over healed bruises.

He kissed her shoulder.

She let him.

Because Wyll hadn’t left her. Because he had waited for her to wake, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead, murmuring reassurances. Because he was here.

But Astarion—

She squeezed her eyes shut.

He had left her.

He had run.

And yet, in the final moment—when the crèche had exploded, when the sky had burned—he had been there. Waiting at the ledge. Catching her. Holding her just long enough to shove her forward, out of the way.

Why? Did he retreat back to her? Did he regret it?

No, he couldn't feel emotions. She was sure of that.

Yes, Astarion had otherworldly beauty. He had two centuries of practice in the bedroom, an intimate mastery of touch, of whispers, of knowing exactly where to press to make someone shatter.

He was a predator in every sense, a master of manipulation, a man who made people fall at his feet with little more than a smirk. He knew how to make her breath hitch, how to drag his fingers against her skin just slowly enough to let her believe it might be care. Might even be love.

But it was all a game. He only loved to make people hurt .

That was all there was to him.

Wyll’s hands were warm against her skin, but all she could feel was Astarion’s eyes, still on her.

When Wyll’s mouth found her breast, a muscle in Astarion’s jaw feathered.

And when Wyll rolled them over so she straddled him, grabbing her hips, she kept her gaze on Astarion. Even when she sank onto Wyll’s erection. Even when she gave a very exaggerated moan, wrapping her arms around Wyll’s neck.

She kept her eyes on the vampire. Glaring. Letting him know just how she felt about him.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed.

His fingers twitched on his new tome.

Tav raised herself up on her knees, and bounced on Wyll, feeling the way his hands moved over her, grabbing the flesh at her hips, kissing her collarbone.

And then she did something she knew Astarion would hate.

She tilted her head back just enough to bare her throat.

Wyll’s mouth found her neck, that sweet spot, and she let out a breathy sound she knew Astarion would hear. Wyll’s tongue flicked over the faint bite marks there.

Astarion’s eyes darkened.

And then she finally tore her eyes from the vampire. She kissed Wyll passionately, allowing him to revel in his pleasure, helping him get there. Trying so very hard to find pleasure in it, herself.

Wyll was good.

Kind.

He hadn’t hesitated, he hadn’t left her behind.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about the one who had?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Underdark stretched endlessly in all directions, its cavernous walls pulsating with an eerie, bioluminescent glow.

They had just left a decrepit village, and they were due to visit the Myconoid Colony tomorrow.

The fire crackled, throwing flickering shadows against the cavern walls. The scent of charred meat and damp earth filled the air, mingling with the distant, glowing spores that pulsed along the Underdark’s ceiling.

Karlach sat close to Wyll, nudging his shoulder with a grin. “You know, you might not be so bad at this whole adventuring thing, Blade. If I ever get my heart sorted out, we should have a proper spar. See if you can keep up.”

Wyll laughed, shaking his head. “Something tells me I’d be outmatched, but I’d be honored to try.”

Karlach’s smile widened, and she leaned in, murmuring something low enough that Tav couldn’t hear. Whatever it was made Wyll chuckle.

Tav forced herself to look away, staring into the fire instead. She wasn’t jealous. Not really. Wyll had always been charming, always good. It made sense Karlach would find a friend in him.

Still, she curled her fingers into her palm, pressing her nails against her skin.

“You look terrible, Astarion.”

Shadowheart’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation. Tav’s head snapped up, catching the way Astarion stiffened.

He was sitting a little apart from the rest of them, fingers steepled over his knee, his book closed at his side. His face was as composed as ever, but now that she was looking—really looking—she saw the strain in his shoulders, the way the hollows beneath his eyes were just a shade deeper than before.

Shadowheart smirked, resting her chin on her hand. “What, need to feed again?”

She meant it as a joke. A little dig, maybe. But Wyll frowned. “Wait—how long has it been since you last fed?”

A beat of silence.

Astarion didn’t move. Tav felt his eyes on her.

Wyll’s gaze swung to her next, questioning. “You were the only one letting him, weren’t you?”

Tav swallowed. She hadn’t let him feed. And he hadn’t asked. Things had been… strange between them, neither of them acknowledging the shift, the tension that curled between them.

Her mouth felt dry as she forced herself to say, “I’ll let him later.”

Astarion just inclined his head, ever so faintly.

Agreement. Acknowledgment.

Nothing more.

An hour later, Tav was outside Astarion’s tent. Her fingers were trembling, but she willed them still as she cleared her throat.

“Enter.”

She rolled her eyes before stepping into his tent. She was surprised to find him writing. The Necromancy of Thay was on the floor next to his bedroll, and he was jotting down notes with an elegant scrawl of his hand.

Gods, his handwriting was beautiful. Proof that he was upper class, while she was…

Well.

A lowly fighter.

Astarion didn’t lift his head when she entered, so she sank to her knees before him.

And extended her wrist.

His eyes finally lifted. And he scowled. First, at her wrist, and then at her top. Wyll’s camp shirt, the short fabric showing her midriff.

Astarion clicked his tongue, setting his quill aside. “You wound me, darling,” he drawled. “You offer me—what? A wrist?” His lip curled, his fingers tapping against his knee. “What a cruel mistress you are.”

Tav exhaled sharply through her nose. “Drink or don’t. I don’t have all night.”

His gaze flicked to her face, searching. For what, she didn’t know. Then, as if making some great, tragic concession, he sighed and took her hand.

His grip was cold, his thumb brushing idly over her pulse point before he brought her wrist to his lips. “Such a shame,” he murmured, just before his fangs sank into her skin.

Tav sucked in a breath. The sting was sharp, but it faded quickly, replaced by something warmer, something dangerous.

Heat coiled in her belly like normal. Like it always did.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he drank, his grip on her tightening. He was always careful, but there was a tension in him tonight, something restrained, something she hadn’t noticed before.

Maybe it was her imagination, but his fingers trailed up, just a bit, past her wrist, over the faint scars his bites had left before.

Then, just as quickly as he’d started, he pulled away. His tongue flicked over the punctures—an old habit, one she pretended not to notice—and then he sighed dramatically.

“I suppose I should be grateful,” he said, though his gaze lingered on her throat. “Even if I am forced to drink from your wrist like some common beggar. ”

Tav pulled her hand back. “Next time, I’ll bring you a cup. Maybe a straw.”

He sneered and then stared at her for a moment.

“Did you get enough?” she asked, preparing to go.

“Never.”

She waited. For what, she didn’t know.

Astarion looked at her, up and down, unabashedly. Like he was allowed to.

Then, his hand moved forward and his skin brushed her bare stomach. There was still a faint bruise from the crèche.

He opened his mouth and then…closed it.

Tav didn’t have time for this. She moved to get up when Astarion grabbed her wrist and stopped her.

Tav glanced down, confused, as he reached for a small tin from his pack.

“What are you—”

“Just sit, darling,” he muttered, prying the tin open with one hand. A faint herbal scent drifted up as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Tav narrowed her eyes. “You never do this.”

Astarion didn’t look at her. Instead, he carefully spread the ointment over the puncture marks. “Yes, well. I lifted quite a few of these from the crèche,” he said, tone dry. “Consider this… me not allowing it to go to waste.”

She opened her mouth to quip back, but then he pulled a strip of cloth from his pack and began wrapping her wrist.

Her heart gave a strange, erratic lurch. The punctures were small, barely even bleeding. This wasn’t necessary.

And yet, here he was. Binding her up as though she were fragile.

He tied the cloth off with a sharp tug, then finally—finally—met her eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” he said.

Tav blinked. “Excuse me?”

His fingers still rested lightly against her wrist. “At the crèche. Lae’zel told you to leave me.” His jaw tensed. “And you didn’t listen.”

Tav exhaled, realization settling over her like a slow dawn. This was Astarion’s way of acknowledging it. Of saying… something.

She swallowed. “No, I didn’t.”

“And look where it got you. Nearly killed. Again.”

“Worth it,” she said, standing.

Astarion looked up at her sharply. “What for? You kept me around thinking I’d warm your bed again?” His tone was sharp.

“You’ve never stayed long enough to warm my bed.”

His eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth.

But she didn’t linger. She only left. And made her way to a bed already warm.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The glowing pool shimmered with soft, ethereal light, casting a faint luminescence over the rocky cavern.

The water was surprisingly clear, and the heat rising from it was comforting—especially where Tav drifted near Karlach, who practically turned the water into a warm bath.

Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Karlach were all soaking with her, the rare moment of peace settling over them like a soft lull.

“Lae’zel, you’re scowling,” Tav noted, scrubbing at her arms. “That usually means something terrible is about to happen.”

Lae’zel shot her a sharp look but continued running a hand over her leg, scrubbing away grime. “I am contemplating.”

Karlach grinned. “Dangerous.”

Lae’zel made a noise of irritation and stood abruptly, water cascading down her powerful frame as she stepped out of the pool. “Enjoy your foolish chatter.” And with that, she stalked off.

Tav frowned, shaking her head. “She’s wound tight.”

Karlach hummed, then turned to Shadowheart with a sly grin. “Speaking of—when are you gonna fuck her?”

Shadowheart, who had been rinsing her hair, stiffened so fast Tav was surprised she didn’t give herself whiplash. “Excuse me?”

Karlach leaned back against the edge of the pool, stretching like a cat in the sun. “You heard me, Shadow. When are you gonna put the gith out of her misery?”

Shadowheart’s expression was the picture of careful indifference. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tav bit back a laugh.

Karlach, however, rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You two bicker like an old married couple. I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching.”

Shadowheart huffed. “I do no such thing.”

Karlach gave her a look.

“…Fine,” Shadowheart muttered, sinking lower into the water. “Maybe she’s… intriguing. In a horrifying, infuriating kind of way.”

Karlach whooped, splashing water in her excitement. “ I knew it! ”

Shadowheart let out a dramatic sigh, wiping a hand down her face. "Maybe I’ll have to make her jealous or something. You know, give her a little push.”

Tav raised a brow. “Or, and hear me out—just talk to her.”

Karlach snorted. “Boring.” She tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. Then her grin turned downright wicked. “You know who’d be perfect for that? Astarion.”

Shadowheart blinked. “Astarion?”

Karlach nodded. “Yeah, why not? He’ll fuck anyone. He’d probably be all over you if you asked. He might even rut you in front of her.”

Tav tensed. It was barely noticeable—just a slight stiffening of her shoulders, a tightening of her jaw. But she felt it. That sharp, immediate reaction that had no place creeping into her chest.

Shadowheart tilted her head, considering. “Hmm. He is quite attractive, I suppose.”

Karlach nudged her playfully. “And a massive flirt. Lae’zel would hate it.”

Shadowheart smirked. “True.”

Tav forced herself to relax, focusing on washing the dirt from her skin. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But the thought of Astarion with Shadowheart—of him whispering the same teasing words in her ear, touching her the way he had touched her, filling her the way—

No. She shut the thought down.

“You really think that’s the best idea?” Shaowheart asked, keeping her tone light. “He seems the type to bite during sex.”

Karlach turned to Tav. “Eh, soldier. What does his bite feel like?”

Tav nearly choked on her own breath, her fingers tightening against the water’s surface. “What?”

Karlach grinned, all sharp teeth and mischief. “Oh, come on. It’s common knowledge you let him feed off you.” She waggled her brows. “So? What’s it like?”

Tav swallowed, feeling the heat of their stares. “It’s… not that bad,” she said carefully, scrubbing a bit too hard at her arm.

Karlach laughed. “Not that bad? That’s all we get?”

Tav shrugged, aiming for casual, but the way her heart pounded made it feel anything but. “It’s hard to explain. Feels… strange at first. But then…” She trailed off, realizing she had no idea how to finish that sentence without making things worse .

Karlach’s grin widened. “ Then ?”

Tav scowled and flicked water at her. “Drop it.”

Karlach only cackled, dodging the splash with ease. “Oh, now I’m curious. Does he make it good for you?”

Shadowheart raised a brow. “Is that possible?”

Tav groaned, dunking her head under the water for a moment, hoping when she resurfaced they’d have moved on. No such luck.

Karlach elbowed Shadowheart. “Maybe you should take him for a spin.”

Shadowheart hummed in consideration. “I do like a man with sharp cheekbones.”

Karlach nudged Tav again. “What do you think? Would he be any good in the sack?”

Tav let out a slow breath. “I don’t know, Karlach,” she said dryly. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Karlach snorted. “Maybe I will. Though, I am a ride he wouldn’t survive.”

Tav focused very hard on washing the dirt from her hands, pretending she didn’t feel their eyes on her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The campfire crackled, sending lazy embers drifting into the dark cavern above. The scent of damp earth and charred wood filled the air, and somewhere in the distance, the faint drip of water echoed through the Underdark.

Tav sat cross-legged on a rock, her hands resting in her lap as Gale animatedly explained something about the Weave. His eyes were bright with enthusiasm, hands gesturing as he spoke.

“You see, magic is not just about knowing the words,” he said, voice rich with excitement. “It’s about feeling it, sensing the threads of the Weave around you and—here, try this.”

Before she could protest, he took her hand in his, turning it palm up. His fingers were warm, steady as he guided hers into a precise shape. With a quiet murmur, a golden shimmer of light danced between them, wrapping around her fingertips like silk.

Tav’s breath hitched. She’d never felt magic like this before—not through a blade, not through scrolls, but something alive .

Gale grinned. “There it is. See? You just needed a little practice.”

She looked up at him. He was watching her carefully, a soft fondness in his gaze that she didn’t quite know what to do with.

Her eyes flicked past him, over to the others.

Wyll was off laughing with Karlach, their game of cards clearly leaning in her favor if Wyll’s groan of frustration was anything to go by. Karlach slapped his shoulder, her booming laugh echoing through the camp. They looked comfortable together, at ease.

Tav felt a small twinge of something she couldn’t name.

And then her gaze landed on Astarion.

He was with Shadowheart.

Tav’s fingers twitched against Gale’s as she watched the scene unfold. Astarion wasn’t talking much, looking vaguely disinterested, but Shadowheart... she was leaning into him, laughing at something he’d said—or maybe hadn’t said at all.

And then he caught her gaze .

For a moment, everything else faded—the crackling fire, the hum of Gale’s voice, Karlach’s laughter. It was just him. Watching her.

Her heart pounded.

And then—Astarion moved closer to Shadowheart.

He turned his head to her, lips quirking, and said something low in her ear. Tav couldn’t hear what, but it made Shadowheart smirk. Then, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, he lifted a hand and brushed Shadowheart’s braid off her shoulder. His fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin of her pale neck, lingering there just a second too long.

Tav’s stomach twisted.

She shouldn’t care.

Astarion wasn’t hers.

But that didn’t stop the sharp pang of something hot and unpleasant from curling in her chest.

“Tav?”

Gale’s voice snapped her out of it. She turned back to him, realizing she’d stiffened.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Are you alright?”

Tav forced a small smile, ignoring the way her pulse pounded in her throat.

“I’m fine.”

Gale continued to show her aspects of the Weave, and she did her best to pay attention. Even when Shadowheart grabbed Astarion’s arm and led him into the deeper parts of the cavern.

And when Lae’zel opened a bottle of wine with a huff, Tav joined her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tav stepped carefully over uneven rock formations, her eyes scanning the path ahead. Astarion walked beside her—annoyed and brooding.

They had been sent to fetch a missing villager from the Myconoid Colony. Everyone else was still at the Colony, trying to gain their trust.

This was a simple sidequest. Astarion was the quietest, the fastest, and Tav was the best in battle. Apart from Lae’zel—but she wasn’t good with people.

“Foolish,” Astarion muttered under his breath, stepping over a jagged ledge. “If he’s not already dead, he should be.”

It had been a few days since she had let him last feed. That uncomfortable night in his tent. And they had barely talked since.

Instead, he’d taken to flirting with Shadowheart, his silver tongue dripping honeyed words, his smirks sharp enough to cut. Tav told herself she didn’t care.

Astarion was quiet now, though. Focused. They were searching for Baelen—Derryth’s lost husband, last seen wandering recklessly into the depths.

Tav tried to keep focused, too, but her eyes kept wandering.

Did he sleep with Shadowheart?

Did he whisper filthy phrases in her ear, too? Did he tell her that no other girl was like her? That she was the tightest—

Her boot caught.

She landed on the ground near a glowing green patch of mushrooms.

A slight noise came forth as she stood, dusting herself off. Then, it glowed and vibrated .

She barely had time to register what was happening before cool hands picked her up and threw her with a force she had not expected.

Several feet away she hit the cavern floor hard, rolling into the shadows. A second later—

Boom.

A sickly green cloud burst into the air, right where she had been standing.

Tav scrambled backward, shielding her mouth and nose with her arm. Only a few dust particles drifted her way. She coughed, shaking them off, but she had missed the worst of it.

Astarion, though—

He wasn’t so lucky.

He staggered back, his entire body seizing as the spores settled over him. His chest rose and fell in erratic, heaving breaths. Every muscle in his frame was wound taut. The veins in his arms stood out—thick, dark, pulsing as though something unnatural had begun coursing through him.

His entire form seemed fevered—his skin damp with sweat, his armor clinging to his torso.The glow of the cavern light cast deep shadows along the cut of his jaw, the tension in his throat as he swallowed hard.

His lips parted, a sharp breath escaping between them. His fangs were bared—not in a smirk, not in some teasing display, but in something raw. Something feral.

And his eyes—

His eyes locked onto her, wide, gleaming, burning red in the dim light.

Tav felt something primal twist in her gut, her pulse spiking in response.

"Astarion? What’s wro—”

A blur of shadow and speed. A rush of air.

She barely had time to react before his hands snatched at her tunic, fingers tearing through fabric with a sharp rip. Her breasts became exposed to the cool air when he grabbed a fistful of her breast bindings and yanked them down.

Astarion pressed her to the dirt, straddling her hips in an instant.

His face was a breath away from hers, his fangs bared, his body trembling.

Tav’s pulse thundered. “Astarion—”

His name was barely out of her mouth before his lips brushed her throat. His breath was hot, searing against her skin. His knee pressed against her and then parted her legs. He licked the line of her jaw and then ground himself against her.

She gasped at the feel of him against her core. His fingers tore at her belt and she cried out.

“Star—”

His hands clenched. His body shuddered.

Then—

He ripped himself away.

Staggering backward, he fell to his knees, panting hard. One hand braced against the cavern floor, the other clawing at his own chest like he was trying to tear the feeling out.

Tav clutched what was left of her tunic. “What the hell was that?”

Astarion groaned—low, pained. His fingers pressed hard into his own thigh, like he was forcing himself to stay down.

“The spores,” he rasped. His voice was wrecked, raw. “They—I—” He cut off with a sharp breath, his body still shaking.

Tav licked her lips. She could feel a strangeness coursing through her body. Her body felt heated. Certain parts of her…sensitive.

Astarion’s jaw clenched. He refused to look at her, his hand gripping his thigh so hard his knuckles turned whiter than normal.

Her gaze dipped lower.

The air caught in her lungs.

He was hard. Impossibly, astoundingly hard.

She could see the way he strained against the fabric, could see the way his body twitched at the pressure.

Astarion growled under his breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. His fingers curled into his scalp, as if physically trying to pull himself together.

“You need to leave.” His voice was wrecked, strained. “Now.”

“What were those spores?” she asked, demanding to know. He had known what they were, steered clear of them. And had pushed her out of the way the moment she had fallen near one.

“They’re a… stimulant,” he managed, his voice strained. “A cursed one. Meant to trigger primal urges.”

Tav swallowed, her pulse picking up.

“How do you know that?”

His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. Only something bitter.

“Because I’ve seen what they do,” he spat. “Cazador… he used to bring them back. He’d dose us with them.” He hissed. “Force us to tear into mortals while he watched.”

Astarion groaned, adjusting his trousers. “Those mortals… most of them didn’t survive. Even though we weren’t allowed to feed. They still…” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the stone beneath him. “But it was them or us.”

Her stomach twisted. The image of him losing himself while his master looked on sent a cold chill through her. She opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know—but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice was hoarse, ragged. “What does matter is that you need to go. And I need—” He bit off the words, inhaling shakily.

“…You need what, Astarion?”

His breath hitched. His gaze dropped—just for a second—to her throat.

Then lower.

Tav clutched her tunic tighter.

“I need release.”

Her stomach clenched. Heat coiled low, an ache starting in her core.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “…And how are you going to get it?”

Astarion stilled.

For a long, pulsing moment, he just stared at her. Lips parted. Chest rising and falling too fast.

Then—suddenly—he scrambled back. “I—” He swore under his breath. “I can’t. I won’t.” Another curse, another shake of his head. His eyes darted over the Underdark, searching.

Searching for someone else.

It was them or us. What did that mean?

A terrible realization clawed up her spine. “Astarion.” Her voice was firm now. “What happens if you don’t… find release?”

He didn’t answer.

“ Astarion .”

His jaw worked.

“The increased adrenaline will poison me unless I can get it out.”

“You’ll die?” she asked.

He didn’t answer, but she could concur. It would either seriously harm him, or drive him mad.

“Let me help.”

Astarion let out a breath of air. “You won’t survive it.”

“You’re not that much stronger than me,” she said. “At least, I don’t think.”

And her thighs were aching. The leftover spores in the air were making her want him terribly. But, she had a fairly clear head. She was going to help him.

“I can’t, ” he said in an agonized tone.

“It’s just sex,” she whispered. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before. It won’t mean anything.”

Astarion kept shaking his head and shuffling back, putting distance between them.

“Darling…I—” He groaned loudly. His hands curled into the dirty floor. “You’re almost menstruating. I’ll be too rough.”

“What? I…how do you know that?” She was pretty good at tracking her cycle, and she knew the day was coming up, but how did he ?

“I can smell it.” He groaned again, and readjusted his pants again, palming his erection. Once. Twice. “You were ovulating that first night. That’s why I…” he hissed. “That’s why I wanted you so badly in the woods.”

She scoffed, shocked at the revelation. “What does my menstruation have to do with this? Even if I was ovulating you cannot get me pregnant.”

“I don’t care about that! I care about hurting you!”

“What are you talking about?”

He snarled, taking a step closer. “Just get the fuck out of here, Tav!”

She stepped closer, too, and his pupils widened, leaving only a faint sliver of red. “I’m not leaving you to die!”

His chest rose and fell too quickly, his entire body a live wire of tension. "You want to help?” His voice was rough, wrecked. “Then tie me up.”

“What?”

His eyes burned into her. “I can’t—” He exhaled sharply. “I won’t be able to control myself. If you’re going to do this, I need you to be in control.” He swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “Bind my hands. Keep me still.”

Tav dropped her pack, fingers fumbling through the mess of supplies until she found a length of rope.

She worked quickly, her pulse hammering as she led him to a gnarled root jutting from the floor. He sank to his knees, his breathing uneven, muscles twitching beneath her touch as she moved behind him, tying his wrists together, binding him to the root.

For a moment, he resisted. She felt the coil of strength in his arms, the sheer power in his muscles as he nearly fought her.

But then—he let her tie his hands behind his back.

Astarion let out a low, shuddering breath, testing the restraints. His fingers flexed against the rope. “Tight.” His voice was a rasp. “Good.”

Tav swallowed, stepping back to look at him. His chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow breaths. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

She’d never seen him like this—so undone. So close to losing himself.

“Tell me what to do,” she murmured.

His eyes met hers, burning with something…raw.

“Touch me.”

She leaned forward, unsure what to do for a moment. And when he growled impatiently she ran her fingers lightly down his armor, hands moving to the clasps.

“No, foreplay,” he hissed. “Fuck me. With your hands. Your mouth—anything.”

The clasps of his leather pants became undone. She opened the straining fabric and released his erection. Her fingers wrapped around it hesitantly—he was harder than she had ever seen him, the skin so tight she was unsure if it would even move.

She lifted her hand, the skin managing to stretch over the swollen head of his cock.

He let out a low groan, his head falling back as he arched into her caress.

“Fuck, Tav. Harder .”

And so she pumped him harder, wrapping both hands around his engorged cock and began working him.

His ruby eyes locked onto hers. “Oh, darling, you misunderstand.” His voice was hoarse. “This isn’t some slow, tender affair with your vanilla beau.”

He pulled at the binds, like a caged animal, his muscles taut with the need to move, take, ruin .

“This needs to be fast. Hard. Depraved madness. ” He exhaled sharply, a shuddering thing, his lips curling into a snarl. “ I know you’re not used to it, but fucking do it.”

Tav felt completely out of her comfort zone, but she did as she was told. She pumped him far too hard to be comfortable, but he only gasped in pleasure. She squeezed her hands, tighter and tighter.

Before she knew it, he was spurting all over his lap. A strand of it hit her cheeks, her lip.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers trembling as she pulled back. Astarion slumped against the root, his chest heaving, his skin flushed.

Tav swallowed. “That wasn’t so bad,” she muttered, brushing her hands on her thighs, relieved that it was over.

Then Astarion’s head lifted

Her stomach dropped.

His pupils were blown wide, no red left.

Tav barely had time to react before the rope snapped—ripped clean apart as he lunged.

A startled gasp left her lips as she was thrown onto her back, his weight pinning her down, his grip bruising where he held her. His chest pressed to hers, and she could feel his cock at her thigh, still hard. Still throbbing with need.

His mouth crashed against her neck, and he bit her. Blood spilled past his lips.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate, all-consuming, a raw hunger ignited by the cursed spores still pulsing in his veins. His fingers tangled in her hair, his body caging hers completely, as if he needed to feel every inch of her, to take, to claim—

Tav gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, uncertain whether to push him away or pull him closer. Heat coiled low in her belly, her own body betraying her as the last of the spores hummed through her blood.

Astarion shuddered. His lips left her skin only to drag across her cheek, collecting his earlier spend from her skin.

Then his mouth was at her breast, licking and sucking at her exposed nipples.

His head dropped to her stomach. His whole body was shaking. “ I can’t stop .”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “It’s okay. How can I—”

He ripped a dagger from her hip and pressed it into her hands. He moved her aim to his throat, looking at her, and she knew he was past control.

Then, he shredded her pants open and they were barely off her ankles—in tatters—when he spread her thighs wide.

He spit into his hand before rubbing it against himself.

And then he plunged into her.

Tav gasped. The stretch was more intense than she was used to. Light exploded behind her eyes.

“Star—”

He pushed his way in, groaning at the feel of her beneath him. She did her best to relax, to let him in. But it was all too sudden. He didn’t pause again, thrusting out and back into her, forcing his way in.

He wasn’t gentle. He couldn’t be.

The cursed spores still burned through his veins, driving him forward, demanding more—faster, harder, deeper. His grip was bruising as he hauled her hips against his, forcing their bodies to meet again and again, an unrelenting rhythm that left her gasping.

"More,” he panted. “I need—."

He moved like a man possessed, his grip bruising, his body relentless. His mouth was everywhere—skimming over her throat, licking at the spilt blood, sucking harder.

Heat licked at her spine, winding tight, impossibly tight, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath ragged, his body trembling against hers.

“ Tav —” He sounded wrecked, desperate, like he was holding onto the last threads of sanity.

She clung to him, nails digging into his back, her mouth at his shoulder, biting as he used her. The dagger was still at his neck, and she would use it—if he went too far. But she knew she could handle this.

The Underdark felt distant, the world narrowing down to nothing but heat, breath, the slick press of bodies moving in perfect, frantic rhythm. The cursed spores still hummed in their veins, amplifying everything—every gasp, every whimper, every rush of pleasure cresting higher, sharper—

Then, suddenly, he came, his hot seed erupting in her so powerfully she felt it dribble down her thighs.

He paused, only for a moment.

Then, he was rolling them both over until she was straddling him. He clutched her hips, guiding her movements, his head falling back with a breathless groan.

"More—more—" His fingers tightened in her hair, using that as leverage to fuck up into her.

And gods, she understood now. What he meant earlier about her menstruation.

Pain erupted from where he bucked up into her.

Astarion had been the only one to ever hit her cervix.

When she studied healing for a short bit, she had learned that during a woman’s cycle, the cervix moves.

Up high during ovulation. Lower during—

She screamed when he thrust harder. The pain wasn’t what she thought it might be. It was like a cramping sort of agony, deep in her lower stomach.

He came again, shoving himself so far into her body that she tried to run.

He didn’t let her.

Tav barely had time to gasp before Astarion moved—no, seized her.

One second she was on top of him, staring at the wild, desperate hunger in his eyes, and the next—she was face-down in the dirt, her breath knocked from her lungs.

He spread her legs and drove into her. Again. And again.

And the sounds—gods, the sounds.

Astarion was all ragged breaths and throaty groans, growls so low they rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her skin.

He cursed, snarled, his voice cracking on a choked moan as he buried his face against her neck. His lips were everywhere—biting, tasting, panting against her skin.

But it still wasn’t enough—his hands roamed her body, grasping, demanding. Pulling at her hips, arching herself higher so he had better leverage to sink into her.

She fisted the dirt, clinging to something. But she wasn’t afraid. No, the way she arched into him, the way she surrendered—it was an offering.

And he took it. Gods, did he take it.

But she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Tav tried to lift herself, to breathe, but his fingers slid down her arms, wrapping around her wrists, pressing them into the earth. He tossed her dagger to the side with an animalistic grunt.

She gasped against the floor, feeling wetness seep from her core. He was fucking her so hard so wasn’t sure where she was. Who she was.

And she was so close, she just needed—

Astarion stilled. Just long enough for her to hear the sharp, frantic sound of buckles being torn apart.

The scrape of metal. The rip of leather. A low, frustrated growl as he yanked at the clasps, his movements impatient. Then—a heavy clatter. His armor hit the cavern floor, discarded.

His breath was ragged behind her, his chest rising and falling far too fast. She felt him shift, the heat of his body searing against her back.

And then—his hands were on her again.

He moved, flipping her beneath him, pinning her wrists above her head as he drove into her with a force that left her utterly wrecked. She tried to move, but it wasn’t possible.

He pushed her knee up to her chest, and she whined when he hit that delicious part of her inside.

Again, and again, and again.

His mouth found her throat, fangs grazing her pulse before he sank them in. She cried out, arching against him, her body tightening around him in response. He swallowed her blood, dragging large mouthfuls and leaving her feeling light-headed.

Heat built between them, unbearably tight, each thrust sending her higher, pushing her toward the edge until—

He shifted again and she whined.

“Star,” she gasped. “I need—please.”

Astarion hissed as he slowed his pace, just a fraction, so he could release her wrists, and reach between them. His thumb pressed to her clit and she bucked up in response. His other hand went to her neck, and he held her there, forcing her to stay down as he fucked her like his prisoner.

Like his whore.

Which, she was, wasn’t she?

She was no better than this.

Astarion fucked her harder, his thumb expertly working her clit.

And…

She shattered. An agonizing orgasm that ripped her apart.

Astarion followed moments after, his body locking up before he collapsed against her, panting, and shaking.

But he still wasn’t done.

He rolled her onto her side, and slid behind her, throwing her leg over his hip and he drove into her.

And when he finished, he pushed her on her hands and knees.

After a while, it just became too much for Tav. She couldn’t reach another orgasm. She could only endure what was happening to her. She prayed that each spill of his cock would be his last, but she lost count after five.

And when her body began to flop, when her breaths became shallow, she looked around for her dagger. The silver glinted in the light, and she reached for it. Astarion was groaning into her neck, hips pounding against her with a ferocity that made every inch of her body jolt.

His grip was too tight. The sharp point of his hip bones was too brutal.

Finally, the dagger was in her hands.

“Stop,” she breathed, trying her best to lift it.

The response wasn’t words, necessarily. It was a grunt. A command of desire.

Tav’s fingers trembled around the dagger. She tried to lift it, but her arm felt boneless, her strength drained by the sheer force of him. The blade barely nicked his skin—a thin line of red beading along his chest—but he didn’t flinch. If anything, he chased the sensation, pressing into it, into her.

“Stop,” she whispered again, but there was no force behind it. Not really.

She was so tired. So, she dropped the dagger.

Tav’s eyes closed, her body heavy and sluggish. Astarion licked at sweat on her brow, on her chest, and her neck.

A while later, Astarion came again, groaning loudly in her ear, and she braced for another position.

She was wrecked—chest rising and falling in uneven pants, skin feverish against the cool stone.

And Astarion—he was still above her, braced on shaking arms, his head hanging low, his white-blond curls damp with sweat. His breaths came slow now, like he was still waging some internal battle, still clawing back control.

His hands tightened on the rock beside her head. He didn’t move away.

But he didn’t try to move them into a better position. He didn’t pull out and thrust back in.

He just laid there.

~~~~~~~

One moment, his weight crushed her into the stone, the next, she was empty, cold.

Her body refused to move. She was dimly aware of movement—of him shifting away from her, of the scrape of boots against stone. Then—cool glass pressed against her lips.

“Drink.” Astarion’s voice was hoarse.

She parted her lips, and the bitter liquid slid down her throat. Almost instantly, warmth spread through her limbs, dulling the ache, clearing the haze. Her mind sharpened. Her pulse steadied.

Blinking, she took a slow, shuddering breath and winced as she pushed herself up on weak arms. Everything ached.

Astarion was standing a few feet away, his bare chest still heaving. For a moment, his red eyes flicked over her—assessing.

Jaw tightening, he turned his back to her and angrily yanked on his clothes. The leather straps of his armor snapped together with sharp, jerking motions.

Tav just sat there, staring at the ground, trying to process everything. The cavern was eerily silent now, save for the rustle of fabric and the clink of buckles. Her body still hummed, her mind still reeling.

And he—he wouldn’t look at her.

Tav finally looked down.

Her breath caught.

Blood.

It was smeared across her chest in dark streaks. It dripped in thin rivulets from the twin punctures at both sides of her neck, trailing between her breasts, painting her skin in red. There were faint traces of it lower, around her thighs—a dark stain against her trembling flesh.

She tried to move, to push herself up, but her arms buckled beneath her. Her legs refused to cooperate.

A sharp exhale.

Her eyes flickered up—Astarion was watching her.

There was something in his gaze—something cold. Distant. Annoyed.

She swallowed hard.

The weight of what had just happened settled over her like a stone, pressing down, making it even harder to breathe. She had never seen him like this before. Never felt him like this before.

Her knees buckled and then he was there, grabbing her by the elbow and hauling her up. “Come on,” he spat. “We have to move.”

Move. Walk. It felt impossible, even with the healing potion running through her veins.

“Astarion—”

“Shut up.”

The words were sharp, final. He didn’t even look at her.

Instead, his grip on her elbow tightened as he yanked her up, his strength the only thing keeping her on her feet. Her legs barely held, trembling beneath her.

A sharp hiss—his, this time.

Tav followed his gaze downward, and her stomach twisted.

Between her legs, her core was red, swollen—the skin puffy, inflamed. Evidence of everything.

She did her best not to wince, but he saw.

His jaw tightened, and then, without another word, he turned away.

Tav braced herself against a boulder, as she struggled for balance. Her other hand reached blindly for her pants, but the moment she lifted them, she realized—they were ruined. Tattered at the seams, ripped beyond repair.

She exhaled sharply, barely holding back a curse.

Astarion scoffed, and when she looked up, his expression was twisted in something close to disgust.

“This is exactly why I told you not to help.” His voice was sharp as a blade. “But no, you had to play the hero.”

She tried to speak. Tried to do something.

“When that fucking building was coming down because of me, you wasted your time! You should have left !”

She licked her lips. “I—”

“This would have never happened!”

Finally, she found her words. “You—you pushed me out of the way, knowing the spores would hit you—”

“Shut up,” he said again.

Tav didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Just as he hadn’t.

Why was he being so cruel?

“Well? Are you going to stand there looking pathetic, or are we leaving?”

Tav inhaled deeply, dragging the tattered remains of her pants over her hips, swallowing the pain that flared in every movement. She had to move. She had to act like this didn’t matter.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

A lie. But maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it. Maybe if she said it enough, he would believe it too.

Something flickered in Astarion’s eyes at that. Sharp and sudden, like a blade drawn too fast. Like she had insulted him somehow.

His lips curled.

Before she could react, he grabbed her by the collar of her ruined tunic and yanked her forward.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he sneered, his breath hot against her face. His fingers trembled, but his grip didn’t loosen. “You were just there. If it had been anyone else, I would have fucked them just the same.”

Tav stilled.

He smiled—a cruel, humorless thing. “I’m not worried about your wellbeing. I don’t care for you, darling. Never have. Never will.”

His grip loosened, shoving her back with a scoff. “It was pure luck I got stuck with you beneath me.”

Luck.

Astarion turned away sharply, shoulders rigid, not daring to meet her eyes.

Tears burned at Tav’s eyes. She didn’t understand. The venom in his voice, the way he wouldn’t look at her—it wasn’t just anger. It was something else, something deeper, something raw.

Maybe he was embarrassed.

Maybe it was Shadowheart. Maybe he hated that he had been unfaithful to the cleric.

She whispered, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Astarion didn’t turn. Didn’t react. He only walked further away, his shoulders rigid, fists clenched at his sides.

Tav tried to step forward. Her legs buckled instantly. She caught herself on a boulder, gritting her teeth, forcing herself upright.

Another step. Her muscles spasmed, shaking so badly that her vision blurred . Everything fucking hurt.

And then—she collapsed.

Astarion was there before she hit the ground. Fast. Too fast.

He yanked at her ruined tunic, wincing as the fabric tore away in his grip. Sharp, impatient movements.

Before she could protest, something soft brushed against her skin—his sleep shirt. He pulled it over her head, the worn fabric slipping down, draping over her, covering her completely.

Then, without a word, he scooped her up.

Tav sagged against him, too weak to resist.

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