#gn!durge

[durgesupremacy]

they Talk

“What are you doing on the floor?” Gortash’s footsteps reverberated through the room. “Come eat.”

He watched Solace open their eyes with a start, like he’d awoken them from a good dream. “Eat?”

“Surely even unholy assassins must eat. We have a big night ahead of us. We should rest.” He approached and offered them a hand up. Solace took it, though he thought he could detect a hint of disappointment in their eyes as they glanced at his healed arm.

Gortash liked to be able to go fluidly between his many properties in the city without want for comfort. Even here at the foundry, he had a full suite with bedding and provisions. He pondered the liquor cabinet for a moment before choosing a bourbon, pouring two glasses at the table laden with food.

“Now, tell me. How did you learn such remarkable self-restraint?” Gortash sat and ate, indicating to Solace that they should do the same. They assessed the table with an odd wariness and eventually decided it posed them no threat. They sat.

***

Solace told him of temple life, of the blood-driven urges that awakened in Bhaal’s children and, if they were lucky, in his most devoted followers. They wondered briefly if they shouldn’t have answered, but the more they watched Gortash take them in, unfazed and intrigued, the less they cared. How pleasant it was to have someone besides their butler witness the nature of their darkness. No one else had ever asked them, so they’d never talked about it. About themselves. Gortash listened well and asked more questions.

“You’re impressive, obviously. I do not doubt your urge to kill. That’s where my curiosity lies,” Gortash said. “When you want it so badly, how do you stop?”

Solace was looking at the table. It was simple food, bread and cheese and fruit and meat, but the bite of bread they’d dared to take was delicious. They were mindful of their appetite in the temple; murder and worship were so sating, it was unbecoming to feast in other ways. But no one was watching here. No one would care if Solace ate their fill, honored the other needs of their mortal form. They relaxed a little, and ate. Gortash saw, but they couldn’t tell if he noticed.

“I do not stop. I wait.” They tried the meat next, and it was so flavorful Solace struggled not to sigh in pleasure. “But I can only wait so long. The urge sees to that. So I must be disciplined, too. Or else my next kill will be beyond my control.”

Gortash smiled, shaking his head. Had Solace seen him smile before? “Your mastery of self is impeccable. It honors my god.”

Solace cocked their head. “I honor only Bhaal.”

“Of course. Yet I too must commit murder on occasion, pleasing a god with no intention of doing so.” Gortash sipped his bourbon. “And our work has the potential to honor both Bhaal and Bane. Together.”

It might, Solace thought, but it will not matter. Bhaal cared only for death. No matter what they achieved, someone would have to kill him one day, this confident man. It might have to be Solace, now that they fought him, knew him. They wondered if he would have a preference.

They drank the bourbon. It was harsh in their mouth, in a way they liked; they didn’t appreciate the subtlety of weaker drinks. This Gortash seemed to notice, and it was strange to Solace, his moment of satisfaction at having chosen something suitable to their taste.

“Gortash.”

“Solace.”

They didn’t know what to say. Solace’s thoughts flowed with all that had gotten them to this point. A strange correspondence, the Chosen of Bane soliciting an alliance with the Chosen of Bhaal. Solace’s reconnaissance, observing this ambitious, dark-haired human as he charmed the coast and tightened his grip on the city. The prediction that he would try to charm them, too, and the knowledge that they could not be charmed because they were apart from all others he’d met. But Gortash was not charming them. He was being forthright. He admired Solace, appreciated them. They thought of his blood on their mouth, his body under theirs.

“I like the bourbon.”

***

Orin’s shrieking laughter rang out across the temple when Solace returned, followers hauling the torture racks behind them like some macabre parade.

“yesYesYES! Oh, what treasures, restored to glory in Father’s name.” Orin ran her pale fingers across the wood of the rack, shuddering in the ecstasies of fantasy. Solace ignored her. Their blood-kin tried their patience.

“Did you have fun, my Lord Priestess? So unusual, playing thief,” their sister smirked. “Why did you dirty your hands, again?”

“You know why.” Solace watched an acolyte delicately handle the reliquary containing Brother Toop’s bones. “I wanted to know how our new ally fared in combat.”

“Ugh, the Baneite.” Orin rolled her eyes and turned back to the body on the altar behind her. “Arrogant little lordling. He’s no ally of mine.”

“Fine, then. It’s not your concern.” They stood and continued to oversee the transfer of the racks while Orin played with the corpse, Solace pretending not to notice their sister pretending to focus on idle dismemberment. So tiring, always. Orin resented Solace’s place in the temple. Solace almost couldn’t blame her; the way Orin lounged like a princess in its halls, she must have gotten all the attention before Solace arrived. A pureblooded Bhaalspawn, fresh with gore and flanked by Sceleritas Fel, another mad creation of Bhaal himself. Of course Orin was usurped, and of course she was angry.

But Bhaal doesn’t care for glory. A strange irony in the competitive, cutthroat spirit of the temple, Solace always thought; there was no fight cultists could have with one another that would matter more than the lives they took in the streets. It was only a coincidence of mortal disposition that Solace’s favor in the temple matched Solace’s favor in the eyes of their god. The latter came from their deeds, and would persist despite Orin’s opinion, so long as their blades stayed sharp and wet.

Speaking of. Solace felt the urge pulse in their flesh, a low ache that would build to a blackout if left unchecked. Oddly soon after killing, but understandable. The guards at the Hall of Wonders they’d killed for duty. There was no time to kill for pleasure. For lust.

“Watch over the acolytes for me, Sceleritas,” Solace called as they walked towards the temple exit. The butler appeared in a flash of red, eager and meek, while Orin grimaced. Solace paid her no mind.

That night, Solace wandered until they came upon an abandoned house, secluded in the Lower City. A perfect refuge for the thieves and street folk that no one would miss. In the darkness they counted only one pair of eyes on watch, only five or six bodies breathing. Solace killed everyone inside.

[mostwantedpotato404]

They need to talk like an adults

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[lynnlovesthestars]

Could I request headcanons for Harleep, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with kind and patient gn s/o? This is quite self-indulgent of me because I have been told I'm too nice & so patient so I'm curious how they would react XD

first of all sorry for being so late, but my small brain has to process things multiple times to make sense, so i wrote this like... 5 times? So it takes me a while, but i hope that waiting was worth it.

Also i saw you sent a second ask to see if i recieved this one, so ill put dammon and rolan there cause this is starting to get a bit long:3<3 thank you so much for your patience!:3

Taglist: @sessils @spacebarbarianweird

Headcanon: BG3 men with kind and patient s/o. (pt. 1)

Zevlor:

Zevlor is emotionally a wreck already, he considers kindness a virtue and it definitely makes him swoon when he notices you put extra care in making sure he's treated with kindness. At the end of the day, he basically got bullied on all fronts when all he really wants is to prove himself worthy of the title he carried for so long.

Zevlor has a short temper too, and he appreciates so much your effort and patience in dealing with his outbursts, whether they are of rage- not towards you of course- or of sadness, you offer always a shoulder for him and he cherishes it so much.

He is lowkey jealous when he notices that your kindness is not mostly exclusive to him, he has learned that people can abuse one's patience and care, and 1. he doesn't want you to get hurt, 2. he wishes your kindness was maybe reserved to him. Call him selfish, but after being deprived of it for so long, he is hesitant to let go of it.

Astarion:

Initially he would be very wary, in his experience being nice always lead to him getting hurt, so why would he trust someone who's default reply is kindness? At the end of the day the last time someone was '''''kind''''' to him, he was turned in a vampire spawn, so he takes it extra slow, he has just regained control over himself, he won't blindly accept kindness. He's lowkey afraid you are just part of a bigger scheme that will bite him in the ass and leave him shackled and caged again.

Once he gets accustomed to your kindness and finally accepts it, he revels in the kindness you offer and your patience, especially the smallest gestures like opening a door for him. He will literally melt for it, he's already smitten, your kindness leaves him like mush in your hands.

Nevetheless every good side, comes with a negative one. He is dead afraid your kindness will bring you to get hurt. He often reminds you to be weary and keep all your kindness for people you trust (HIM), rather than going around and helping every lost soul that asks for help. He will fight you on this a few times- especially if you do get hurt or it is obvious you are about to- he will not bite his tongue and keep it for himself, and that's one of the moments when he's glad you are patient.

You understand where it comes from and you try your best to find a solution that would make both happy. Your patience of course doesn't stop there, he knows he's an handful: he carries an heavy trauma baggage and he has a feisty personality, yet you always show him you don't mind, that you are there for him and that he can take all the time of the universe to sort his problems out.

Wyll:

Wyll would find it so endearing, how you are ready to go to someone's aid, you stop on your tracks to support someone in need, and he would love seeing you being kind to everyone. It's probably one of the reasons why he falls in love with you. Unlike Astarion he encourages you to be kind to everyone, cause he considers it a virtue, he incourages you to be the best version of yourself, and he reminds you that if you do get hurt, he will be there to pick up the pieces.

As far as patience goes, he's grateful to the moon and back, he knows he is an handful, especially if he doesn't break his pact with Mizora and has to leave more times than ever. He makes sure once he's back though that he makes up for lost time, whether it is with gifts or by taking care of you.

Haarlep:

Harleep is so used to Raphael that honestly he's taken aback at first, living in the hells means that kindness is hard to come by and around Raphael? It's either a trick or a miracle, so he brushes it off, not repelled like Astarion would, but definitely not eager like Wyll either.. he would be probably the one that takes it as it is, just.. that. But when he gets used to it? He becomes unsufferable. So unsufferable that he goes around demanding Raphael to be treated with kindness and patience! He purrs whenever you are nice even the smallest, thanking you and praising you like a goddess. He even tries to be nice himself- to you only- and despite it has to be and effort, since he has never been exposed to much kindness, he does become a little more mindful, even asking before taking your form or just with small acts of services.

One time Rapahel makes sure to send a message to you through him. "Tav, Raphael asked you stop being nice to me, cause if i demand it from him as well, he's going to turn me into fertilizer", message delivered with a pout that begs exactly the opposite.

Harleep is another that is deeply afraid of your kindness. Let's be real, you can defend yourself as much as you want, but people tend to use people and your kindness is one of those characteristics evil people would pry on- he knows well since its literally part of what he does, and a facet of what Raphael does as well. He probably scolds you a lot for this reason, he does it in a sweet way- don't get me wrong- he sugarcoats the shit out of it, but he will let you know when you are about to get in peril or you are too careless with your kindness.

Gale:

Gale is touched by your kindness, already from the first days after meeting him.

You had helped him out of his blotched portal, you fed him artifacts, you didn't question his secrets or push him to reveal anything, and he doesn't give that for granted. Once he's closer to you, and he learns that you are unconditionally kind to everyone, he's scared.

He starts warning you to be a little less nice, to use your judgement before you blindly trust a stranger, but he doesn't push it past a warning. As much as he wants to protect you, he doesn't want to take away your chance to grow from your errors.

In matter of your patience he's so grateful, he spends days thanking you when he's still afflicted with the orb condition, he cooks as a form of apology or thanks depending what he did, he gets baths started for you, he's treating you as a queen/ king. He alread would do it, but with you? He's even more protective, he almost feels like he has to match your kindness and patience with as much attentions he can muster.

Halsin:

Halsin is a fair man you think he wishes everyone was kind, but he actually wants you to be fair, he wants you to be mindful of who you give kindness to, he wants you to be a reasonable judge rather than unconditionally nice cause it is the way of the nature as well. Nature is not only nurturing and lush, it's also the poisonous vipers and herbs.

Does he appreciate when you are kind? Absolutely, he thinks it's the best gift Silvanus has ever bestowed him, but it doesn't take away the fact that he wants you to be treated kindly as well, so the moment someone crosses the line and starts abusing your kindness or becomes rude, he's definitely stepping in to s h a m e the other person. "You are lucky you have met Tav, cause they are kind, but nature wouldn't be so understanding and patient" He says it with a rage you rarely see in his eyes.

He will do his best to remind you to surely practice kindness but also to be mindful who you help and who you are kind to, cause there's always rotten that can harm you, and lowkey if you get hurt he will invite you to take back what you gave.

Despite this Halsin considers kindness the bare minimum a person should be, and what stops him from encouraging you to be kinder, its just the knowledge that you might get hurt.

[dhampling]

both free gn!reader, 2.1k

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

-

you reject bhaal's greatest gift and pay with your life. to this, your horrified love bears witness.

word count: 2,105

a massive THANK YOU to @scarstothepast for sending this request my way - i hope it does your idea justice <3

as always, read the tags and decide your fate!

-

Mutilation. 

Reduced to nothing but a flaccid gasp of your former self; a marionette in your father’s horrid hand.

Mangled beyond recognition. Bhaal’s rotten plaything. His prodigal children, both dead. 

Far past any conceivable beg for reconciliation. 

Naught but a smack as your carcass plummets to stone.

-

The Bhaalist temple is ripe, unsurprisingly. 

The smell of a weeping wound seeps from every porous surface. Infection in the mortar, decay in the miry ridges lining the floor; burning flesh amidst flame torches and wails in the middle distance akin to an abattoir. 

Yet, Astarion finds comfort there solely in your confidence. Your conviction. Your will to want for better, to reject your savage bloodline. The power you command over that innate desire to harm. 

You’ve prepared well for this encounter. You’re aware of the risks, you’ve scoped out the entrance to Orin’s rancid shrine; and you’ve gathered appropriate accomplices from your rooms in the Elfsong to assist you in rescuing the one of you held in her clutches.

He should be a little wary. A little skittish. Observant, always; but there should be a little rattle in his brain telling him to hold back from the rest of you. 

The self-preservation instinct developed over two centuries in captivity simply isn’t there.

He’s free, because of you. 

He wants to rip the windpipe from the changeling’s throat with his bare teeth. 

Stalk her chanting cultists from the shadowy ledges surrounding their sacrificial altar and shoot off innumerable Arrows of Many Targets at their vile heads. He - personally - wants to eviscerate any Bhaalist visage presented to you with brutal slash upon brutal slash until he is positively covered in putrid god-guts and wailing in victory.

A twirl of his dagger. The easy click of his disarm tools. A wink in your direction.

Astarion will save you the way you saved him.

He remembers the way you looked at him with the most hells-bent fury during the Ritual of Profane Ascension, ripped from your side and thrown aloft by Cazador’s wicked pact magic. The resolute wrath with which you slashed your way through the monstrosities between you. Pulling him from Cazador’s circle, his daggers returned; a rage so formidable in your eyes he almost wanted to sink to his knees and propose to you there and then. 

You wanted better for him. Better than perpetuating the vicious cycle of abuse starting all those centuries ago with Eravask the Forebear to his very own master.

Master.

He is better. 

He is capable of so much more than the brief wavering moment in that foulest of Dungeons, in which he wanted the most grossly depraved of powers for himself. Every single moment of agony, terror; torment, hunger - the way with which you so effusively confronted his paralysing fears and talked him from the brink; from becoming that very same monster in his moment of sheer dread.

You hop with a determined gait down the towering stairs to the walkway. Entrance in sight. Astarion stalks ahead and moves to disarm the trapped plates in your path.

The two of you have spoken about this moment many times, sequestered away in a corner in the Elfsong by candlelight. A bottle of Firewine and tears threatening to brim in your eyes.

You once were a master. Your freak of a demon butler cast in role seemingly as your very own Godey. You have no recollection of it, those you killed in your father’s name, nor how you did it; but the weight of those souls indeterminate in number is abject torture. There is no forgiveness for you. No hope, no conclusion. Just a wide and wavering path to redemption you can never be sure you’ll justly earn.

That awful, plagued creature you were. The night you softly awoke with Scleritas above you and that primal urge to kill the one closest to you through your whole adventure so far. Holding back. Warning him.

The way he sat and spoke with you, smoothed your hair as you bit furiously at his wrists and spat his name with such evil spite. Unafraid of you, no matter the threat. 

Two beasts in tandem.

-

Orin is horrifying in appearance. Pale, skin writhing with blue vein-like whips across her white flesh; armour of crimson jerky and eyes empty.

Lips smacking in wily delight. Bloodkin. Bloodkin. 

Astarion watches your confrontation prior to the conflict he knows is to come. He’ll get his moment to brutalise every single one of these sadists, but this is yours.

The ritual sacrifice is spared through your recollection of Bhaal’s terms - you were the one challenged, not your accomplice. 

These terms also mean your fight will be one on one. You versus her. 

Astarion’s face falls.

Fuck.

However, he takes solace in the fact that he’s come to know your expressions well through your adventures together. Your innate ability to stay one step ahead is what has carried you so far in the first place. 

She taunts you, yapping, pointing, aggrandizing; at one point even shifting into you. If the circumstances weren’t so dire he’d probably make a joke about what a fun evening could be had with such a skill. 

You remain stoic, mapping out the environment and taking stock of what you can use as leverage. He simply watches you with a mixture of trepidation and admiration resting uneasy in his gut.

"Come to me, Father. Set my flesh to your unholy purpose."

The most grotesque monstrosity replaces Orin. The Slayer. 

Astarion watches on as the duel begins.

In light of having prior defeated the undead Visage of Myrkul, Orin alone isn’t a formidable enemy. Your battle-strengthened dexterity is unmatched and with each attempt the current favoured of Bhaal makes to injure you, you simply strengthen your position and hit her harder.

It’s almost enjoyable to watch the two of you dance.

While not easy, it certainly isn’t difficult to gain the upper hand with each attack you make. 

The Slayer is almost… clumsy?

Too large to aim her lunges with precision, you dodge her at most turns. Your party watches with baited breath, but small smiles begin to edge onto their weary faces.

The rabid dog and the acrobat. 

Each hit you strike weakens her substantially. While she does get some vantage on you and causes a little damage by the sacrificial altar, her limbs in this form are too spindly and make for stupidly easy targets to focus your attacks. 

Within minutes, the imposing figure is reduced to little but a pile of gore on the floor.

Among the foetid viscera that once was the changeling you immediately drop to search for her Netherstone-jewelled dagger. Bloodthirst. Hands heavy with still-warm organs as you retrieve your winnings, blood soaking every inch of exposed flesh on your arms. You throw your spoils to the side and hold the altar key to your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, startling you for the briefest moment.

Astarion.

“Gods. You idiot! You are positively deranged! You knew that would happen, didn’t you? Did you bring us along just to watch?!” He grins.

Your own smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You turn to embrace him fully. 

The rest of your party traipse across the tides of blood toward you.

“I had a feeling it might.”

You rest your head on his shoulder in the newborn silence of the temple, tossing the altar key in the vague direction of your party as your hands bloody his armour in a reverent grasp. 

“I love you. I just - I love you! You insane thing. You did it!” He laughs loudly, ecstatic.

You see your friends behind him, your eyes meeting theirs in a downcast stare. A nod of understanding.

“I love you.’

You sigh into his chest, splaying your fingers as if to hold more of him.

‘It’s not over yet.”

He pulls away and looks at you, lifting your head softly so your eyes meet his. His neck juts a little.

“Hm?”

His brow quirks inquisitively. The wail of victory depletes into a quivering hum.

-

The first thing Astarion notes is that the blood scent weeping from every pore of your broken body is no longer familiar. It rots. 

A burning stench, charred and sour as it licks the back of his nose. 

A few moments of petrified silence before his feet carry him to you. 

The Visage of Bhaal is gone. 

Your flesh operates as little more than a bag of broken bones, skull cracked and limbs fractured almost beyond recognition. Eyes wide open but unmistakably dead.

He hears your two accomplices bicker in the background as the multiple Scrolls of Revivify retrieved from your pack fail to glow near your remains. They don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. Their shouts are crisp in the silence of the temple. Brash. Disturbing. 

There should be more noise. There should be shouting, screaming, crying. Crowds of those you’ve saved should be here petitioning whatever God sickens of their stream of bitter tears to bring you back to them.

To him. 

He can’t take his eyes off your own. Empty.

If he’d gone through with the ritual, maybe he could have saved you. Turned you. Revived you as his and kept you safe from a fate like this for the rest of eternity.

You’d have despised him for it, but it’d be ok. You’d be awake. You’d be capable of feeling with which to despise him. 

No, he mutters. Not that. Not ever. 

He is better than that.

He shifts to sit cross legged next to your corpse as your accomplices’ shouting turns to unbridled wailing. Toys with your hair gently so as not to disturb the broken skull below the flesh and whispers to you softly.

“You silly thing. I know you’re still in there, aren’t you? I hope you know how much I love you.’

A quiet, heavy wracked sob.

‘You are so magnificent, little dove. So smart. You did so, so well. I am so very proud of you.”

He doesn’t notice Withers, not until he speaks.

-

You’re fuzzy as you stand.

He’s frozen on the floor, cross legged and round-eyed. Sharp ears pinned back. 

“No.” Astarion chokes.

Your eyes are heavy. They search for him in the blur and you stumble trying to feel for him.

“Astarion?’

Your companions are paralysed. 

The stages of grief begin to unravel. 

“Astar- Astarion, I can’t see. Where are you?” You sob, reaching out blindly in front of you to search for him in the fog. 

“Oh. Oh, my love -’

He looks up at you and blinks away a flood of tears as they threaten to spill. 

‘My love. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His feet carry his fraught body to you once again, mindless in their pursuit of you. You’re here. You’re warm, speaking; sobbing, and here. 

Name stricken from the archives. Pulled gently into his arms the second he stepped within reach and wrapped the tightest within them you ever have been.

Your party swaddles you in the biggest hug you’ve had in your life.

Astarion doesn’t let go when they do. He buries one hand in your hair, keeps one tightly around your waist. Shakes with sobs.

“You scared me.” He mumbles, letting out a small laugh into the crook of your neck.

You neglect to mention the patch of snot and fresh wet tears now adorning his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He whispers, playing with a lock of your hair. 

“No. I am. I am so, so sorry.”

“Seeing you like that ruined me, you know.’ He smiles shakily. 

You sob once more. 

‘I wondered why the whole of Toril wasn’t screaming for you at the moment of your death.’

He moves his head to look at you. Brings his forehead to yours. Kisses you so gently that you wonder if his lips have always felt this soft and his forlorn eyes glisten. Alive and in the arms of your lover.

‘They gave me nothing. Two hundred years of nothing. Useless wretches.’ He laughs and rolls his teary eyes. Sniffs. You smile at him with the dopiest eyes - you think - that have ever existed across the Sword Coast.

‘But the Gods listened to me this time because they knew.’

Astarion coughs. 

He smells like home - warm, spiced; familiar. Your eyes meet his now, his grasp on you still firm.  

‘You defied your father. You resisted your cruel destiny.’

Another kiss.

‘And now we’re both free.” He whispers.

Time stops for a few precious moments, a silent promise. 

No more. 

[saltyowlet]

Not Enough

Mini drabble for AstarionxGN!Reader

You look into those crimson red eyes, studying the colors that swirl in his beautiful orbs, letting your own melt into his gaze.

"I love you forever," you whisper. Words like a vow. A promise to the gods, let them know your truth, your oath

He looks into yours for a moment, taking in every detail until it scorched into his unbeaten heart. No word in existence could ever compare to what he sees in front of him. To dare so would be a lie, a disservice to the vision that you are.

"I do not." You study his face, curious. There is a twinkle in his eye, a glimmer of the truth glinting in his red rubies. A soft smile etched on your face as you lean in kiss his brows. He takes it in, letting your soft touch consume his very being.

Not enough, never enough. Your touch burned everywhere it caressed, stoking the fire in his veins as he yearns for more.

"Why do you not love me forever?" You murmured. No judgement, no hurt. You knew him. You knew 'us'

He breathes in your scent, letting his head reach intoxication. He puts a hand on your chin, ever so lightly lifting it as he lowers his lips against yours, waiting to fall in love again.

"Forever is not long enough for me to love you"

[teaaagan]

Heart

Tav (Y/N): If I learned one thing from Astarion, is that I'll steal everything you have.

Shadowheart: -thinking- Haha you won't steal my heart.

Tav (Y/N): By the way, imperfection is beautiful.

Shadowheart: -under her breath- Fuck

[fungisthings]

Astarion x Druge — Fangs | HC

Gender-neutral reader/Durge, no pronouns mentioned | Author's note: I started playing with my durgie and can't help but imagine him (my Durge) with sharp canines, and how Astarion would see them | Not proof read, NSFW implied ; undercut incase | words

Astarion had easily taken to your... Murderous habits. He had such a casual relationship with murder himself, it didn't really matter to him that you would as well.

I mean, I wouldn't even say that he didn't care either, he relished that you had something in common. The bloodlust, that is.

But the fangs? That was something else.

He didn't really notice them at first, perhaps habituated to the sight from spending so much time around other vampire spawns and Cazador, but he eventually did.

Astarion noticed when looking amongst his peers, and then you. He more so noticed that everyone else had dull canines, and realized that it was probably not actually normal to have sharp teeth.

But for a very long time, he didn't quite care, either. Sharp teeth? Gods, who cared! Vampire had them, he didn't get the appeal at all!

Until you used them in a fight and oh boy was the appeal ever so present. Seeing your teeth sink into some unsuspecting creature, seeing the blood dribble down from those fangs of yours? Exquisite.

Perhaps he would be inclined to have you use them on him instead? It wasn't often that he got bitten, after all, he was doing all of it himself, never the one bitten.

But Gods above, you went from hot to intoxicatingly hot when he realized he had a thing for sharp teeth, your sharp teeth.

Astarion spends time dotting on you and your teeth afterwards. Sickeningly sweet words, complementing the way you bite.

Everyone is absolutely perplexed at his own behaviour towards you and your teeth, his utter fixation upon seeing them in action. It's a lot, even for a vampire spawn.

This one is a little short because I didn't want to get too NSFW, but might update the more I think about Nero and his sharp teeth

Characters I write for | Masterlist

[bg-brainrot]

A Bloody Sacrament (Astarion x GN!Durge)

Featuring: Astarion x Evil!Durge

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Series: Fits into A Star in the Dark, AO3 link here

Summary: After fulfilling the Tribunal’s task and becoming Bhaal's unholy assassin, you bathe yourself in a pool of blood. You wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your day doused in red, but lucky for you, you have a lover who is only too happy to clean you up.

Tags: Violence, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood As Lube, seriously a lot of blood like too much blood please be warned, Smut, Voyeurism, Semi-Public Sex, Masturbation, Fingering, Oral Sex, Dom Astarion, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Pain, smidge of praise kink, smidge of overstimulation, aftercare sort of, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Evil Dark Urge, gender-neutral smut

A/N: If you follow me for my fun, fluffy stuff, I’m sorry, please feel free to look away c’: This is going dark and bloody (and uh, gross if you think about it too long). But sometimes I need to let my inner Durge out. Seriously mind the tags! Spoilers for all of Act 3. This is a Durge that has gone along with *everything* Astarion says, says the most evil things possible, is manipulating him just as they did him, and fully plans on taking over the world for their father. Naturally this is evil-evil Durge so like, tread carefully!

Word count: ~4k

The Murder Tribunal hums in satisfaction. You, the very slayer of Bhaal, prevail before them, standing in a crimson pool of your own making.

You have butchered the pathetic celestial, a hollyphant who dared play investigator. Now it is time to bathe in her blood, take your place as Bhaal’s Unholy Assassin, and prove yourself every bit your father’s child. Your head pounds, the bloodlust overwhelming as you inhale the scent of her ungodly demise, but you maintain enough focus to step forward.

Yes, your blood sings. Douse yourself in this pathetic creature's entrails, cleanse any remaining part of you that may still resist your calling.

Every stride brings you closer to release, to a greatness you know is yours to claim. When your foot finally dips into the pool of blood before you, you throw your head back in elation – yes, you’ve earned this.

Deeper into the basin you walk, down its slick steps, each one pulling you further down. It seems deeper than you thought possible, though perhaps it’s a matter of perspective. After all, as you surrender yourself, your body, to the cult of Bhaal, it’s clear the depths that you would go for the sake of your father’s unholy agenda are far, far deeper.

You reach the center of the pool, where you release yourself to your very nature. In the eye of the temple’s sacred bath, your body is consumed and into its crimson liquid, you sink– down, down, down…

Fantasies of a world built upon your whims invade your mind. Tears of blood run down soft, pathetic cheeks. A river of red courses through the city, fed by bodies you’ve slain. You see seas of blood that would put this pathetic pool to shame. All of it, every last drop, in the name of your lord, your god, your father: Bhaal.

It feels like years of these beautiful delusions, so when finally you snap out of them you sit up with a gasp. You’re not sure how long you were under, but judging from the unaffected looks of your companions, what felt like a lifetime was truly, merely a moment.

As you rise from your sanguine sacrament, blood drips from your hands, your arms, your legs. Every inch of you is stained red with the sins you’ve committed. It’s a delectable sensation, one that shoots up your spine, brings a heat to your core similar to when you’ve enacted a particularly brutal killing. You feel good.

You almost don’t notice Sarevok’s praise, the gift he bestows upon you– it’s exactly what you need to finally fell that wretch of a changeling you call a relative. You take it, utter some words you’re sure, but your mind is a million miles away, enveloped in images of blood and flesh.

When Sarevok and the rest of the Tribunal leave the room, you’re left alone with your companions: Minthara, Shadowheart, and Astarion. They seem to be speaking to you, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears.

You shake your head– no, maybe there is actual blood in your ears.

“Are you alright?” you hear Shadowheart ask, a hint of distaste to her tone.

Minthara’s low chuckle follows and she says, “They are more than ‘alright.’ That was glorious. When we finally take control of this city, we shall all bathe in blood once more."

Astarion is unexpectedly quiet, watching you carefully with his ruby red eyes. Ever since he completed the Rite of Profane Ascension and took his rightful role as the vampire ascendent, he’d been anything but quiet. He’d laughed and murdered with glee. He’d even killed you, body and mind, only to bring you back more bloodthirsty than ever.

Ever since, you’d felt a connection to him unlike before. The tadpole in your brain ensures that you are not subservient to him, but you still feel tied to him by an unforeseen force. One that pulls you toward him, even now. It tells you that this look is meant for you, and you only.

“It’s as Minthara says,” you answer. “I am more than fine. I do, however, need to speak with Astarion. Alone.”

The two women exchange a glance. They’d grown used to your new relationship with Astarion, just as they’d gotten used to your previous relationship with him. Both had made a few comments, thinly veiled criticism of your choices in Shadowheart’s case, unadulterated mirth in Minthara’s case. Regardless, they know better than to get between the two of you.

“We’ll be at the entrance then,” Shadowheart says, turning away. 

“And do hurry. Revenge awaits us both,” Minthara adds, following her out.

Astarion simply continues to stare at you, eyes narrowing to slivers as his lids drop in a predatory gaze. Once he’s given you a full once over, he speaks, his voice a dangerous rumble, “My beautiful, precious consort. You’re quite the mess aren’t you. Luckily for you, I would be happy to help. After all, you look good enough to eat.”

Your body warms, your limbs tingle, as if you’re able to feel every lingering trace of the man’s eyes on your body. Perhaps you can, given your intimate, everlasting bond. “Devour me then, my love,” you respond, beginning to walk toward him.

“Tut tut,” he warns, stopping you with an open palm. You pause, halfway between him and the pool of blood behind you. “You’ll receive my attention soon enough. First,” he licks his lips. “I think you ought to prepare yourself for me. Make my meal worth it.”

“Gladly,” you say, with a shallow gulp, your throat thick with a building desire. This is all part of the new game he likes to play, one you are only too happy to oblige. For you, his closest, most beloved treasure, he would do anything– but only if you showed him how much you wanted it. Begged for it.

You didn’t mind– for now. Let him have his fun and games, you think. It must be nice playing the master. But once this is all said and done, I know who shall wield the netherstones, I know who shall dominate the brain. All in the name of Bhaal.

Standing here, in the midst of your father’s bloody keep, newly bestowed with the title of his most unholy assassin, you strip your body bare.

As each piece of your armor comes off, you maintain eye contact with your lover, drinking in his wicked, openly lustful expression. At the sight of your bare chest, his smile widens. Once your bottoms are off, he takes a step closer, almost within your reach, but not quite.

Your building arousal is evident to him. Killing the hollyphant, coating yourself in blood, and now stripping before him, you certainly feel ready for him– though you know he wants more from you than that. Won’t take that final step until you’re well and truly pleading. You lower a hand between your thighs, starting with a gentle, teasing stroke.

“Good,” Astarion murmurs, eyes fixating on your hand, watching as you begin a more frenzied rhythm, as your fingers, slick with blood, are almost fumbling in their eagerness. Still, he doesn’t come closer, keeps his arms crossed as he watches in interest.

“Faster, my pet.” You go faster, beginning to pant as you work yourself up.

“A bit more pressure, darling.” You apply more pressure, barely muting the groan that comes to your lips.

“Now, now. Don’t be afraid to speak up. You do know how I adore your voice,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in anticipation.

You both know that there isn’t a door to this room, its stone entryway is wide and open to the ghosts of Bhaal’s tribunal. However, you also know that these ghosts are inconsequential, memories of those who were unable to bring glory to your father’s name– they should fear you and your ecstasy.

So you do as Astarion commands, allowing your mouth to drop open, an unrepentant moan exiting your lips as you continue to pleasure yourself.

Surely, this is enough for your lover. Your legs begin to tremble as you work yourself into a fervor and you don’t know how much longer you can last with his lidded eyes watching your every twitch.

But, of course, the vampire ascendent is unrelenting in his power. His next demand comes with a soft purr to his voice, betraying none of the wicked indulgence on his face, “My little love, relax. And make sure that you don’t ruin my meal.”

At first, you’re unsure what he means– how can you relax when the heat within you boils to a fever pitch? But you see the way his gaze drops down your body, tracing the rivulets of blood that have begun to pool at your feet. Ah.

It’s been long enough that the blood from your sanguine bath has begun to trickle off of you, a waste really. So you drop to your knees before the pool, run your hands across its crimson surface, and return to your own aching core.

Your hands a bloody red, coat your throbbing arousal in a few swift motions. Looking back up at Astarion from your reverent position before him, you ask, “Better?”

The low growl he gives you would be answer enough, but he still deigns to offer you a response, “Oh much.” His next movements are smooth, peeling off each article of his clothing as he continues to watch you through hooded eyes. “Consecrated in the blood of innocents, simply dripping for me. What more could I ask for?”

You can tell from the way that Astarion’s hands work his trousers, he’s already grown hard at the mere sight of you. The soft moan that leaves him as he brushes his cock almost brings you to the edge right then and there. Because this vampire lord, ruler of the night and nightmare among men, simply cannot wait any longer to pleasure you.

While he’s become more pristine, more poised in his ascension– he’s also become far more bestial. It shows in the way he tears an enemy in half, and it shows in the way he wantonly tears through you as soon as he's given the chance. So the lord falls, naked, to his knees before you, crawling over your kneeling body with hunger and purpose.

“Astarion,” you start, moving to reach out to him, to capture his beautiful lips with yours. But you're only met with an upheld hand.

“Not yet, my treasure.” His hand lands on your thigh, gripping it, and prying your legs apart. “I must tend to my consort first."

Then his mouth drops onto you.

Astarion's practiced tongue is normally quite an indulgent experience for you, a way for him to tend to you, as he said. But today, his tongue laps in a long, languid movement, capturing every bit of the blood that coats you. He moves so slowly, too slowly. It feels sinful, the way he teases. Your hips buck in response, your legs instinctively clench, but he grips you in place all the same.

“Astarion,” you breath out, barely able to hold another coherent thought as your bloody hands find his head, twining into his hair for dear life. ”Faster, please.”

He tilts his head up, giving you a bloody grin. “I simply must savor you first. Especially when you’ve prepared such a luscious meal.”

You can tell he likes this, your desperation. It gives him a sense of power and control he’s longed for for so long– and you, the chosen of Bhaal, his newly minted unholy assassin, are an utter prize to torment. He won’t give you what you want until he’s satisfied, and you’re starting to believe that this man can never be fully sated, even freed from his sanguine hunger.

So you plead, this time with more need in your voice, “Please, Astarion.”

“Oh, very well then. Whatever my precious consort desires,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on the soft, inner skin of your thigh.

Then he’s back on you, his tongue picking up speed as he circles your arousal. Your breath catches, your fingers tighten on his hair and once more you’re brought to the precipice. Pleasure builds in your core as he begins to suckle, drawing out of you a cry of sheer rhapsody.

The vampire’s fingers dig into your flesh as he sucks hard, and the pressure in you snaps. Your back arches as you come, thighs fighting against your lover’s grip. You hold his head to you tightly as he continues to nurse you in soft, rhythmic draws. Like the precious fiend you are, he cradles your hips to his mouth as he eases you down from your high.

Your vision swims and the blood that you’ve streaked through Astarion’s hair feels like the only thing in focus. It glistens red, whispering to you the sweet caress of blood and gore– in your euphoria, the man before you looks godly in his disarray.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, slurring your words in your stupor.

Astarion lifts his head, looking up at you through his long lashes. “As are you, my sweet.”

You produce a breathy laugh, knowing that you look a mess, still coated in more blood than usual– but also knowing that he means it. Especially as he continues crawling up your body, tongue tracing each line of blood, lapping at you as if a man possessed.

Each stroke of his tongue serves in equal measure to clean you as it does to reignite the fire in your belly. Inch by bloody inch, he licks along every rich ruby rivulet he can reach as he works his way up. The thought of this man, not cleansing you of your sins, but rather drinking them in, relishing them on his equally vicious tongue– well, you're far beyond any amount of shame, and your moans of pleasure cascade off the room's stone walls in a raucous symphony.

Finally, he reaches your face, hovering just above your lips as his tongue licks his own free of blood. "Now, my little love… tell me what it is you want from me,” he commands. 

You’re still reeling from the feel of his mouth on you, speech seems too tall of an order at the moment. In fact, right now, the only things you can think of are his red eyes, beautiful bloody hair, and his stiff arousal, pressing into you.

So you reach down, trailing your bloody hand along the length of him, guiding him toward you in a wordless request.

"Use your words, darling," he says, nearly brushing your lips with his as he grinds into your hand to punctuate his sentence.

"Take me," you manage to gasp out. Then you take a deep, shuddering breath. You let the urge overtake you. "Let us sanctify this unholy ground. Show it the depths of our depravity." You squeeze his cock in another silent demand, devouring the groan that escapes him as you cover his mouth with your own.

Losing yourself in his flavor, metallic, and tasting distinctly of your own fluids, you only barely manage to remember to breathe. Your head spins, but he is all you want in your lungs. You’re not sure what triggers this desperation, whether it be the instincts within you or the very nature of the vampire before you, but you do know that it compels you to take every bit of him you can.

So you stroke at his length, consuming each and every noise he makes like the ravenous beast you are. He nips at your lips, a playful reprimand, but one that you take seriously.

You pull away from him, and you're both panting into each other when his next demand comes, "I will give you all that you ask of me. But first, you must lay back."

First one leg, then the other, you lay yourself beneath him. As you roll back into the pool of blood you had been kneeling in, his eyes trail you hungrily. Beneath the man’s crimson gaze, you feel every bit the depraved demigod you are. Like your cruel, tool of a body was made for him to ravish.

Astarion reaches behind you, hands skimming the basin of blood and coming back dripping crimson. To your questioning look, he merely smirks.

It's only a moment later that his hands are back between your legs. Coated with blood as they are, his dexterous fingers move fluidly to work your arousal back up. "Astarion,” you gasp out, still sensitive from his mouth’s earlier ministrations. “I need you, not– not this.”

“Patience,” he murmurs, looking down at you with a deceptively soft smile. His fingers leave your throbbing core, slipping past it to find your entrance. A single gentle, probing finger teases you, as he asks, “How much of me do you desire, my sweet love?” 

“More,” you groan out, lifting your hips to meet him in your need. Again, the urge within screams. “Give me everything, and it will never be enough. I would have our very flesh coalesce so that I may be interred within your corpse at the end of the world.”

Astarion slows his finger momentarily, bends down to kiss your hateful lips, and whispers, “My lovely little lunatic, how poetic.” Then a second finger joins the first, and he’s pumping into you. Slowly at first, but his pace picks up as he finds a spot that makes you squirm. 

The sound of his blood-slicked fingers entering you, over-and-over, seems to be too much for either of you to bear for long. Soon, his fingers slip out of you, his cock replacing them at your entrance before you can so much as moan his name.

Then he presses into you, truly melding your flesh with his own. He feels harder than he has before, fueled by the basin’s supply of blood. Inch by bloody inch, he enters you, and, but for a moment, your insatiable, bloody lust is satisfied by this man. Your back arches in response and your dark urges fall to much more primal ones as you attempt to clutch the slick stone beneath you. “A-Astarion,” you pant out. “Take me. Please.”

“You’ve been so good,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around each of your thighs as he leverages himself, preparing for what you’re certain will be his finest performance yet. “It’s only right that you receive your reward.”

Then he pulls out, every so slightly, grins at you with a bloody, fanged mouth, and begins pounding into you.

Any normal Baldurian would balk at the force with which the man drives into you. But you are Bhaalspawn. You dwell within a realm where pleasure and pain walk hand-in-hand. And Astarion knows that– knows the limits of your wicked, bruised body.  

As such, his savage thrusts are more than welcome. Your eyes close and your head rolls back as you bask in them. You find yourself to be the one issuing orders as he drives into you, again and again, “Harder. Harder.”

His fingers grip your thighs tighter as he strains to pick up the pace, to plunge into you with as much force as his sordid consort demands. The loud, lewd sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, punctuated by your needy cries, your lover’s grunts of exertion.

Yes, you think. Yes, break me, break Bhaal’s chosen, so that I may be rebuilt upon my own bones. Kill me to bring me back. Strip me down to lay me to waste. Cleanse me of this blood only to coat me in your own essence. 

You feel your mind slipping away and your urges taking over once more as the peak of your pleasure approaches, as Astarion fucks the last sense out of you.  

Eyes shut, hips sore, and mouth calling your vampire lord’s name, your climax comes crashing upon you in a wave of pure bliss.

It’s enough to send the man in front of you into a renewed fervor. Astarion grips your legs all the tighter, dipping his head forward to bite into the meat of your thigh. Fangs buried, he draws a deep gulp, relishing the taste of your orgasm in your blood.

Pulse after pulse, he plunges into you while he sucks from your veins, riding your orgasm to the last. It leaves you lightheaded and breathing heavily, but euphoric all the same.

When he finally releases your thigh from his mouth, his pace grows even more punishing. You’re certain that neither of you are leaving this unbruised, and, by the gods below, you love it. The painful slap of his hips against yours is intoxicating and you're not certain you ever want it to end. The world could collapse around you both right now, and you may not even notice it over the sound of your debauchery.

Then the vampire begins to flatter, his pace cracking as he approaches his climax.

“Not yet,” you moan, unwilling to let the feeling go. “Astarion, please.”

He doesn’t seem capable of responding, his only answer is a quiet whimper. You finally open your eyes, looking down at the man between your thighs– to see the tinge of red on his cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the tension of his neck muscles as he overexerts himself. The vampire ascendant looks utterly obscene in his unraveling. 

Enough so that you clench around him, spurring on his release. “Come for me, love,” you urge, panting in anticipation of his undoing.

And he does.

Mouth open, dribbles of blood still eking out of its corners, hair shining silver and red, he looks a vision of rosy marble as he spills into you. His hands drop to your ass as he rolls into you through his climax, softer and slower than before. It’s almost sweet, if not for the bruising indents his fingers have left behind.

When he slips out of you, spent and exhausted, you can’t help but feel that in helping you clean up, he’s become quite the sight himself. You wish you could engrave this image of him into your mind, blood smeared across his face, his body, his softening cock.

You suppose it’s up to you to help him clean up.

“Astarion,” you say, sitting up and reaching for him. “Now who looks the mess?”

He gives you a low chuckle, as he crawls forward toward you, fatigued in his movements. “Oh, it’s still you, my treasure.” His crimson eyes rake across your body as he climbs lazily onto your lap, assessing the damage. “While the color red will always suit you, it wouldn’t do to waste any of this blood.”

“Was the hollyphant that satisfying?” you can’t help but ask, a smidge annoyed. “You seemed all too willing to drink from me, all the same.”

“You are the finest meal a lord could ask for, my little love,” he murmurs, before leaning forward and licking a line along your neck. “There is, however, something quite palatial about an entire pool of blood.”

“I suppose,” you concede, craning your neck for him. “If we ask nicely, perhaps my father will bestow this one upon us.”

Astarion hums into your skin with amusement. "Oh, darling. When we build our palace, we shall need a dozen such pools of blood." He pulls your hand to his lips, slowly sucking each finger clean.

You sigh, allowing the man’s clever tongue to lap at you, allowing his delusions of grandeur to comfort him. After all, when all is said and done, the realm will be decimated, destroyed in the name of Bhaal. 

At least for now, you will allow yourself to live in his fantasy. So you simply reply, "And I shall be glad to fill each and every pool with the blood of our enemies."

He continues to lick, as you lavish him with praise. All the while you can’t help but think that you quite enjoy your new position as the unholy assassin of Bhaal. Hopefully father continues to throw me into situations involving such vast quantities of blood.

[nyxhaven]

A Shared Dance, A Drunken Kiss (18+ smut minors dni!)

Description: in act 3 in baldurs gate, In the dimly lit tavern, Tav and Gale found themselves drawn to each other like moths to a flame. Their evening of laughter and shared drinks took an unexpected turn when a fiery, drunken kiss filled with unspoken tension ignited a passionate desire between them.

warnings ( 18+ minors dni, gale services tav, amab, quickly wrote, queer)

my master list of other writings

photo creds @flymm

The bustling tavern was alive with merriment, its wooden beams adorned with strings of flickering lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow upon the lively crowd. The air was thick with laughter, the clinking of tankards, and the sound of a raucous minstrel's tune filling every corner of the room.

Gale, leaned against the polished oak bar, their fingers tracing idly along the worn surface. They observed the revelry with a hint of wistfulness in their eyes but remained a little apart from the festivities. The old tome with its cryptic spells lay forgotten beside them as they watched the dancers and laughter that filled the tavern.

Meanwhile, in the midst of the crowd, Tav was a whirlwind of movement, dancing to the lively tune with the other patrons, their every step filled with grace and wild abandon. They wove through the joyous crowd, their eyes catching the glint of candlelight and the sparkle of tankards raised in celebration.

The tension between Gale and Tav was palpable, like an invisible thread pulling them closer and yet holding them apart. Gale's gaze often drifted to Tav's swirling form on the makeshift dance floor, admiring their exuberance and vitality, while Tav found their eyes drawn back to Gale, the enigmatic wizard who seemed content to stay on the periphery of the revelry.

With each passing moment, the tension in the tavern grew, building like the crescendo of a spell waiting to be cast. It was a night filled with possibilities and unspoken desires, where the worlds of adventure and magic threatened to collide in a way that could change the course of their journey forever.

As the lively song finally began to die down, Tav, their heart pounding with anticipation, broke away from the dance floor. A wide, inviting grin spread across their face as they waved Gale towards them. The minstrel's tune had given way to a slower, more intimate melody, setting the perfect stage for the change that was about to occur.

Gale glanced at the almost empty tankard in their hand, considering the invitation, then downed the last of their drink, a newfound confidence rising within them. They pushed off the bar, leaving the forgotten tome behind, and made their way to Tav, who stood there with a mischievous glint in their eye.

As Gale approached, Tav extended a hand, a charming smile curving their lips. "Took you long enough," Tav teased, their tone playfully accusatory.

Gale chuckled, accepting Tav's hand and moving into their embrace, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the new song. "I had to finish my drink, didn't I? I'm not as fearless as you."

Tav leaned in, their lips almost brushing against Gale's ear. "Maybe I can teach you a few things about being fearless," they whispered, their warm breath sending shivers down Gale's spine.

The playful banter between them was charged with an undeniable attraction. They continued to dance, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as the song wrapped around them like a secret promise. Tav's fingers traced light patterns along Gale's back, igniting a fiery longing that neither of them could deny any longer.

With the night growing late and desire burning brightly, Tav finally leaned in, capturing Gale's lips in a passionate kiss. The world seemed to disappear around them as they locked into the sweet embrace, their hearts and desires laid bare.

As they parted, Tav gazed into Gale's eyes with a raw intensity. "Gale," they began, their voice husky with emotion, "would you like to come to my tent tonight? Just you and me."

Gale met Tav's gaze with a mix of desire and anticipation, their answer a whispered, "Yes, Tav. I'd love that."

The tavern, with its lively celebrations, had transformed into a place of secret desires and untamed passion for the two adventurers, setting the stage for a night they would never forget.

Hand in hand, Tav and Gale walked through the cool night air, leaving the lively tavern behind. The lantern-lit path back to their camp was dappled with shadows, mirroring the magic of the night they had shared.

Their footsteps were soft and synchronized, and without the need for words, their connection was understood. Arriving at the camp, they entered a secluded tent, softly lit by a flickering candle.

Drunken sloopy kisses rain down Tav’s neck as gale pulled off their shirt. Tav sits on Gale’s desk, they cupped the back of gales head graspng a palm full of his dusted hair. Pulling him in to a deep kiss, your toungue licks Gales lip asking for entance. he opens his mouth enough for you to explore his mouth. His tounge slips into yours taking focus as his body grinds into yours.

His kisses begin to trail down your neck leaving a small patch of hickeys on your collar bone. he continues down your chest, your stomach, and your happy trail, a line of small kickeys from the wizard on hes knees now.

“is this okay?” gales says on his knees, his tone is almost begging, filled with lust looking up at you.

“yes gale, amongst all the choas of evrything its nice to have something like this…like us.”

Gale pulls down the trousers around your hips, and begins to kiss the skin between your member and your thigh, cupping your balls with his hand. Taking in a deep smell of your musk. You let out a deep groan of relaxation. Gale takes the the head of you into your mouth feeling your full erection in his mouth. Bobbing up and down setting a pace, gale massages tavs balls gently. Gale continues making sloppy movements, while Tavs mouth is a mess, full of moans and Gale’s name. Gale brings his head up for a deep breath, looking up at Tav with beatiful brown leather eyes.

Gale’s kisses under his balls are soft and delicate, as his rough scruff rubs the inside of your thighs. He takes the head of his cock into his mouth again, his tounge swils on the tip, the precum from Tav begins to wets his tip.

“your precum taste so sweet. i’ve wanted to please you for so long Tav.” Gale says in a low rugged voice, panting for breath. He rubs his thumb on the underside of Tavs dick, causing it to flex under the pleasure.

“you’re going so good Gale, this is amazing!”

Tav pulls him into a soft kiss, still tasting the wine mixed with the saltiness of his own precum on gales lips. Gale takes the head of your cock back into his mouth burying his nose into the dark bush of hair at Tavs base. Tav holds a chuck of gales greying hair loosely, as his head stays down sucking. Tavs hips buck chasing its own release feeling the back of Gales throat.

“im getting close Gale” Tav says inbetween scattered breaths.

Gales removes his head grasping the shaft of Tavs dick, he begins to pump as Tavs dick releases onto Gales face. shooting ropes of cum onto him, semen covers his face in a line from jaw to hairline. a moment of silence falls as Tavs moans settle, Gales stands chuckling. He removes his shirt doing a quick clean of his face.

“that was amazing Tav, Thank you.” Gale says smirking.

pulling Gale closer to them Tav replies “I feel like i should be thanking you.” Tav leans closer into his ear. “you did such a good job taking me tonight darling perhaps soon we can have more nights like this.”

“i really reaaly hope so” gale says soflt kissing Tav again before walking out the tent to go wash off tonights mess in the lake.

A/N : hope you enjoyed this is my first official smut writing! let me know if you want certain genders/pronouns. please leave constructive criticism or just nice comments and lmk who and what to write next!

[thechaoticdruid]

Okay I just passed 100 followers so let's try to write a fanfiction together shall we? Honestly I've been thinking about this idea for a while now, and although there are several ways it might not work out, I really think it would be a fun little roleplay type of game we can do.

Using the idea of all the BG3 companions somehow being in our world (Like in my fanfic This Bites) the modern world, lets send our friends on a vacation to Disney World (because I have never been to a Disney Park 🥲) Rules are simple: Try to keep the story on track, tag any good fic writers you think would be interested in playing along, sexual innuendos and jokes are okay but try to keep anything added sfw okay guys?

The story begins with a road trip! The gang is all piled into a large mini van, Gale or perhaps Jaheira is the one who drives. Minsc or Wyll sits up front next to the driver while everyone else is crammed in the back. Tav (who is a gnome in this story because give me more gnome Tav rep damnit!) is squished between Astarion and Karlach who are both subtly competing for who gets to snuggle Tav. Lae'zel and Shadowheart are forced to sit next to one another as they growl and sneer at the other.

In an attempt to break up the tension Tav turns on a movie (yes it's one of those van's with a little TV that comes out of the ceiling.)

Oh and Durge is there too, he just happens to be asleep in the trunk. Don't ask how we fit a huge dragonborn in the trunk....

Reblog to continue and find out if they stop for snacks 👇

[durgesupremacy]

they touch. [fic update part 6]

A scream pierced the air, shocking Gortash awake.

It was the night before meeting with Helsik and Solace came to sleep in his office again. He'd felt oddly as though he’d attracted a stray cat. They never asked his permission to stay and there was no apparent pattern to when they’d do so. But if nothing else, it was added security.

Until now. It was their voice—who in all the realms had the power to catch them off-guard, in their trance? Gortash grabbed his crossbow and burst through the door.

No one. Solace was alone and writhing on the floor, bedding strewn around them. Their forehead glistened with sweat. A nightmare? Having heard about the nightmares they inflicted on others, Gortash had no idea what Solace could possibly fear. But there they were, thrashing about before him like a child. Gortash knelt and shook them awake.

“No!” Solace’s voice rang out as Gortash dodged their elbow. They looked about in panic as though disbelieving their surroundings. Gortash grabbed them by the shoulders.

“You’re okay, Solace. You’re in my office. We’re alone.”

“Gortash?” Solace breathed heavily. Their hands shook. “Fuck. What did I do?”

“You screamed bloody murder, pardon the expression.” Gortash watched as Solace scanned the room—not with the vigilance of spotting a potential threat, but with investigative analysis. They searched for evidence of what they’d done. Or didn’t do. Gortash knew he could let them go but found he didn’t want to. Solace would surely be dangerous if they succumbed to panic. He kept his grip on them. “You were dreaming.”

Solace looked at him, eyes wide. The shaking spread to their whole body. Gortash thought he saw something like hunger flash in their expression before they turned away from him, breathing deeply. They relaxed into his hands. A moment of vulnerability. “What did you dream?” Gortash asked. He was used to feigning curiosity when talking with the other elite of Baldur’s Gate, so he was surprised to hear himself speak with earnest concern. Solace seemed surprised too, and wary.

Gortash held his attention and eventually, Solace spoke. “Bhaal sends his children dreams sometimes, to prompt the urge. Bloody compulsions meant to stir my hunger. But the more I kill, the less I dream. It’s part of why I keep myself sated.”

A fine answer. But something was off. Gortash pushed further. “You’re used to seeing such things. Why would these dreams make you cry out in your sleep?”

“I… I shouldn’t say.”

“You can trust me.”

“But you can’t trust me.” Solace’s shoulders sagged as they put their head in their hands, their body trembling still. “I don’t know what I was thinking, staying here.”

“I won’t stand for self-pity.” Gortash spoke with a firm tone to balance his next gamble. He released their shoulders and pushed past their wrists, gently taking Solace’s face in one hand and bringing their attention back to him. They looked anxious, but they didn’t fight his touch. Good.

“No Child of Bhaal has ever mastered themselves as you have. There is no need to keep secrets from me.”

Solace looked pained, but Gortash felt them acquiesce. He watched his companion ponder carefully over their words.

“I dreamt of killing you.” Gortash raised his eyebrow as Solace continued. “It… it shouldn’t have bothered me. I’ve thought about it before. It’s only natural.”

“Natural?”

“I consider killing everyone I meet. But you… it’s not time.” Solace looked distraught. “Our alliance is working. It’s good for the temple, for Lord Father. I… I shouldn’t kill you. Not yet. And not like that.”

Gortash let them sit in silence for a moment. Of course he’d considered that Solace might have the impulse to kill him. He expected them to resist it. But he didn’t expect them to think anything of it. There was something almost tender in their voice. “Like what?”

Solace’s shaking started to fade. “I just… I don’t like the idea of you dying in the streets, like some common patriar. You’ve honored Bhaal. If you are to be slaughtered, it should be in a place of glory. In Bhaal’s temple, even. On his altar.” Solace breathed in as though they would continue speaking, but said nothing else.

“At last I could see the temple, then.”

Solace laughed. Had he seen them laugh before? It relaxed them briefly. But they stiffened again as their eyes went to Gortash’s crossbow, forgotten at his side. “I’d understand, you know. If our arrangement needed to change. Or if you need me to leave. I’m dangerous.”

“Nonsense. I’m dangerous, too. It’s what makes us a good team.”

“I just dreamed that I killed you.”

“And yet, you didn’t. What would be the use in sending you away? It’s not as though I can keep you out of my office. You designed the security system.” Gortash felt a strange mixture of appreciation and annoyance. “Offering to leave is a worse offense. We’re accomplishing quite a lot together. There’s no backing out now.”

It was only partly true. Though Solace’s work simplified things and sped up his plans, Gortash could’ve managed without them. But then he would have no company. Solace witnessed and admired his work, and even improved it. Gortash had grown fond of them. He didn’t control them. But the way things were going, he didn’t need to.

For a moment, Gortash felt a strange kind of peace. It was the middle of the night and nothing grand was at stake. He was awake, not with work or plans, but with Solace. Gortash tried to ignore how uncomfortable the simplicity made him.

“I can stay?” Solace asked. Even now?”

Gortash smiled. “Of course. What would I do without my favorite assassin?”

It was too fast to counter, too fast for choice. Solace threw their arms around him.

Gortash was startled by the sheer novelty of the experience. He’d been this close to Solace for sparring, but those moments lacked the vulnerability they expressed now. Simultaneously, Gortash perceived the warmth of their contact while feeling leagues away from his own body. He returned the embrace and was struck by how small Solace seemed. They collapsed into his chest.

“Thank you,” they said. Solace’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. They broke away, but Gortash’s arms lingered.

“Will you rest?”

“Eventually,” said Solace. “And you?”

“Eventually.” Gortash rose and gathered the scattered bedding as Solace sank deeper into the floor.

Fool, Gortash thought. It was bold of Solace to even consider a change in their arrangement, as if they could simply walk away after all they’d seen, all they’d agreed to. As if Gortash would let them go.

He’d never had a partner before. Gortash had never expected anyone who could rival him to fight at his side. But his strange, slender ally defied all expectations. Solace could kill anyone and they killed for him. They honor only Bhaal but labor for Bane’s cause. Their urge hungers for his death and still he lives.

Perhaps it was the late hour, but it thrilled him. Gortash thought himself well-acquainted with power. Yet the power he felt with Solace was like nothing else. The power of an equal, freely offered, readily given. One who could wage war on his cause would spend the night in his office instead.

Solace remained on the floor but leaned against the side of Gortash’s plush furniture, curled up, head slumping onto the cushions. How mortal they could be despite their divine blood. Their weary black eyes shone in the darkness. Instead of returning to his quarters, Gortash found himself drawing near them again, reclining on the couch.

“Gortash?”

“Solace?”

“Why are you on the couch?”

“It’s comfortable.”

Gortash awoke there in the morning. Solace had shifted in their trance, their face resting against Gortash’s leg. He didn’t wake them.

read on ao3, next chapter coming shortly

[mymreaderlibrary]

Bg3 prompt idea (gender neutral): Eternal Slayer

Despite having denied their father, Bhaal, Durge has once again been struggling with the urge. They’ve done their best to keep it down, shying away from telling their party until everything comes to an awful head. They find themself trapped in a halfway transformation between their natural form and that of the slayer, brutally savage but also semi conscious. Their fight against the urge has never been stronger, but how will their allies handle their plight? And will this spell the permanent end to their redemption?

[lynnlovesthestars]

Okay I only read ONE of your fics and now I’m obsessed, I’m doing one request for Wyll then a second for Gale- you could do either, neither, both- whichever lol

Wyll x Tall!WaterCreature Tav

Idk I just like the thought of a very intimidating/tall creature that even acts tough but completely fumbles and gets insecure once after dating Wyll. Maybe seeing Wyll as the most beautiful thing in the world then getting insecure about being treated so nicely. (Perhaps this could be a smut?)

OH I AM SO LATE AND IM SORRY BUT IT TOOK ME A WHILE, I REWROTE IT A FEW TIMES BEFORE COMPLETING IT, AND JUST TODAY I GOT MY BETA READER'S REPLY SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO IM GOING TO PROVIDE. I HOPE YOULL LIKE IT.. I LEFT IT GENDER NEUTRAL..

Pairing: Wyll x Reader (Tall! water creature- water nymph)

Genre: fluff smut, slight body worship, oral reader recieving, improper use of horns and mentions of forked tongue

WC: 1.5k

Master list

SEASALT

Wyll had many reasons to be intimidated when you two met: years of wandering through the wasteland of the hells made the vastity of the sea foreign to him, including those who lived amongst them. So at first glance he couldn't tell the difference between a Rusalka and you, a simple water nymph.

Initially, when he first started doting you he was always wondering if it was possible for you to be so breathtaking or you charmed him with your voice like sirens were rumored to do. He was relieved- and low-key flustered, when he realized that it was way beyond siren's lullabies, you had lured him with your kindness and those stunning blue eyes he hardly could resist.

He was in love and- despite his poor attempt at hiding it- everyone noticed how his eyes gleamed with a different light when he looked at you. 

You had disappeared in the woods to take a bath, no more than a couple hundred meters from camp, while Gale started fixing dinner for everyone, as much as Wyll wanted to resist the urge to join you, fully aware of your shyness, when Gale asked for a volunteer to fetch you, he didn't hesitate to suggest himself.

He quickly scurried through the trees, uncaring if the roots of the trees or the branches would slap him, quickly making his way to the clearing.

You were truly a work of art, swimming fluidly around the lake, with nothing to cover you but water. It was as if you melted in the cold water, becoming one with it and mixing with it in a mesmerizing swirl.

He was so focused on following your movements that he almost forgot why he rushed to find you, and barely made a sound.

His eyes lingered on your hips, and on the curve they formed, they lingered on your chest rising rhythmically as you started another lap, and he wondered what your skin tasted like.

Was it sweet like lake water, or was it salty like an ocean? He wondered what it felt to trace the curves of your body with his devilish tongue, whether it would make you squirm or leave you breathless.

He snapped out of it when he heard the sound of leaves crunching and your figure slowly- or so it seemed to him- leave the water behind you, emerging with grace from the surface, as if the water was a veil over your form.

He quickly cleared his throat, taking a step closer and gently cupping your cheek. “Truly breathtaking” He smiled as he rested his other hand on your naked hip. You couldn't help but blush, the blueish hue of your skin turning a pretty shade of purple in with a blush so warm it would have made water boil.

“I didn’t expect you here” You smiled softly, a smile that would snatch Wyll’s soul away in the blink of an eye.

“Couldn’t resist you” He smiled smitten as he kissed your cheek lovingly. The sweet taste of lake water lingered on his lips as he kissed your jaw, and then right underneath on your neck, sending waves of goosebumps down your spine. The lingering feeling of his lips on your skin almost cut your breath away as he took one long moment to worship your skin.

“Let me taste you” He whispered after hearing your soft moan, giving in to the ache in his stomach for something more;

“What happen to waiting until marriage?” You chuckled as he guided you down to lay on the grass, the pinpricks of the thousands of strands of green grass delicately scraped against your skin, just enhancing your senses. It was pointless to cover yourself, he had already admired every inch by the time you were conscious of his lingering eyes. 

“I’m just gonna leave a few kisses, promise” He murmured as his lips trailed down your neck with open mouthed kisses. His touch, his mouth, they were languid as he traced every inch of your skin with it, as no matter how many times he had grasped at your hips, they were never enough for him, they were never engraved well enough in his mind, and so he had to start anew with kisses, fleeting touches, sinking nails, hot tongue until he was satisfied again. Despite the amount of times he spent worshipping evert inch of your body, he would never cease to make you blush, to give you the sweetest of praises, to make you shy under his touch.

His forked tongue quickly found its way to your nipple, gently parting and teasing the peak, flicking it between the two ends before moving to the other. He was already drunk on the sweet moans you were gifting him as he couldn’t help but suck on the other nipple, leaving a small bite before resuming his descent towards your heat.

He traced your stomach with his tongue, down to your navel till your hip, biting, kissing licking as if you were a meal he had been starving for, yet when his breath hit your inner thigh, and you let out his favourite mewl, he sat up, earning a yelp in complaint as you wished to feel his lips scorching your skin again.

His palm reached for your calf, gently bringing it to his lips and leaving another kiss, yet all you could focus on was the way his pants couldn’t hide his hard cock, desperate for his own release.

You were going to ease his pain just like he was easing yours, yet the moment he noticed you sat up, he admonished you.

“Ah, let me worship you” He leaned forward to place his free hand on your still naked chest and gently pushing you back down on the grass. “You have to worry only about my lips, love” He purred as he nibbled again on the soft skin. He was slow and determined, unhurried as he marked and tended your precious leg, it was like a sonnet written with his lips on your flesh only for you to read, and the rhymes where your gasps and his grunts.

It was moments later that his hot breath hit your wetness just enough to leave you yearning for those lush lips around your arousal.

“Say the word and I’ll stop” He murmured before lowering and kissing your swollen sex. 

“Don’t you dare” You moaned as his forked tongue traced your length, slowly tantalizing, savoring every centimeter and every drop of slick you were gifting him.

His grip was ironclad on your hips, keeping you in place as he couldn’t help but lick and nibble and dive between your tights, as he helped them around his head.

In the silence of the forest all you could hear were the soft mewls you’d let out and his muffled moans and coos.

He desperately sucked and feasted as his own cock started aching, desperate for any friction, yet when you reached to grab on his horn he knew he was done for, he was going to cum so quickly his eyes rolled back. 

Before you knew he was teasing your entrance as well, his dripping finger prodded at your hole a few times before sliding in effortlessly, stealing a hum both from you and him.

He couldn’t help it anymore as he rutted desperately against the grass while he pumped his finger insatiably in you.

It built up quickly, as he stimulated your every sense, clenching eagerly around his finger and already oozing on his swollen lips while he fucked the ground, so quick that you barely had time to register his blissed face that you were taken over by your orgasm.

Wyll drank and drank from your sex, every drop as if it was sustenance he was deprived of all his life, and only when you both were back on the material plane, he rose from your legs.

His pants were unmistakably stained by his own release while his lips glistened with what was left of yours. “I apologize for being so quick” He shook his head with crimson cheeks. “But you were ravenous, my love” H

“Wyll Ravengard, If you apologize again I will punch you” You threatened him softly as you recoiled in your little shell, shy. Pulling your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he crawled closer ready to wrap himself around you and shield your body despite he was shorter.

“My precious” He whispered as he placed a soft kiss on your temple. “Want to stay here for a while longer, or would you rather go back to camp?” He asked as he helped you on his lap.

[jahiera]

killing druids before I go to the goblin camp so minthara will want me 👍

[paarthursass]

local amnesiac milf is too tired for All This

[waterdeepthroat]

i may have a better handle on it but i am so Not Normal about one wyllyam ravengard