#moonrise strain

[debutart]

A portrait of filmmaker Wes Anderson by Peter Strain.

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands)

pairing: Pero Tovar x fem!reader

rating: E for Explicit

word count: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ content, fingering/hand job, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, brief talk of injury/treatment (reader gives him stitches), reader has no physical description besides breasts and feminine clothing, Tovar is able to lift reader

a/n: my submission for @iamasaddie's kinky may challenge! i was given the honor of writing Tovar with a praise kink 😤 i haven't written smut in a long time so please be gentle 🥲 extra special shoutouts to @frannyzooey and @joelscruff for hyping me up with the snippets i shared with them. feedback is always welcome, i was equal parts excited and scared to write this so i'd love to hear what y'all think 🙂

Tovar squirms again, making your hand slip and press harder on the wet rag you’re using to clean the sizeable gash along his right collarbone. He hisses slightly through his teeth before glancing down at you. You glare at him and huff once more.

“I told you to stop moving.”

Before he can respond, you hike up your skirt with your free hand and straddle his thighs. Tovar freezes completely upon your sudden movement, gripping the bench now supporting the both of you, his brows raised as you lock eyes.

“Now, hold still.”

You twist to the table next to you and pick up a sewing needle and thread, taking a moment to hold the needle in the flame of a lit candle to sterilize it before threading the eye. You don’t ask if he’s ready before beginning to stitch the wound.

Your stitches are slow but precise in the low candlelight. When you finish, you lean forward slightly to cut the thread with your teeth and secure the ends. It’s only when you pull away to set aside your tools that you notice Tovar’s breathing, or rather the lack of. He’s completely still as a statue, focused on a vague point off in the distance behind you.

“Did it really hurt that much?” You maneuver to try and catch his eyes but he veers away. You teasingly brush your fingertips down his muscular bicep. “I thought a big, tough mercenary like you could handle more than a few stitches without a fuss.”

Tovar clears his throat and his voice comes out lightly strained and breathy. “It is…not my wound that is the trouble.”

He shifts uncomfortably beneath you and you feel it. His full erection is pressed against your bare inner thigh. You can feel his weight and warmth just as he can feel yours. You bite back a smirk when he passes you a guilty glance.

“Forgive me, my dear. It has been a long time since I’ve felt a woman’s touch.”

You pause to consider your next move. You can’t deny your own attraction to the man, and you’ve been experiencing an extended dry spell of your own. It’s a miracle your own arousal hasn’t found its way to the front of his trousers where you’re still perched. Who knows how long he’ll stay here at the Wall? Who knows if he’ll even live to see another moonrise? What’s the harm in a little release?

You smirk and look up at him through your eyelashes. “Allow me to relieve your pain, then.”

You slide back on his thighs far enough to reach between the two of you and unfasten his pants. He grips your wrists with one thick, massive hand to stop you from going further.

“I cannot ask you to do that.” His voice and eyes are stern, intent on not crossing any unwanted boundaries.

You look back at him with sincerity. “You’re not asking me. I want to.”

“Querida-”

“No one ordered me to tend to your wound. I came because I wanted to. I wanted to help you,” you gently pry your hands from his grasp, “and I’m not leaving until I’ve finished helping you.”

Tovar’s expression is difficult to read. You can see the turmoil behind his eyes, so you try to make the decision easier for him. Shifting closer once more, you take his hand and guide it between your own legs. The corner of your mouth twitches up as his pupils dilate upon coming in contact with your soft, damp hairs. You press him further into your wetness, cupped fully in the palm of his hand now, and he breathes in sharply.

“If you truly want me to go-”

“No.” Tovar cuts you off quietly. You smile in satisfaction when you remove your hand but his does not budge. “But I will not indulge in what is not offered.”

Striking your final blow, you undo the strings closing the top of your tunic, shrugging the shoulders off and letting it fall around your waist. Your breasts are exposed, nipples peaking in the cool night air from the window beside you. Tovar’s eyes are ablaze now as he takes you in, using every last bit of his willpower to resist until you give the word.

“Is this offering enough?”

The breath is stolen straight from your lungs as Tovar plunges one thick finger inside you up to the knuckle, his other hand smoothing up your bare thigh to your ass cheek and grasping it. He tugs you close so your tits are pressed to his solid chest as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

Your hands fly to his shoulders to steady yourself, but you move them away just as quickly when you put pressure on his fresh stitches. Tovar only grunts softly, otherwise not acknowledging the slip. You instead find a handhold along his ribs, gripping him tightly as warmth begins to spread up into your belly. He nuzzles his nose into your cheek, breathing deep and focused as he eases a second finger inside and increases his speed. You gasp at the foreign stretch and claw at his sides.

Tovar’s hips buck into you at the pinch, and you’re reminded of your initial mission. One hand slips past his waistband and settles on his hip. You bow your head and spit into the other before reaching down his front to grasp his length. The two of you groan simultaneously at the new sensation. You start pumping him, matching the pace of his fingers.

Your motions soon falter, though, as Tovar curls his fingers to press into your sweet spot. Your head falls to the side and rests on his, unable to stay up on its own as the wave of euphoria builds and threatens to crest. You fight to maintain your own strokes as Tovar chuckles from deep in his chest into your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, querida. So soft and warm, so tight.” He cuts himself off with a stronger groan as your hand on his hip circles back to the top of his ass, while the one wrapped around his cock slides down to cup his balls as well. “I know you’re close. Don’t fight it, bonita. Give it to me.”

 The wave comes crashing over you with his encouragement. You mouth drops open as you make no attempt to smother your cries. Tovar flexes as your hips rut against him.

“Very good. Let it out, let me hear you.”

Tovar continues his movements until you’ve completely come down from your high, though it begins to build again almost as soon as it dissipates. Finally, he removes his fingers, making a soft pop as your walls try to suck him back inside. He raises them to his lips and generously sucks off all your release from them, never once breaking eye contact. You feel a fresh gush of arousal drip down your thigh at the sight. You quickly fumble to pull down his trousers and free his raging cock. Tovar tilts his hips, tugging them down to his mid-thighs, but grasps you by the waist before you can impale yourself on him.

“I need you to say it first, mi amor. I simply cannot take what is not freely given.”

“Then take me,” you huff impatiently.

Tovar loosens his grip enough for you to rise onto your knees, notching the weeping head of his cock at your entrance. You lock eyes with him and take a deep, steadying breath before sinking down. You cry out in both pain and pleasure, the stretch more intense than his fingers especially after so long without. Tovar moans along with you, letting out a pained shout of his own as you take him all the way inside, settling onto his lap once more.

You nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his scent of sweat and a hint of gunpowder, your breath hot against his skin. You try rocking your hips to relieve some of the tension, but Tovar abruptly stands, slipping out but clutching you to him tightly. You whine at the loss, then gasp when you feel the coolness of the thin sheets adorning the simple bed in the opposite corner of the room.

Tovar settles above you, supporting most of his weight on his knees and forearms. His pelvis rests lightly between your spread legs, his hardness bobbing against your mound with every breath. The dark trail of hair leading up his abdomen tickles your stomach, and you take the opportunity to truly admire the specimen hovering above you. The rippling muscles in his back, littered with long-healed battle scars breaking up the smooth skin. His dark hair, cut short but curling slightly at the nape of his neck. You rake your fingers through it, pulling him close. Tovar rests his forehead against yours, lips parted, exchanging breath. His gaze is piercing but you feel yourself being pulled in rather than pushed away.

Tovar must feel the same as he leans down just enough that your lips brush, but not seal together. You whimper his name on the verge of desperation and he closes the gap. He immediately takes charge, his tongue invading your mouth, feeling and tasting every crevice. You buck into him once again and he rips away from you, pinning your hips to the bed with one hand splayed across your lower belly.

You want to scream in frustration. “Tovar, please!”

“Shh, I know, mi amor. I know what you need. And you’ve been so good for me, I promise I will give it to you.” He moves his hand away and guides his tip back inside, pressing in slowly until his hips are flush with yours. The two of you groan in sync again and you wrap your legs around him, locking him in. “But we must go slow. I would hate to finish too quickly and bring an end to such pleasure that has only just begun.”

With this, he captures your lips with his own once more. You two stay locked like this for a while, savoring each other’s taste and touch. Tovar’s hands explore your body as you did his, tracing bones and squeezing flesh. Only when you feel totally consumed by him does he retreat from you, leaving only his tip inside. Tilting your chin up to look at him, he sinks back in to the root. And again. And again. Your second high hits you without warning as he sets the perfect rhythm.

Tovar bites back a guttural moan as he feels you tighten around him. “Dios mio, mi amor. You’re taking me so well. I would stay just like this forever if I could, buried in this cunt.”

You feel as if you’re floating, evaporating into the air from his heat and force of his thrusts. Your pleasure reaches new heights as he cups the back of your knee and pushes it up to your chest, welcoming him impossibly deeper. Tovar’s intense gaze remains on your face as he fucks you, committing every sound and expression of bliss to his memory.

You feel the wave cresting again just as his hips begin to stutter but never lose their force. You try to call out his name, a warning of your impending release, but you only manage pleading cries of “please.”

He understands immediately, snaking his other arm underneath you and up to your shoulder, pulling you against him as he slams into you. His voice is just as desperate, strained from holding off his own release to wait for yours.

“That’s it, mi amor. Cum for me. Cum on my cock. I want it. I need it. I crave it.” His snarling in your ear tips the scales in your favors, sending you over the edge. Your legs tighten around him as your back arches off the mattress. Tovar takes one breast into his mouth, biting and sucking his mark onto you. He unlatches in time to smack his hips to yours once, twice, three more times. A roar erupts from him as his cock pulses, forcing out rope after rope of his cum to coat your walls, content to plant there and never escape.

He fills you to the brim, milky white droplets beginning to seep out from where your hole has sealed around him. When he’s finally spent, he lowers himself flush to you, arms curling around your back. The salty, heady scent of your activity surrounds the two of you as you each fight to regain your senses.

You card your fingers through his hair once more as Tovar turns his head to press his lips to your neck. Soft at first, then open and hungry, nipping at the skin to coax out another mark matching the one on your breast, tongue soothing the spot after each bite.

You hear his breath begin to deepen and slow, feel his heartbeat matching it. You know you shouldn’t allow yourself to fall asleep beneath him. But how could you rip yourself from his arms now?

As if sensing your thoughts, Tovar rests his head atop yours, gazing into your eyes once more, lids half-closed.

“Ay, mi amor. I have half a mind to steal you away with us. What kind of man would I be to leave behind such perfection?” He seals your lips together and, at the same time, your mind.

What’s the harm in being his forever?

[justporo]

Be my remedy

Being in an established relationship is still very much uncharted territory for both Astarion and you. Thankfully, your companions arrange for you to have a moment of privacy.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Well, this was supposed to be nothing but a little warm-up drabble. But by now I doubt my ability to write anything below 2k words... So here you go with some fluffy fluff, enjoy!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: talk of past trauma if you squint Wordcount: 2,2k

Song: Be My Remedy - House of Say

~~~

It hadn’t been that long since Astarion’s confession at Moonrise Towers and your promise to each other to actually try and be in a real relationship with each other. You’d agreed to take it slow and especially allow Astarion to have all the space he needed.

You couldn’t be happier. Your heart was overrunning with love every time you looked at him. Wanting nothing more but to see those soft happy smiles from the vampire again. Those he gave you in these moments when he felt comfortable and content while being with you – even if those were still short and mostly quickly overpowered by other stuff: worries about the next day, insecurity, fear of the future in general, Gale being annoying.

And the way it’s been almost chaste with him since you’ve committed yourselves to each other almost broke you. With how gentle and tentative this budding relationship was this far.

You’ve gotten used to spending the evenings and nights together in one of your tents. And you enjoyed the time spent simply talking or cuddling endlessly.

You’d also stolen small little touches and kisses time and again when the others were around. But you were still cautious with it. Partly, because this was first and foremost for the two of you to share and keep. But mostly because a sudden shyness had somehow befallen both of you, now that it was more than just sultry flirting and sneaking off into the woods at night. Now that you were both sure that real feelings were involved on both ends, it was suddenly so different. And – without specifically putting it into words – you both felt a lot more vulnerable about what it was the two of you shared now. And the thought of someone carelessly putting strain on it scared you.

Not that the others didn’t know already. Of course, they had noticed. Although Astarion and you might have been wrapped up a little too cozily in your new little bubble of tender affection - to notice that they had noticed.

But the others had more or less silently agreed to not pester you about it although Gale could hardly hold back all his comebacks he’d painstakingly come up with. Karlach had needed to be elbowed more than once to not squeal out happily when she, for example, had seen Astarion cautiously grab your wrist, lifting your hand and pressing a small kiss to your knuckles. Coincidentally at the same time that Lae’zel had to be pinched in the side to stop making loud gag noises observing the same scene.

The day had been long and exhausting. Everyone had been happy when you had finally set up camp and barely even spoken when you’d sat around the campfire enjoying the latest of the wizard’s dinner creations.

You were sitting next to Astarion – like always as of late – and were softly talking to him. You were both excited to finally see your hometown again, no matter what more horrors might await you there. Sharing bits and pieces about different places in the city you each liked and how your experiences of being Baldurian were both so utterly different, you didn’t even notice how anyone else had been quietly getting up and leaving for their own tents. A few understanding nods and glances had been exchanged and now it was just you and the vampire sitting next to the warming fire.

“I really need to take you to my favourite tavern some time, you’re absolutely going to hate it”, you said to Astarion with a huge shit-eating grin while the vampire answered with a pained grimace.

“I’m beginning to ask myself why I volunteered myself for this relationship”, Astarion muttered mockingly under his breath and dramatically rolled his eyes at you.

You laughed and softly slapped his arm. And then you realised that you were the only ones still sitting by the fire. You looked around and found that no one even was in sight – very suspicious.

When you pointed that fact out to Astarion, he smirked: “Well, maybe our friends all got a sudden lesson on privacy.” “Astarion!” “What? I have nothing to do with this, I swear!”

You gave him a look and crossed your arms over your chest while he kept insisting that for once he was totally innocent (“Actually quite like most of the time, love, you are – all of you – just way to used to just, of course, conveniently blame everything on the big bad vampire!”).

The vampire pouted now, making these big red puppy eyes at you. You were pretty sure he’d already figured out that they made you positively melt and give him just about anything – bastard.

And it got you now, too. So you scooched a little closer to your vampire on the log you were both sitting on and embraced him tightly. You could hear the sigh Astarion loosened when he felt your arms around him, and you could really feel how he relaxed into your touch. His shoulders relaxed and his usually very straight and tense spine was allowed to bend towards you as he wrapped his arms around you in return.

Your thighs and knees were mushed together as you held each other. You buried your face at his chest – directly at the point where his shirt was opened, and you could feel his cool and smooth skin. You sighed as well now. Meanwhile Astarion put his chin on top of your head.

Ever since the first hug you had shared you lived for these moments when you could just hold him. Just knowing how much comfort it gave him, even though he himself might not yet be ready to admit to himself how touch-starved he was for non-sexual intimacy that had to go nowhere but the present moment.

And you were right there with him – basically never really in your life having had someone who would have held you to just console you or just because.

You remained in the embrace for quite some time. Astarion’s hands softly moved up and down your back as you held onto him desperately and tightly – not willing to ever let him go again.

After a long while you felt how the vampire’s hands sneaked both downwards. And then with his roguish quickness, Astarion grabbed you – one hand under your knees, one on your butt – and lifted you on his lap.

You yelped and clawed your hands into his shirt as you stared at him in surprise.

Astarion grinned playfully at you, adjusting you on his lap until you were both comfortable. You were still flustered by this sudden change of position and your mouth opened and closed helplessly a few times. Not because you didn’t like it – quite the opposite. But this was a sudden step up in public display of affection for him – at least the possibility of someone seeing you like this was existent.

When the vampire saw your reaction, his smirk dropped and he started fidgeting: “Oh uhm.”

He cleared his throat a little, his eyes darted around. And it was only made more awkward by the fact that you were so close to each other and he was firmly holding you so you didn’t slide off his thighs.

He coughed again and you felt that he struggled with holding your gaze. By now you had adjusted to the new situation and were quite endeared by how shy Astarion had gotten all of a sudden: overwhelmed by his own courage.

“Ah, I hope this”, Astarion finally began and wiggled his arms and legs around (which in turn made you wiggle around and giggle), “this is alright with you?”

You looked straight into his eyes once he had found it in himself to hold your gaze again. You softly cupped his cheek and let your thumb wander over his cheekbone: “It is – more than alright even!”

For a quick moment you softly dragged his face down to yours, so his forehead touched yours shortly. “I will just tell you if something’s not fine with me, Astarion. And…”

Now it was your turn to fidget awkwardly. You were only barely more experienced in this relationship thing than he was, but you were absolutely keen on giving him the space to find out what all this meant for him.

You took a deep breath and leaned back a little. You saw a single curl fall onto his forehead when you moved away a bit – you looked at it when you spoke again.

“And I’m more than happy to let you explore and experiment with what you want and expect from all this - whatever it is”, you finally finished and felt how a blush crept up your neck and then onto your cheeks. Although it might not seem much this had cost you some overcoming. Too many times had you had bad if not downright horrendous experiences with people you had offered too much before. But you were completely sure of doing this with Astarion. He had your full trust and you wanted him to know that and be as free as possible to explore this new chapter in his life.

You were still mesmerized by the soft strand of hair on Astarion’s forehead. So you lifted your hand from his cheek and lightly, between two fingers, moved it up again. A tiny sigh left the pale elf’s lips at the innocent gesture.

The vampire looked at you as your hand now lightly wandered through his hair. His eyes were shining like rubies in the warm, flickering light of the campfire. He carefully lifted one hand up to cup your face with one hand. He let his thumb wander over your bottom lip and that was also where his gaze dropped.

“That means an awful lot, my love”, he replied softly. “I promise to always tread carefully with the trust you’ve put in me.”

His eyes found yours again. “And I guess I know what I want to do with this trust right this moment.”

He leaned in to kiss you. His soft, cool lips met yours tenderly as any remaining thought in your brain just vanished. Your hand in his hair softly curled around one of his pointy ears, your thumb gently wandering over the edge of it.

You let him set the pace, patiently allowing him to decide how much he wanted. But you didn’t need to wait for long: Astarion’s lips parted and he eagerly deepened the kiss, making you sigh into his mouth yearningly as your other hand, that had been on his chest, now balled up in his shirt and unconsciously tried to drag him even closer.

Astarion’s hand was still cupping your face and now spread out. Caressing you lightly from your cheek, down your neck and almost reaching to your collarbone with his long, elegant fingers. His other arm was holding you securely on his lap but also subtly pushing to lessen the space between you even more.

It was passionate but delicate at the same time. Inducing a fire that was burning brightly, powerfully and, most of all, warming while not being all-consuming or destructive. And you were sure that this fire would keep burning unyieldingly – especially if it was fuelled passionately like this.

After a while of getting lost in the kiss Astarion’s hand wandered slowly from your face to where your hand was still clawed in his shirt – desperate to hold onto him forever – and softly loosened it, so he could hold it. He very tenderly pulled back as your mouth left his with a long low sigh leaving your still parted lips now swollen from kissing.

Your eyes were probably still glazed over but you saw how Astarion too only slowly seemed to come back from that particular cloud you’d just been on.

“I hope that was alright as well?”, he answered with his signature smirk and a teasing tone after a few more moments of regaining composure. You were just about to scold him for ruining such a romantic, emotional moment, when you heard something.

Somewhere behind you, you heard something squeal – almost as if someone was torturing a squirrel? You turned around on Astarion’s lap and quickly spotted… Karlach peeking out from behind her tent flap, her hands balled up into fists and lifted to her mouth. You could feel her giddy, happy energy from over where you were sitting. But you were too flabbergasted by what the tiefling had obviously just observed.

You felt yourself flush from head to toe. “KARLACH!”, you shrieked as you heard Astarion laugh (albeit a little nervously).

Karlach’s eyes widened as she realised that she might’ve been a little insensitive about this all.

“Uh – I’m sorry. I just…”, she started and then stopped again. “I’m just so happy for you”, she blurted out and you saw some of her joy return. But then she remembered that she should probably leave you alone. “Alright”, she muttered while she made to disappear into her tent again. Quickly she lowered her tent flap down again and was gone.

But then she stretched out her arm once more, offering you a firm thumbs-up.

“But just so you know, we’re all rooting for you two”, were Karlach’s final words before disappearing for good. You blushed again and turned back around to find Astarion smile genuinely at you. He softly started to laugh, then more and more. His head fell back and his eyes closed and you couldn’t help but join in.

And then that was settled.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

[ihtherik]

When You Bare Your Teeth It Almost Looks like a Smile

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav (not described)

Astarion’s POV

SFW/Fluff/Angst (seriously there’s no s€x here)

Summary: Set in Act 2 when the group begins scouring Moonrise Towers and Astarion and Tav encounter Araj Oblodra, the Drow blood merchant. She won’t take no for an answer, and learns why that is a very very stupid thing to do.

~3.2 K words

Bit of a deviation from the canon interactions/dialogue and what the outcome is because ummm little guard dog with her love that most certainly does doesn’t need one is a trope I LOVE and needed to vomit out a lil flash fic at 1 AM last night to perform catharsis help I also kind of made myself sad

I may get this posted on my AO3?

I also will post the next part of Turn My Heart to a Spade soon!!!

“Oh, but I’d prefer if you did.”

The sneering Drow’s reply to his assurances that he would not bite anyone doesn’t quite register for Astarion before she lets slip another gut-reeling string of words, this time directed at you.

“I assume he belongs to you? Judging by the way he’s clung to your shadow since you walked up…” her laugh is mirthful, the metallic smear of red around the blue-grey skin of her eyelids crinkling and cracking in her amusement. “It’s a truly remarkable boon, to have had a spawn at your beck and call during your trek through the Shadow-cursed lands. I’d be remiss and dishonest to say I’m not jealous.”

His pale brows furrow as an unfamiliar emotion hits him. Maybe unfamiliar isn’t right, but he’s been so long separated from it that encountering it again feels like meeting a stranger he’s all too wary of.

Much like how he felt when he met you.

Kind, generous, trusting, infuriating you.

Oh, how he loathed being proven wrong. Having his tried and true skills of determining who people are and what they want sidestepped, his—sometimes hastily drawn—conclusions about things tipped on their heads like a cat swiping a cup off a table. Mostly by you. Endearingly and maddeningly.

For Gods’ sakes, he is supposed to be the unpredictable, unreadable, unflappable one. It’s his armour. His sodding lifeline. When one is in control of their faculties and has only themselves to rely on, their ability to save themselves is entirely up to their skills, or lack thereof.

But you, you whose only purpose was to take a fall or stab (sometimes literally) for him, has somehow managed to get him to willingly hand over the one thing that could kill him.

His trust.

It had kept him from trancing, some nights, gnawing the inside of his lip to shreds while going over every possible scenario in which his trust could be wielded against him.

Yet thus far, you’d not only permitted, but encouraged him to hold the other metaphorical end of it.

Both in battle, and in his bedroll.

He wonders most days if you know. If you’ve caught onto what he’s now realized was a very poorly conceived ploy. He has to tell you, at some point.

There’d been a humbling, blind fierceness in every fiber of your being when you last drew your weapon for him—looking up at the devil Yugir as if he didn’t have his crossbow bolt aimed right between your glaring brows. You swung and hacked and sliced like it was your soul you were fighting for, not his.

You’d done more than received his trust, you’d earned the right to hold it.

And here he is, silently watching, pleading, mentally tugging on the other end like a child grasping at their mother’s shirt—hoping you feel it.

“He has a name,” your voice appears as even as ever to the average onlooker, and certainly to this Drow; but there’s a strain, a warning that Astarion can detect that, to him, feels like the gentlest tug back from your end on the rope.

“Is that so? How quaint,” the Drow tilts her head. Turning her attention back to him, she appraises him from his boots up to his curls with a gaze that makes that strange, ugly feeling swell again. “Do indulge me then, what are you called, spawn?”

“Astarion—but-hold on—“

“Well, Astarion,” the way her tongue flicks over every syllable of his name puts a crinkle of disgust on the slope of his nose. So unlike how you say it. Usually uttered, quick and delicate, the ‘Ah’ nearly clipped off—shortening it to ‘Starion. Familiar and sweet and warm. “I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl.”

His disbelief manifests in the way he stutters over his words, managing to compose himself into a semblance of his normal character by the end of his reply. “You—What? I’m sorry, You—you want to be bitten?”

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance between the edge of life and death? Yes, I want it.”

Though he’s already decided that this woman is, in fact, a stem short of a brain, the arrangement she proposes catches his attention. And not in any way that’s enticing. A likely dangerous and potentially faulty potion in exchange for drinking her blood is a shoddy deal at best, and a revolting one at worst. Her blood smells foul. Acrid. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, which only worries him more. Not a sort of sickly sweet smell of decay like Gale’s. Nor is it twinged with something medicinal like Halsin’s, or like the pleasant muddle of Shadowheart’s half-elven and half-human blood. And certainly not like yours.

Putting on all the politeness he can muster, which is already more than the Drow deserves, he replies.

“I will have to…erm, decline.”

“Excuse me?” The Drow scoffs, displeasure creasing the space between her brows. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you’re squandering it.”

“I gave you my answer,” he shocks himself with the lack of grace he speaks with, voice lowered and snarling. He used to be so good at evading people like her. What the Hells has gotten into him?

Tutting, the Drow turns back to you. “Can you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” Addressing you like he’s not in the room, with scant more respect for you than she had for him.

Proving the Drow’s earlier observation right—as loyal as a bloody mutt—he looks to you, anxiety tightening the muscles over his stomach. The scenarios begin to churn in his mind, the worst among them not even that of you asking him to bite her to get the potion—but instead acquiescing his wants in front of the Drow only to reprimand or even punish him in some way later.

They come to a hilt as both he and the Drow await your move, holding his breath.

Then, you do something that manages to stun, relieve, and thrill him all at once.

You smile.

Though a half of a head shorter than him, and barely a few inches taller than the Drow, your presence seems to swell to intimidating heights among the three of you.

“My, you are slow on the uptake, Ms. Araj,” you speak with a lowered, gentle voice, one which commands the both of them to listen carefully—maybe even get closer, though at this point the Drow would have to have a death wish to get within stabbing distance of you. How dreadful, and disappointing, to Astarion; that the ominous and certain threat in your voice still yet seems to fly over the Drow’s head.

And how entertaining it will surely be to watch her pomp crumble in a few moments.

“My dear companion deigned to give you his name and answer, twice. I would pity the other acolytes and pilgrims here—if I cared for their lives—for the mere cruelty it is to converse with you in any capacity.”

Dear companion? Now this is new. And not…entirely unpleasant.

“I’m—sorry, I—“ the Drow’s poise wavers, though outrage still lines the edges of her voice.

“You will be sorry, if you do not shut your Godsdamned mouth while I speak,” you let the full fury of your voice be felt, though you have yet to raise it past what can be heard within five paces of the Blood Merchant.

As a meager credit to the Drow’s intelligence, she does snap her jaw shut. Astarion’s lips curl all the higher with each passing second.

“As I was saying—though I do not pity the acolytes here for the ordeal it must be to give you some form of station here, I think I have reason enough to remove you from it. For how you have treated my—for how you have treated Astarion,” your smile beams brighter, not a crease beneath your eyes to suggest you’re anything but seething. He realizes, in a way, you’re baring your teeth for him. The near possessive slip seems to loosen the anxiety in his frame, slightly. But your self-correction helps more.

“You may be a True Soul, but you don’t have any authority to—“ the Drow’s lips suddenly quiver shut again, but clearly not of her own doing. Astarion glances at you and his own tadpole wriggles as he feels yours come to life.

“I should have been more specific,” you sigh, your tadpole holding the Drow rigid. Brushing past him, you beckon with your finger as you move towards the balcony’s doorway across the room. The Drow begins to follow, feet shuffling awkwardly as the fear wells in her eyes. He’s not used to feeling planted to the floor, but for a moment he can only watch in gleeful disbelief at what you’re doing. He picks up his feet at the Drow crosses the threshold and slips out to the balcony with the two of you.

“When I said I had reason enough to remove you from your station, I meant that in less of a bureaucratic sense—I mean literally remove you from it,” you continue to hold the conversation calmly, one-sidedly, as you turn back to look at the Drow from the stacked-stone guardrail. You point and snap your fingers, gesturing to the one spot on this balcony where the stones have broken off and fallen down to the inky, boulder filled shallows at the bottom of the tower. The Drow moves even more resistantly as the psionic force from your tadpole urges her to obey, but eventually she stands at its edge.

“Tell me, Araj, would you like the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to feel what it’s like to fly? All you have to do—“ you lay a hand upon her back, just between her shoulder blades, giving her the slightest nudge. “Is step off.”

Astarion hears a strange, strained sounding humming, and realizes it’s the Drow trying to plead behind sealed lips.

“Oh—but it’s a simple exchange, really! And I’m a woman of my word. You step off, and I cast ‘Fly’ upon you. The only risk is if you fall too quickly, well—then my spell won’t reach you in time…and I’ve only seen it happen once before, but to fall from this height? Your body would pop like a champagne bottle thrown to the floor. Skin and muscle and bone will split, and all your warm guts and blood will burst and spray everywhere. What do you say? In my mind, it’d be plain idiotic to squander an opportunity like this.”

You turn back, meeting Astarion’s eye. Within yours, he can see a volatile mix ready to explode. Wrath. Outrage. A cruel hunger for revenge.

But even with those powerful emotions threatening to overtake you, there’s a tenuous thread of patience still wavering. Patience, and a question: that which asks for his permission. To not merely act or speak on his behalf, but decide whether or not to take this woman’s life for the affronts to his dignity and autonomy.

Indignation. Righteous indignation.

That is the feeling that’s been gnawing at him, the words for which he couldn’t recall until now. And it’s all because of you. Because you’ve refused to let him think of himself, talk about himself, treat himself, like a loaner to his own body and mind. Stepping off the wall, he approaches the two of you with a swagger.

First taking hold of a strap on the Drow’s armor, he then plants a steady foot on a piece of the stone guardrail to hold himself upright. Looking to you with a reassuring smirk, you step back, and with a rough shove Astarion sends the Drow’s upper half forward, dangling her precariously over the edge of the balcony. He lets her moan and protest wildly behind her teeth for a moment longer before nodding to you, and you release her from the hold of the tadpole. She takes a ragged gasp, as if preparing to scream, and he leans in to her ear.

“Now now, Araj, let’s not arouse any undesirable attention from the guards, hm?”

Stifling a groan of fear, her arms unsteadily pinwheel in the air as her feet try to find solid stone, and not the edge which Astarion has forced her onto.

“I think I’m feeling generous, so close to the overwhelming splendor of the Absolute—“ he mocks the name of the so-called deity that had proven itself a thorn in their group’s side thus far. “Whom, need I mention, blessed and deemed me a True Soul, just like my dear companion.”

Throwing a conspiratorial smile your way, it deflates only slightly to see your face set so tightly, all but trembling in anger. Not at him, of course. With a sigh, he tuts and yanks the Drow from the edge, throwing her to the stone floor of the balcony further in. She scrambles back from the both of you. Following her towards the door with unhurried steps, he tilts his head in the same mocking way she had before addressing her once more. “The next time someone tells you ‘no’, Drow, I suggest you not argue. You might not be so lucky next time.”

—

The two of you eventually reconvene with the remainder of your group, and after determining your next move you all settle within an abandoned wing of the tower for the night.

Neither of you relay what happened to the rest of your companions—and in turn don’t find an easy opportunity to address it with each other, until the others have gone to bed.

He finds you hunched over your pack, inventorying your potions yet again—worrying and fidgeting his hands and fingers as he approaches.

“I think we’ll come across more, we’ve not unlocked every door in this bloody tower,” he offers—sounding uncharacteristically optimistic. It betrays just how uncertain and uncomfortable he feels about what he’s actually come over to say to you.

“Ah, I know. Just a bit paranoid since we got here. We had our asses kicked out in Reithwin, then again when we took care of Raphael’s dirty laundry—and to walk in to that whole spectacle with Thorm? Gods above—“ you huff, coaxing a genuine smile to Astarion’s face. Finally you turn, rising from your crouched position with a tired, lopsided grin. It falters as you take in his expression, and Astarion worries he’ll collapse in on himself if you look at him for a moment longer like you currently are.

Like you’re concerned about him. Which you are. Like you care for him. Which you do.

Like you love him.

“Everything alright, ‘Starion?”

“Oh—yes, of course I’m fine-“ he stumbles over every word, his charming, easy, impervious shell cracking. “It’s just that…I feel—awful.”

You push aside your own exhaustion, giving him your full attention—of course you do. You ask him why. He’d almost rather pull his own fangs out than confess what he’s about to. But as you listen, as you take in everything he hurries and tries to explain or make excuses for, your expression does not change. Not for the worse, anyway. Those same shining, gentle eyes hold his, and make his undead heart swell. He makes sure to express his gratitude, for how you stood up to the Drow—but even more so for letting him decide.

“Well—yeah,” you sheepishly look down at your feet, scrubbing at the back of your hair. He almost can’t take it, how wonderful you are. “I wasn’t going to rob you of that satisfaction,” you joke. Sighing, you meet his eye again. “I was ready to kill her, Astarion. You know I was. But then… I wouldn’t have done anything for you. Not really. Who’d’ve been empowered if I’d done it? Definitely not you. So, sorry for almost doing that. I was…well, I was fucking pissed.”

He’s not sure if he can recall how to breathe. How could you be apologetic right now, when you were ready to defend him like some knight in shining armor? He came here to apologize to you, not the other way around.

“Hells, darling, I might find an opportunity to make you a villain yet,” he offers you a small smile, voice soft.

You reciprocate, your cheeks dusted with a blush illuminated by the few candles lit outside your tent.

“So, um…what you said—about forcing yourself through-does that mean our—erm,” you try to be so cordial, so empathetic, even though pain seeps from every pore at the implication of what he said.

“No—no, darling,” he rushes out, taking a breath. “Being…close to someone, it just…it was always something I did, had to do, to lure people back—for him. I—want us to be different. I know we are. But intimacy feels…” he struggles to articulate it, feeling your eyes on him even as his own flit around the shadows of the room. “…tainted. I just…don’t know how else to be with someone, no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you, Astarion,” you murmur after a heavy pause, and he manages to find your eyes again.

“Really?” He asks, throat filled with a bubble of emotion that threatens to burst.

And where words failing him and the inability to wield his body would normally make him feel completely hollow—a useless husk of a man—the embrace your arms suddenly surround him in makes him seem…whole. Solid.

And unfortunately, capable of dragging him down to the depths of sadness and pain with how heavy he now feels.

However, your arms around him remind him that you’re there with him. That you will be there with him no matter what, Gods and Devils and Mindflayers be damned.

Astarion remembers how to use his own as realizes they’ve been merely hovering, outstretched, and hugs you back. You tighten around him, sighing into his shirt.

He closes his eyes, nuzzling his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck—looking for those places he’d be happily cradled in for the rest of his thus-far miserable life.

When you eventually pull back—Astarion’s hands linger at your waist, his fingers almost curling around your shirt to tug you back in.

“You’re—um-full of surprises,” he musters a shaky smile, which you reciprocate, warmly.

“I am yours until you tire of me, Astarion,” you offer half-jokingly, the gravity of which does not go amiss in his mind.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I don’t sleep—so don’t get your hopes up for being rid of me, darling.”

Your eyes crease, nearly obscuring your irises as you smile.

“I love you, Astarion,” the words are carried from your lips on a breath as it slips out—falling tenderly as a kiss to his ears and piercing as true as an arrow through his heart.

You can tell as much, stepping forward into his arms once more to squeeze his hand and reassure him. “You—you don’t have to say it back. I just want—need you to know that. In the event we die tomorrow or something. Very real possibility, given our dwindling potions.”

“Oh. Well. If we’re telling each other things we need to know, I suppose I should tell you how I’ve been building a stash of potions I’ve erm…borrowed from you, then. You know, clearing guilty consciences and all,” he counters, squeezing your hand back. “I’ll share them with you—as a last resort—of course.” You snort, and then fall into a fit of giggles that he’s dragged into all too easily.

After a considerable effort and a number of failed attempts to stop laughing, a sharp ‘Tsk’va’ uttered from Lae’zel’s tent nearby finally manages to silence you both as you slip into his tent, you staying awake only long enough for him to clear the bedroll of clutter and shake the blankets out.

As you settle your cheek on his chest, snuggled up to his side, his lips press idle kisses to your forehead and hair, desiring to commit your smell, warmth, and weight in his arms to memory.

He eventually slips into a trance—for once, one not filled with crimson eyes and shadows and death—but your sweet smile, laugh, and the way those three words he once longed to forget sound in your voice.

[shaykai]

Okay okay okay consider Durgetash tether AU

Gortash & Durge are messing around with an artifact (from Mephistopheles’ vault?) and it ends up tethering them together (like Legend of Spyro- they can only move so far away from each other and the tether isn’t visible unless it’s actively being strained or interacted with)

They can’t figure out how to deactivate it, antics ensue (they can’t hurt each other while it’s active?)

Gortash has to put up with Durge being present in all of his meetings and just praying to god they behave themselves and don’t try to maim anybody/that nobody takes too much interest in their presence

There’s also the Urge- Gortash knows about it but now he actively has to help in dealing with it- whether that be going on murder sprees far too often for his liking or finding out the unfortunate consequences of neglecting it

Them getting weirdly close and open because they kind of have to be to function

Neither of them have easy access into their respective cult spaces/temples anymore- bringing a Banite into Bhaal’s temple is basically a heresy.

That being said, Durge can only stay away for so long before it’s problematic- it looks bad when they’ve been missing for a week and the last time they were seen was with Gortash.

Jump cut to Durge forcing Gortash to wear normal cultist attire and telling him to keep his mouth shut lest somebody recognize his voice.

Something about Orin cornering Durge and asking where they’ve been before realizing there’s a ‘cultist’ just. Standing there. Djdjdjjdjdjd Naturally she threatens to kill him if he doesn’t leave and Durge has to hurry up and make excuses and then probably run away with Gortash before Orin can clock that it’s him

Sceleritas is one of the only people who knows the situation and is tirelessly searching for a solution so that his “beloved Durge can be free of their greasy leach”

Something something people clocking that it’s weird that they’re always so close to each other (gonna say they can’t be more than 10 feet apart)- more so at places like Moonrise where nobody knows who Durge really is and want to know who it is that’s following Gortash around

Gortash having to deal with the gnolls because Durge refuses to leave them alone

Also Durge getting somewhat familiarized with mechanics and learning how they work

Ketheric genuinely not knowing that they’re tethered together for entirely too long

Balthazar being a problem if he ever finds out because he wants to do science

Also them having to learn how to fight while being stuck together

Something about their walk speeds being different- Gortash has a cane for a reason and it takes Durge a while to stop speed walking everywhere. (Gortash can match their pace, but after a while it does take a toll)

Messy sleeping arrangements

Them having to deal with each other’s triggers/really bad days TM

[fangsyouverymuch01]

Just friends

Summery: The hero of Baldur's Gate greatest battlefield is now drunkenly returning home from the tavern because your connection to the arcane world is dying, and it has been for months. Adding to it, is your unresolved feelings from a certain vampire you've sworn to forget.

Rolan and Lia, aiding you in your search for answers, are determined to divert your mind from troubles. Unbeknownst to you, this night is destined to change everything.

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav, Astarion x f!reader , Rolan x reader

Warnings: Fightning, sort of depressed reader, drinking, Astarion being a prick

Tags: Slow burn, friends to lovers

Note: This took way too long to write, and tbh I'm scared to publish it. Had a hard time coming up with a plot that would make sense (and yes this is the underdark/menzoberranzan fic)

Nevertheless, hope you enjoy and stick around for more parts in the future.

In front of you is an array of literature varying from books, scrolls and notes. Just like yesterday and the day before that. Picking up yet another scroll and unrolling it, the words painted on it turns into a blur. Arcane symbols dance before your eyes but the contents of the page escapes your fleeting mind and it drifts to past memories of Moonrise Towers. 

“...And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart,” he pauses, searching for the right words to continue. “You’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Stunned by his confession, your own voice momentarily failed you. The Elf spoke again, revealing a truth that cut through your heart like a blade.“Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him.”

Astarion further explains his train of thought, you could see his mouth moving but not a word reached your ears. Sadness, confusion, happiness and anger; the emotions mixed and collided within you. Was your relationship built on lies? Had you somehow forced him to sleep with you? It was all so much.

“I don't know how else to be with someone, No matter how much I’d like to.” 

You’d decided to remain just friends, and it had felt like the right choice. Liberating even, seeing Asterion grow into a person no longer controlled by fear. But now, you wallowed in selfishness due to your aching heart. Now it is the thing that keeps you from focusing on the task ahead. Now it is the thing keeping your from nights embrace, your body twisting and turning when the moon shone through the curtains. Now it is the numb feeling whilst faceless men sing your name between your legs. The decision, made with the intention of preserving your friendship, now felt as liberating as a chain strung to your neck. 

Moreover, you haven't seen him in weeks -  or could it be months? The passage of time blurs and certainly eludes you. Yet, effortlessly, his image flits into your head - bouncy white curls, piercing crimson eyes, a sharp nose and that godsdamn smirk. Interchangeable in your memory - forever young - he remains a vivid specter that refuses to fade.

Breaking your train of thought, there is a tap on your shoulder, a figure crouching over you to peer at the discoveries revealed in the scroll. 

“Found anything of interest?” Rolan spoke, eyeing you from above. 

“Ehm no, just lost in thought.” you replied, attempting to shake off the lingering memories that had clouded your focus. 

“Well, neither have I.” he puffed out a breath of air, “My best bet is to return to the House of Grief for more answers so I could study the mirror you spoke off.”

“I’m not sure they’d warmly welcome me back after my latest visit.” you let out a strained chuckle, struck by a memory of  Viconas lifeless person as Shadowhearts struck the merciless final blow to her chest. 

Since your time in the House of Grief, your bond with magic has slowly dwindled. The once-familiar currents of arcane energy now seemed distant. Magic had been an extension of you, and its absence felt akin to a cruel mutilation and you were desperate to feel magic coursing through your veins once more. Your desperation had led you here - Sorcerous Sundries, for any clue or hope that you might become whole again.

"Anyhow, have you heard from Gale yet?" you inquired, seeking a distraction from your thoughts.

"He deemed Waterdeep fruitless in our search and should be arranging plans to continue in Neverwinter as we speak," Rolan replied, his eyes pacing the floorboards beneath him. "Maybe we should pause our search for today; the sun is setting, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of a drink." His suggestion hung in the air, a respite offered amidst your futile search for answers. 

You had no energy to protest, you truly wanted to go, you really did. But what you needed was to dive into the mountains of untouched texts sprawled in a ring in front of you. 

Lazily tracing the arcane figures, partly lost in deliberation you answer “Thank you for the offer but I shouldn’t, you go and I’ll stay here.”

"Come on, just one drink. It won't solve all our problems, but it might provide a momentary escape," he insisted, recognizing the heaviness in your gaze. "We can resume our search tomorrow with clearer minds. Trust me, it's what you need right now."

A defeated sign escapes your lips “Fine, one drink but no more than that”. 

Laying a victorious touch on your arm, the tiefling grinned, "That's the spirit!" Helping you up, he proceeded, "The Elf Song in an hour; I need to run something by Lia first." With determined steps, he led you away from your search for answers in the pile of books. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The warm light emanating from the Elfsongs' painted windows cast a glow over your figure as you linger outside the bustling door. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses weave together, that should beckon you inside but it doesn't. Nothing seems to pique your interest these days. The hero of Baldurs Gate was but a mere shell of what bards sang about and the thought of being recognized, of eyes filled with anticipation that lingers for extraordinary tales to be told - you can't stand it. 

Adding to your dread, are the invasive questions about your companions - about Astarion. Head spinning and lips slowly drooping to frown, you instinctively recoil from the entrance. 

With a heavy sigh, you reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around a familiar flask. The cool metal brings a small comfort, and in contrast your throat burns as you gulp down liquid courage. 

Stealing yourself against the prying questions and the weight of everyone's expectations, you push open the tavern door, stepping into the warm embrace of the tavern, where Rolan and Lia await, immersed in their own stories. You offer them a weak smile as you approach the booth. 

“There you are, I almost thought you wouldn’t show but I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

“Come, sit!” Lia urges, patting the cushion beside her. As you settle into the booth, you can't help but notice the curious eyes around you.

Gods no.

Instinctively, your finger twirls and you mutter a spell to cast disguise self, only to be reminded of your uselessness. A tinge of frustration tightens your jaw, quickly masked by a forced smile. You divert your gaze, hoping to shield yourself from the unwanted attention. 

“What’s your poison for today?” Lia asks, a mischievous smile spreading from cheek to cheek. Her breath smells of alcohol; Lia and Rolan had clearly begun drinking ahead of you. Not that you could judge them, having indulged in your trusted flask outside the tavern minutes ago. 

“I’ll have what you’ve had.”

“Coming right up!” Lia responds, her enthusiasm undeterred. She signals the bartender, and soon enough, a trio of drinks arrives at the table. 

Rolan is the first to grip the glass and then clear his throat, “To us,  and Gale - and hope that tomorrow will give us more answers.” 

One drink turns into four drinks, and at some point, you lose track of both time and the units you’ve allowed to warm your gullet. Honestly it’s quite funny, why did you worry so much before? Silly you with silly thoughts! Almost as silly as Rolan’s eyes focused on your neck. He looks funny with his eyebrows furrowed, and a chuckle escapes your lips at the sight.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep staring at my neck like that, Rolan.”

“I did no such thing!” he retorts as a flush creeps up on the tiefling's cheeks.

Lia heartily laughs, swaying a bit, and offers her hand to you. “Join me for a dance, will you?” The music in the tavern entices you and despite the blurred lines of inebriation, you take Lia’s hand and step into the lively dance floor.

Lia practically dragged you through the crowded tavern, Rolan following closely behind to his best abilities. The dance floor was filled with twirling bodies, in rhythm with the bard's melodies. Pulling your arm up, Lia spins and chuckles as you reach the bards scene. Rolan, with a playful twinkle in his eyes, reaches the two of you and joins the dance. The world seems to sway with the music and for the first time in a long time, a genuine smile spreads across your face. 

As you moved to the music, you sensed Rolans’ proximity. His hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you through the intricate steps of the dance. The unfamiliar warmth of his hand against your skin was a stark contrast to the memories of Asterion's cool touch.The bard's music kept on playing, the tunes bouncing off the plucked strings, the odor of alcohol on his breath, and hot uncontrolled bodies clashing against your person -  Gods, its too much. You can't stay a minute longer or you might suffocate. 

“I need some air,” you mumble and offer an apologizing smile, excusing yourself as the dance continues without you. 

“Wait!” a muffled voice calls out, but you pretend that you’re too far off to hear. 

Faces blurred into a sea of strangers, and the lively chatter became an indistinguishable hum. Your breath quickened, and you couldn't shake the feeling of faceless men and women judging your every step. Because now they know - they know that you were no hero of Baldur's gate, just another drunk who couldn’t even cast a simple spell to disguise herself from embarrassment. 

Pathetic. 

As you stepped out into the cool night air, the contrast between the warmth of the dance floor and the refreshing chill outside sent shivers down your spine. Crouching down you plant your hands to your knees, trying to catch your breath and ease your mind. 

A moment later, the tavern door swung open abruptly, an curly haired man emerging as he wrestled with another almost feral one. The creature thrashed and snarled at the curly haired man as he strained against the frenzied movements. Caught off guard, you stood up in the shadow beside the entrance, your breath hitching again as you observed the scene unfold. 

Seizing the opportunity to make sense of the situation, you assertively approached the struggling men, dagger clutched and ready strike if needed. The curly-haired man's eyes flickered toward you and your gaze met his.

Deep crimson eyes, ivory curls, and are those fangs?

No, that can't be.

"Astarion?" you uttered, your voice a hushed whisper that sliced through the night, your eyes fixed on the elf's face in utter disbelief. There he was, right before you.

Astarion's attention shifted to the rabid man, deftly maneuvering to subdue him. He restrained the creature, halting any further erratic movements. With precision, Astarion extracted a flask from his belt, causing the man's struggles to intensify. Despite the increased resistance, Astarion's actions remained calculated and exact.

With the man momentarily contained, Astarion secured him in place with one hand, the other retrieving a flask. He raised it to his mouth, a subtle glint of fangs emerging as he skillfully removed the lid with his teeth.

"Hello," the rogue spoke, pausing to inject the man with the unfamiliar substance. The feral struggles ceased, and Astarion continued, his tone now imbued with a nuanced warmth, "darling."

Stunned you remain constrained where you stood. This is real, Astarion is here after days, weeks and months of him plaguing your thoughts every waking moment. Your mind races, trying to process the surreal present. A rumble in your stomach seems to pull you out of your trance, nausea spreading in your throat. 

Keep. it. down. 

“Care to help or do you intend to stand there and just gawk?”

Once more the door beside you swung open, a tall figure emerges with swaying strands of long hair catching in the wind, intent on reaching the paralyzed man and Astarion. 

“We said no killing, remember?" he spoke.

"Oh, my apologies, brother. I must have forgotten our little agreement when I was wrestling the feral dog whilst you were nowhere to be seen.”

At that moment, you recognized the man - Leon. His expression remained stoic, though a flicker of irritation crossed his features. "Your theatrics aren't amusing, Astarion. We need to keep them alive; this is not the time nor place for you to display your unique methods."

You finally had a surge to act, fumbled in your bag and searched for any potion or scroll that could help. A glass vial of what seemed to be a healing potion met your fingers, and you pulled it out, unscrewing the cap with shaky hands. 

“Here take this,” you called out, holding the potion aloft, offering a forced smile amidst the charged atmosphere. 

As you step forward to give Leon the vial, Rolan stumbles out the tavern door, tipsy and eyes searching for something in the night. You’d completely forgotten about Rolan and Lia, they’d probably been worried since you hadn’t returned. His eyes widened at the chaotic scene before him, and he instinctively moved to stand in front of you, a protective gesture. His hand flickered with a small flame, ready to defend against any potential threat. 

"What in the hells is happening here?" Rolan demanded, a mix of concern and bewilderment in his voice.

Before anyone could respond, Astarion let out a small laugh, one that you couldn't seem to decipher the meaning of. What was so funny? Rolan certainly wasn't amused, and the flame rose higher from his palm at the elf's dismissive laugh. Leon's gaze moved to Rolan, his hands raising in a gesture of peace, showing that they were no threat to him or you.

“Got yourself a knight in shining armor, have you now?” Astarion remarked, a sly grin playing on his lips.

Knight in shining armor? The words stung, and a spark of anger flared within you. Rolan didn't need to save you nor did you want him to. Opening your mouth to retort, Leon interjected, his voice firm and commanding.

“Astarion, don’t,” Leon snapped at him, a stern edge to his voice. He then looked directly at you, his expression softening. “We don’t want to fight you. Let's find a quieter spot to talk, and we’ll explain everything.”

You nodded, the tension in the air making it clear that this was not the time for confrontation. Rolan, still wary but trusting your judgment, lowered the flame in his palm. With cautious glances exchanged between the group, you began to move away from the chaotic scene, guided by Leon's lead to a more secluded spot where answers awaited. 

[astralnymphh]

𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕☽◯☾

𖤐ྀ࿐-ˊˎepilogue!ellie x afab!reader

WC: 5.8k+

designated song: red flags and long nights - she wants revenge 𖤐ྀ an: first fic i ever published so idk what im doing but im doing it! i kinda just farted out an idea and then it blossomed into a fic over the course of a couple days so hopefully it lives up to its full power cause i fr inhaled this thing 6+ hours a day and totally not with a thesaurus at hand im definitely a natural wordsmith (i like my sht detaileddd) pls lmk what you think cuz i will be writing more stuff cuz i am so done with character DAWT ai fr.

⋆࿔･ cw: NSFW 18+, MDNI! >> friends to lovers, takes place after tlou2 ending, detailed but tried to be as natural as possible, proofread enough, ellie loves to joke around, hella cursing, fingering (receiving + giving), oral (receiving), stimulation of nipples, lots of foreplay, petnames (babe, pretty girl), slight overstimulation. ✧༺♥༻∞ synopsis: you met ellie a week after she sent farewells to jackson and her farmhouse, locking away the love she embodied for dina and set forth a journey towards a fresh horizon. furthermore, you joined her on this trip after running into her in an abandoned hospital, which at first things weren't so friendly and rather condemned you to gun-point but regardless it resolved eventually. the original plans she had her mind latched on were demolished since you mentioned your living situation. you live in a community not bound to FEDRA or any other titled organizations, only an ankle-straining expedition away from wyoming. one of these nights weeks after you met, you're sunken into a makeshift bed in the cruel wilderness underneath the ivory moon, it's lunar lights absorbing into the exposed skin on your arms. moonbathing, essentially. ellie's present too, but if she engages in a chat, where might it lead you? ⊱ ───────────────── {.⋅ 𖤐 ⋅.} ──────────────── ⊰

𖤐ྀ࿐-ˊˎ

Mind oscillating on a path through notions not tended to at daylight, imagination running amok, fueling a creative craving that often returns at moonrise when most dangers, mostly most, are kept at bay and you at harbor and reeling you back into your delusions. Well, scenarios just happen to spark out of the void in your cranium, especially when there's a woody auburn head to your right. Ellie's back lined by the cut of her tank top is giving your eyes a warm greeting, a film of drying sweat cloaking the skin on her shoulders fortunately so the celestial body above reflects its light perfectly off it. Her back flexes slightly as her hands are occupied with the doodles and entries beckoning to go from head to paper. She wrote quite often on your trip, whether it be graffiti, a landmark, personal thoughts or just some notes contingent on the route and journey ahead. The faint noise of non-stop scribbling had your mind tilting towards the fact that it was probably some emotional dumping or intense art session, so you'd rather not bother her. You both had a tight and steadfast bond regardless if the initial meeting was at best a month ago. Why was it taking an age to reach home? If it wasn't for the fury of infected hordes on a fucking crusade through the country and bandits seeking trouble constantly, you'd be there. 

Brushing all these thoughts off, you pushed your back into the cold tree trunk behind you, molding into the space between your shoulder blades nicely and tucking your knees up to your chest. You pulled a fine-tip Sharpie from your supply bag's netted pocket and just tugged the cap off immediately. The tip surged with a night black ink, seeping into the flesh of your knee as you scratched in a little art piece. Imagination caught you at the right time. 

The noise of a book wafting closed perks your eyes over to Ellie spinning on her knee in a circle to face you. You glanced back and forth at your knee and her approaching you. Her hair illuminated a bronze auburn in the inferno of the campfire.

"Still not asleep?" Ellie questions in a low throaty tone, a voice that settles itself in your ears and invites a smile to your lips unintentionally. 

You mused at her until she claimed a spot on the foliaged earth surrounding the brink of the tree you call your natural headboard, blinking your sights forward on your knees again and speaking, "Sleep is barely possible in this world," a remark that slips past the threshold of your lips often, "Dunno if you noticed, but I'm never asleep before sunrise." you add.

Ellie rebounds with a chuckle and raises her brows, "Good point," she tilts her head idly. "What's that on your knee?" She nudges the air with her chin, referring to the ink doodle gracing your knee.

"Oh, boredom." You reply vaguely with a smile, returning your sight onto her and observing her freckled face longingly.

Ellie sucks her lips inwards, running her tongue from one corner to the other while nodding ponderously. Her teeth pinned down her bottom lip, akin to poking a soft cushion and curling into a smirk. "Well," Her lips parted. "Got an extra pen?"

Her asking enticed a smile on your face, cheeks jerked up by a thread, "A-huh" You hum with your mouth ajar, fingers pursuing the bigger pocket of your bag to scrounge up another pen. Eventually, you slide another Sharpie out between your fingers, holding it like a blunt to Ellie.

She grasps it gently, biting the cap off and settles it between her pretty pink lips before blowing it off into the patch of grass.

"Uh, You better not lose that cap!" You reacted swiftly, furrowing your brows in a playful sourness.

She draws the air through her teeth, "Too late." 

You purse and wiggle your own lips but eventually a smirk flexes back and replaces it.

Ellie merely synchronizes a smirk back prior to inching her face near your thigh, poking the pens tip on your plush skin. Her large palm conceals whatever the hell she's sketching.

Suddenly, the pen moves in a certain pattern and a hint illuminates in your head, "I swear if it's-" You are cut off by Ellie's hand moving to reveal just what it is and your assumptions redeem truth. "Boobs.." Your eyelids peel back, staring at a pair of cartoony breasts plastered on your skin.

"Whaaat? Not appreciative of my artwork?" She curved her words, embarking on a playful tone.

"That's kinda gay." You spat back, jabbing your index finger into the firmness of her bicep which made her balance waver sideways.

Ellie played along with an offended visage, "Uhh, I know you're not talking!" She indeed bites back.

"Uhh, well I am talking!" You counter and shimmy your tongue a bit and lodged it between your lips as you taunted her.

Ellie just laughs you off and immediately starts drawing again, learning your lesson you tug your thigh away from her usage. You jeer, "Nuh uh! You're gonna draw a dick or something!"

Her tone recedes and reduces down to a calm one, that familiarly husky one sweetening the space and thrumming into your eardrums, "I won't, I promise." 

A quiet brow teeters on your skin, expressing your doubt but nonetheless you lend your thigh again as her canvas and slyly relax it against her leg.

Ellie smoothly returns pen in hand, her other hand snaking over your thigh and resting her three fingers on the squishy padding of your inner thigh. She honed in on this sketch, laser focused as the pen glides over your skin.

This rockets your fragile coolness into the forest of stars above and dilated blood blooming across your cheeks. Ellie may have appeared a tinge bit flirty this past week, but not this quickly did the aura embracing both of them turn so love infested. The pads of her fingertips were coarse yet melded with your skin warmly. The way your mind delved into thought from this plain touching electrified your heart, igniting something abdominal and a fluttering ache in your hips.

"And.. there." Ellie mumbles from her throat, voice a bit hoarse and stuffy. Her dominant hand retreats without the one clasping your thigh gently, twining it gently with pressure to reveal her sketch. It was a moth, unlike the ones etched into her journal time and time again. Details were revived in it and just looked so lovely on your bare thigh. 

"Wow, another moth?" You tease her with a shoulder bump to which she reels back onto the scaly tree and smiles widely cheek to cheek fashioning those signature dimples to peek. You swore a color akin to red jasper trickled across her midface.

"Shut up.." Ellie sheepishly pushes her lips together in attempts to halt a smirk but her cheeks falter and perk up, a cute sight to you and humiliation to herself.

You patch up her embarrassment with an excuse, "It's nice, though. Like.. tattoo-worthy." 

Ellie chuckles in response and relaxes her eyes onto your visage momentarily, darting a glimpse repetitively at her left hand that laid solemnly against the crevice of your thigh and hip. She stutters, "S-Shit, shit, sorry." a calm tone masked the nervous lump in her throat and she swiped her hand away.

You couldn't help but feel that tension in your neck mutually, clogging your chance of saying 'it's fine' so you simply descend your head and giggle behind closed lips.

Sweat coated her forehead thinly, invoking an attractive amber glow on it brought by the flame crackling in front of you.

Ellie's husky voice sauntered to your ears, "So, does that mean.. you'd get that tattooed?" She resumes the statement you added earlier.

You blow raspberries, "Yeah, not gonna lie. You're fuckin' talented." You firmly assure her.

Her eyes perk up and so do the corners of her lips, irises painted with a color akin to the wings of a lunar moth casting onto yours, noticing luminous rings of orange light wrapping her pupils.

At that moment, you wish you could just admit 'and you're really pretty' but your stomachs sunken in on itself, reeling your heart and throat along with it. The assumption that pouring your heart out might result in Ellie fleeing this trip, rotting your body with the pestilence of rejection and would be too poisonous to bear. 

"Wish I could still play guitar right now," Ellie soothes the silence, craning her neck and hangs her head low huddled to her chest. "Y'know?" Her head oscillates to gaze at you.

"I would've loved to hear that." you reply, a comforting hand advancing to the back of Ellie's neck.

"One day- I wanna at least try singing."

"What's stopping you now?"

Ellie raises her palm upwards in defense, "There's no instrumental backing it though!" her voice raises in a falsetto.

"Guess the sounds of wind and fire sparking isn't ideal." You get her point, "Ey' I'll just.. beat this stick on a rock," a stray branch enlightens you. "Nature's drum."

"Tch-" Ellie spits air from her teeth. "You're silly." 

"You're silly." You emphasize.

"Right, I am, wanna hear a joke?" Her body tosses onto her hip to face you, twisting one leg more open and the other bearing against the tree root lump under her.

"What's with the jokes this week, Ellie?" you reminisce on the flurry of puns Ellie just had the itch to entertain you with this week specifically.

"Okay fine then, I'll part with the jokes!" 

"That's not what I meant, I just bear some curiosity." you plea your context. "You seem more open compared to our first week together. You swore you wouldn't trust a stranger."

Ellie huffed out a hefty lot of wind, "Umm…" She became fiddly and lingered her pause, "I just found.. comfort, in your presence." the aura clouded in her eyes shifts to a darker one, "You're literally the only person I can be with after months of fucking isolation, the one person that I haven't.." Her rambling stumbles into a halt.

Wind rustles the branches above and around you, only a faint noise filling the lack of words.

"You don't have to explain-"

"Hurt." Ellie concludes.

You explore her void expression, eyes duller than the seconds before delving into this conversation. She's been bottling shit within, clearly. "I understand," you nod, the hand you laid upon the warm skin of her back returning and caressing a circle. "Do you wanna talk about it?" you offer.

"Nah, uh- don't wanna spend my time.. remembering, right now." Ellie reverts to sitting on her bottom.

You respectfully let her words settle in open space for a moment before speaking, "Still wanna tell me that joke?"

Ellie lightens up instantly, dimples convex in her cheeks as a smile is puppeteered on her luscious pink lips and baring teeth. She swipes her tongue between them before indulging, "What's the downside to eating a clock?" Her cheeky smile remains. 

"Mmm… what?" you hum curiously.

"It's time consuming." 

You compressed your lips tightly, a rumbling chortle bubbling within your esophagus. 

"Yeah, yeah- I'm hilarious." Ellie humbles herself in tone.

"Uhuh, totally." You forced some air through lips locked tighter than a top-secret chamber causing an intense vibrating buzz to rattle your skull.

"Don't lie, you love it." Ellie tilts her head, the auburn bang like a crest to the side of her face now hanging just where it tickled the apex of her nose.

Your right index finger, bearing a will of its own, swoops in to hook this bang behind the conch of her ear, tucking it away from her eyes with the pad of your fingertip.

Ellie pores her sight over the structure of your face, exposing you like an open book. The way her green rings enveloped you felt different, like she was contemplating a daring decision. Her eyes falter only once but capture contact again, such a gaze soft and charming is born upon her eyelids.

"Ellie?" you utter softly.

The subtle touch of Ellie's fingertips cradling your head were the only thing you registered before a pillowy flesh was aligned upon your lips, suckling at your supple bottom lip and challenging the balance of your neck with the way she smashed into you. Her hand advanced to your cheeks, cupping them tenderly yet palms pushing down with friction, lips smoothing over yours multiple times and reluctant to separate as they felt practically welded and magnetically attracted. 

"Mmph.." Her peachy cheeks graced yours and passed along a radiating heat. Catharsis possessed the ebb and flow of passion bursting at the seams of your swelling heart and that same infernal ache of your pelvis siphoning off your hidden lust.

"Fuck," Ellie utters a curse below her breath, shambling away from your space only to be interrupted by your eager fingers clawing into her collar and jerking her closer.

"That wasn't a mistake." You assure her in a promising tone, a solace hand cusping the concave valley under her jaw and fingertips converging with the groove behind her earlobes.

Ellie's expression lush with turmoil slowly contorts into a smirk, nasal lines and dimples beautifully indenting around her wide smile. A husky mumble, "Should I stop?" thrumms into your ears. Her eyes scan you for an answer.

"No." your breath hitches.

Ellie's hand takes harbor on the small of your back, nudging you towards the tarp tent a few feet before you. 

Your body senses the hint and takes you beneath this dense blue tarp where Ellie attempts to slumber, but now its intended purpose has fizzled away beneath this lust-drunk haze. Your back sinks into the foliaged bedding with a few flannel blankets splayed across it. Ellie scales above your body and casts a shadow of her own that cascades over you. Her fern green irises fixate on yours, embers of excitement caper within the midst of your midriff, plucking and tugging at your heartstrings.

Ellie's raspy voice slithers into your ears, "I thought you wouldn't want this." Her pupils dart around to every edge of your face nervously.

"But, I do." your hand is an assurance on her shoulder, but the calf ascending over her lower back and dangling off her butt implies an abysmal desire.

Her eyes examine the situation with your leg for a split second, "What're you doing?" She mutters amid a crescent smirk pursing her coral lips.

You glance away promptly for a wink, "I said-" 

Ellie's lips hush yours and sever them apart, tongue tipping the threshold and beckoning for yours to surface. 

You indulge in the lovers tango with your tongues, lips smacking together as the air is siphoned from you. She suckles and bites down hungrily as seconds trickle past, feeling her fingernails etch their stamp on the flesh of your mid-back. She is so fucking enamored with you.

"I fuckin' need you.." you breathily grunt into the enclosed space betwixt you both, searing foreheads melding together and nose tips drifting over one another.

Ellie's eyes twitched half-closed, midface boiling red, mouth ajar and spilling out hot air, "Shit.." she moaned, fingering the fly of her jeans and fiddling with the zinc alloy rivet.

"What are you rushing for?" you tease in a coo.

"Shhh-shut up." She hushes onto your cupid's bow, pecking it with a tiny smack prior to elevating her torso upwards.

You ogle her toned slender bod as she slips off the ribbed white tank dabbled in sweat and crimson splotches, chucking it mindlessly against the overhead tarp causing a loud crinkle to thunder.

You panic with a laugh, "Oh m'god- shh!" and clasp her wrists to steady her arms, "That was so loud! Don't attract the clickers!" you nag at Ellie playfully.

"I wasn't!" She pleads.

"If clickers come charging up here cause of your-"

"Guns' in here babe." Ellie replied hoarsely.

"Oh, I'm your babe now?" you fakely bumble, slyly lurking a keen hand to her stoutly toned abdomen, eyes just now comprehending the reality that she was bra-clad to her upper body, damp humidity sticking to her beaten skin so perfectly you sensed yourself melting at the existence of it like there's goo in your skull instead of a brain.

Ellie affirms low and honeyed, "Yeah, a hundred percent m'babe." Her face creases into a slanted brazen smile.

Heeding her affirmation, your fingers advance down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head leisurely and disclosing your skin openly for her. Your shyness had fractured and dissipated completely and was yearning for the mingling of her body with yours.

Ellie's jaw suspended slightly open and lip caving over her bottom teeth as she puffed a breathy chuckle. She was unarguably turned on by the notion of you bound by bareness.

"Fuck me." She utters breathless.

You regard her words before harshly hauling her torso back down, capturing your barren lips in a sloppy entanglement which only glosses over the true pleasure you ache for. 

Ellie's hand detects that desire and traverses the map of your body before flattening on the destination of your inner-thigh just below the crevice of your crotch. She asks, "Can I?" softly against your neck, because consent is sexy.

"Mhm." You nod your head eagerly and straighten at the knees comfortably.

Her left hand pulls your fly back over the button, popping your jeans open with a smidge of panty fabric peeking already. Ellie teases the zippers tab with her fingernail and sluggishly separates the zippers teeth. She inclines back slightly to absorb the sight of both hands tucking into your jeans, rolling them down at a pace that tickles the microscopic hair on your thigh.

You wiggled your legs as she heaved them upwards, tugging your bunched up jeans bulking at your ankles, unintentionally your socks caught on and slipped off your toes.

"Don't toss them recklessly this time." you demand of her jokingly and chafe your thighs wantingly.

"Wasn't planning on it."

You watch her politely cast the fabrics aside, lunging carefully with both arms cradling your head as she swooped in to steal a quick kiss before dragging her lips across your chin, stranding a dozen pecks in her path until she craned over behind your ear and leaving a fresh trail of kisses along your neck. 

Ellie's lips were defiant on departing anytime soon, she was pious to your body and had to worship it with the offering of lust. She only paused to carve a love-bite with her teeth and peppering up a dark mauve bruise.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" 

"Uhuh~" her voice vibrates with a laugh. She perks up from your neck and gives you a once-over, "But that's not the only place I'll be sucking.." 

You give her a baffled visual with brow lines furrowing until her thumb swipes repetitively over your clothed nipple and eliciting a voiceless moan from your strained throat.

"You're a freak, you're freaky." you jest.

"Maybe, but you love it." 

"I do, I do.." you assure softly and smirk up at her, your hands soaring up to pull your bra over your head willingly.

"Well~" Ellie's pupils gawked at your bare breasts. "Excuse me madame!" She impersonates shock in a playful manner, but really, she was witnessing your chest in all present dimensions. Guess you could sum it up to her really liking your boobs.

"I didn't discard my bra for you to just ogle them." you point out.

"You're just needy." Her toothy smile appears while her slender fingers stream your sultry skin up to your chest, cupping the soft skin like a crescent moon and whispering, "But I like that."

"You like me."

"I do… I do." she repeated your phrase from earlier and crooked her pearly smile.

From here, her hair bore a radiance of honey color, the fires illumination outlining that handsome mullet you always deemed so attractive on her. Speckled skin that dotted her face and chest that appealed to you, a heavenly set of juniper eyes that read you like a poem. Every detail pertaining to her existence was the sole reason you felt attached to her like a magnet.

"Guess it's my turn?" Ellie's voice snapped you out of your lustful trance.

Mind fumbling, you furrow your brows and observe her hand movements. She crosses one arm over the other and tucks her fingers in the elastic band securing her bra, snaking it off her head to expose her chest.

"Ohh, and she plays fair?" You stifle a chuckle behind a spirited grin, curving your tone chromatically.

"What? Thought I'd leave you hanging?" She snorts in emphasis, an evidently immature joke about your boobs.

You release that chuckle, chest jittering as you force the air through a gritty laugh.

Ellie gives a satisfying once-over before ambling her face downwards towards your chest, etching a favored kiss into the plender gap of your neck, sewing a seam of nibbles and pecks along your sternum.

A rush of heat plasters your face, reddening your cheeks and undoubtedly lingering upon your spine. Wetness forms itself and drips beyond the crevice of your core and onto your panties.

"Mhh.. Ellie.." you purr barely past your lips.

She continues kissing the base of your sternum before her mouth takes a detour to your nipple, teasing a ring around it with the velvety skin of her lip. Her lips tenderly latch around the perky mound, suckling and lapping with her ticklish tongue.

You sample a whimper that entrances Ellie to intensify the ministrations upon your sensitive bud, and so she does, causing an extension of these whines to stumble from your throat.

"Need my fingers, pretty girl?" Ellie mumbles, hot breath soaking a humid film around the nipple her mouth played with and sloping her head sideways to gaze at you. Her tatted arm bends to place a gentle palm against your aching clothed slit.

Your clit stung of a fiery pleasure at the mere pressure her hand brought, jutting your pelvis against it unintentionally. You shudder, "N-Now.." and choke out, "yes…" wantingly.

Ellie obeys your word and tugs your panties down in a flash, gripping them tightly and pulling them off your legs without hesitation in sight. Her head partakes in burying itself in the crook of your neck, inscribing keen bites that narrowly distracted you from her two fingers rounding the perimeter of your slit, the perfect introduction.

You croak, "I've been thinking about this momen-" 

"Shut up." Ellie hushes you verbally and with her fingers languidly pressing onto your clit, letting the sensitive bud wiggle between her fingertips and sparks a glimmer of pleasure through your pelvis.

"Fuck.." a subtle winded groan expels out of your very being.

Ellie's fingers began a circular motion, swirling the wetness around her fingertips and deliciously flexing her forearm slightly at each flick of her wrist.

You weave your fingers in her feathery auburn locks, poking your nose at the apex of her head that still positions itself at your neck as you gaze down to witness her handicraft, her literal handy-craft.

"I wonder.." Her voice inaudible, felt like a puff of air taunting your blazing skin as she guides her mouth back to your nipple, teething at it sensually to arouse you further beyond stability.

"Uhhnn.. fuckkk." You entangle the soundwaves stirring around you with your gratifying moan, inadvertently tensing your fluttery legs around Ellie's hips, to which she clasps your thigh with her unbound hand and pushes it down against the ticklish cloth.

"Stay open for me, hm- babe?" She asks in a honeyed manner, assuming you'll adhere to her words.

You open your legs further for her, absolutely enchanted by her being in control yet simultaneously so gentle with her words, only furthering the strikes of bliss corroding your senses when she quickens the roll of her digits, like she's fucking the literal sense out of you.

"Attagirl." Ellie's magnetic hum haunts your ears, dawdling in an echo inside your foggy brain. Her hasty touch lingers in tight circles against your clit for a diminutive moment until her willowy fingers cruise through your damp folds and dive into your sulking pussy, stretching you slightly and easily thanks to your wetness.

"Ohh my fuckin…" your elongated moan snags in your throat, choked up by the prompt filling of your core and spluttering of your speech, "god, Ellie.."

Without a hesitative hurdle in sight, Ellie idly pumps her fingers against your clenching walls, the slickness crowning around the base of her knuckles beautifully and enticing her ears to an arousing sound.

"Mhmm.." she vibrates against your neck prior to elevating her head to meet your puffy eyes, "S'wet for me, hmm?" her words slurred.

Your tongue couldn't articulate the words swimming through your sex-rot brain, the mere gauge of your opening was enough to hit right where you wanted and mist your brain up nicely.

The autumn bang dangling from her hairline tickled your forehead as she withers the space between your huddled faces, the tip of her nose wrinkling and bending as it pushes against your cheek as lips meet timely, fondling and smacking together in sloppy affection.

Ellie's fingers curve into you like a hook, searching for that delicate spot that'll render your faculties fried and abdomen throbbing for release. She prods it like a button, propelling numerous surges of ecstasy through your bottom.

A moan interrupts, "Just like tha- dn'stop.. dun.." you battle the knot in your throat and your pelvis, your entire body shuddering along with Ellie's aggressive pumping that rocked you.

"Don't worry babe, I'm not stopping." Her breath catches and quickens, beckoning that knot to snap in your core as her pace practically defies laws of motion.

"It feels… so-"

"I know, I know.." Ellie's voice buzzes in your ear.

Your walls tightened and convulsed around her, feeling every ridge of her fingers slip and slide inside of you.

"I'm c-cumm.." your voice altered into a strained, grit one, locking away your endless string of moans.

"Cum for me, babe, cum…" Ellie bit harshly on her lip in an attempt to contain the heaving of her breaths, bewitched by your state and keeping her forehead glued to yours.

Registering the green light Ellie gave you, your aching hips gave into the delightful knot and released a flurry of pleasure through your essence, igniting your skin and throbbing cunt. Your walls entrapped her digits inside, slowing her pace a bit as she didn't waver and carried on with her ministrations. Her fingers coated in that silky mess of you, dripping down your bottom from how much she had stuffed her fingers in and your pussy has brimmed past its limit.

"Good girl."

Ellie browsed your barren neck with her lenient kisses, the fingers inside you just now sliding out after a few moments of prolonged pleasure.

"Was I good?" Her husky voice crows out, curled smirk tickling the succulent flesh of your shoulder.

"So.. so.." your voice trickled through exhaustion, "fucking good." you chuckled.

Ellie syncs a laugh with you, shimmying away slowly from your body and licking her fingers clean of you, "Let me clean you up."

Your eyes condense on the tarp above you as Ellie slipped out of your linear sight, shuffling towards your pelvis that still ached from release. The stillness in the air is all your mind renders before you feel a shaggy presence between your legs, grasping the fact that her head has found a home between your thighs and the tip of her tongue swipes between your tumid folds.

"Ahh! El-elele..Ellie.." Your tongue sputters at the roof of your mouth, fingers grasping her dull tawny locks out of oversensitivity.

Ellie continues lapping hungrily at your soaked core, apex of her nose prodding at your clit lightly. Her arms wrap around your thighs and let her calloused hands dangle over them, leaving a delicious sight for you to see. Before you displayed the crown of her head nuzzled into your crotch, flushed skin and beads of sweat plummeting on her forehead. She suckled so gently on your clit a few times, strawberry lips smacking and puckering around the pampered bud like a lollipop.

"E-Ellie.." you giggled lightly, followed by a string of short whimpers.

She moved away from your heat, smirking. "There." she put firmly in a murmur, shutting your thighs and towering over your body, "You taste nice." she utters between a chuckle.

"Not sure if I needed to know that." you quip.

"Too bad." she replies and swoops in to present a kiss onto your lips.

Tension arises from this plain kiss and you push yourself onto your jello knees until you both are kneeling before each other.

"What're you doing babe?" Ellie's hoarse mumble traces your chin and entices a mischievous giggle from you.

Your fingers fumble with her halfway-open fly and inch the zipper of her jeans open. It peels open and allows your hand inside, lurking towards her clothed entrance.

"Oh, fuck.." Her eyes flicker in a blur, jaw left ajar, panting a humid veil onto your lips and inquiring, "You gonna do this?" 

Her toughened hand glides across your upper arm, gripping your wrist loosely.

"I wanna do this, for you, babe." your saccharine tone sweetens her ears and excites her lower region in ways she never detected before.

"Well, I did say fuck me.." Ellie recalls her words from earlier, indulging a partly suppressed chuckle and beaming smile.

You both entwine lips whilst kneeling against each other's warm bodies, her hand pinning your chin between her thumb and index to angle your head perfectly for her. Your unoccupied hand slithers to the rim of her jeans and struggles to pull them down.

"Use both hands, dummy." she twits with a smug look.

"I didn't wanna move my other hand.." you reply with an eye roll, moving your hand out of her pants to remove them properly.

She shifts them off her ankles and resumes her focus onto you, sealing your lips once more with hers and slipping some playful tongue.

Your hand finds purchase on her stomach, plunging into her panties and flicking her clit with the tip of your finger to tempt her further.

"Oh God, don't tease me.." Ellie begs with a following whimper, circling her hips into your palm in dire lack of stimulation.

"I wasn't going to.." your words halt at an edge while your actions suture her desires, three fingers usher beyond her delicate folds and stuff her instantly.

"Fuck, babe.. fuhhck." Ellie groans out and feels her body falter, fumbling onto her butt and keeping herself at an angle with her elbows to the blanket.

You tucked your knees in and settled between her spread legs, hand still tucked into her panties which now peeled back slightly from the angle of your wrist. A sly thumb from your vacant hand brushes over her clit and rests there, drawing long circles whilst your idle fingers begin thrusting in and out.

Ellie's cheeks summon a rosy shade, those lovely eyes rotating to the back of her head in pure bliss as you pump your hand graciously.

"Your hand is ten times better than my own." she praises, dangling her head backwards to expose her neck just coaxing you to leave a love bite.

"Mhm?" you hum into her headspace before latching your mouth onto her warm neck, suckling like a vampire out for blood.

"Shit.. god damn.." Ellie heaved a hefty breath, embracing your body with her legs cloaking your hips.

You felt her claws dig into your back, infusing her lust with each grip and grinding her swollen pussy against your hand. Your fingers curl up and explore that spongy area she so desperately whined for.

"Nghh!" she pins her lip between her teeth harshly, face scrunching up in raw paradise and pleasure. 

Your focal point is her g-spot, bouncing off of it practically faster than light itself. Her every expression was like an art piece to you, peppering it with sweet kisses regardless if your hands were sinister.

"Don't fuckin' stop, dont.. fuckin'.." she demands, letting her self loose in your hands.

Both your hands were coated with her stickiness, yielding it tricky to keep your fingers steady on her clit, but you managed, rushing her towards an explosive climax steadily approaching.

Soon enough, Ellie's jaw unhinged and released a mountain of moans, body shuddering vigorously as her orgasm lit an inferno of stimulation in her core. She clutched her chest close to yours as she rode this out and pulled you down with her. Her voice shatters the barrier of your ears, even surprising you a bit.

"How was that?" you ask sweetly, searching for clarity.

"I hope nobody heard that.." she jests, gazing up at you with weary eyes.

"I really heard that." 

"Shh!" she jabs your bicep with a balled fist, embarrassed at your smart-assed-ness and flaring her nostrils.

You smack her arm back immaturely causing her to capture you in a tight bear hug, rolling around in the disheveled blankets as she tackled you with numerous kisses across your face and neck.

"I love you." she declares earnestly, finally wishing to hear you assert your feelings too.

Not a speck of doubt haunts your mind, "I love you too."

Ellie adorns a grin wider than any before, creasing her skin and denting those adorable cheeky dimples that made you fall head over heels for that smile. Her arm extends to cusp your face, admiring every blemish that painted your skin, even the ones you didn't like.

Your eyes brimmed with tears like a cup as you yawned, announcing your acute fatigue loudly.

"Oof, your breath." Ellie mimes a face of disgust, waving her hand in front of her nose.

"So not funny." you roll your eyes sarcastically and tumble out of the cuddle, sitting upright to grab your panties and other garments.

"Wait," Ellie shoots upright as well, bracing her palm around your wrist, "you'll sleep with me, right, babe?" She deciphers your reaction for confirmation.

Your solace hand assures her, "Yes, I just don't want to freeze to death by morning time."

"Well then, don't leave me waiting." She wriggled her roguish brows seductively at you and huddled over your shoulder, gaining a frisky shove from you so you could get dressed for goodness sake.

Ellie eyeballs you sliding your undergarments on, tracing every curve and roll of your captivating body, enthralling her completely in your mere existence and cleansing her very being.

"I know you're staring."

"I know that you know that I'm staring." she plays it off.

You stick your tongue out as you crawl into her barren arms, whooshing a shrouded blanket over your conjoined bodies. "So much better.." you sigh.

"Are my arms not enough for you?" Ellie's voice strolls to your dulling ears, dwindling inside your twilight sealed mind as your eyes flutter tiredly.

"Shut up." 𖤐ྀ࿐-ˊˎ

[e-dragonic]

K and M, Nicky

K - Killer - Have they ever hunted for humans? Have they ever killed one?

No. Absolutely not.

Unless said Mundane poses a real tangible threat to him or those closest to him, he avoids hunting Mundanes.

Because to hunt Mundanes, outside of the protection of himself and those closest, is to stoop down to the levels of Rogues, where a portion of their population are infamously known for actively hunting Mundanes, either for the kicks or for food sometimes, and are the leading cause of newly bitten cubs should the Mundane survive the attack.

He has, however, killed a Mundane...

(tw blood warning for image underneath)

Though, at the time, he was under the influence of Wolfsbane, which serves as a poisonous agitator. At best, it only forces a Werebeast's Wolf out. At worse, it does the former...and throws a Werebeast into a near-blind frenzy.

And the Mundane was an individual from a well-known Poacher group (The Jackal Squad). So they deserved it. XD

M - Moonlight - What do they associate full moon with? Do they fear it, are they excited for it?

Excited!

Growing up in a Wild Werebeast Pack, they give worship to the Moon as it is in her starry fields that their Ancestors run and hunt in peace.

They even have festivals for certain Moons, usually the First Full Moon of the Season, as it was the Moon Goddess, Luna, that gifted the First Wolf the ability to Change.

So while he first started out dreading the Full Moon and the symptoms that preceded it. He soon came to enjoy the Full Moons, enjoy the rush, the exhilaration, the freedom.

He may not entirely remember what he does on Full Moons... but since he lived in deep Woodlands. He used to just letting the Wolf run free ...

But as he started to make ties in the Mundane World and live closer to it, he started to realize the, uh, inconveniences of the Full Moon...

While he does know how to resist a Change, it is usually not worth it unless in dire situations due to the strain it causes on the body.

So he has found himself in more than a few close calls in Town while adjusting to the Mundane World as he was so used to just letting the Wolf run free on Full Moons.

This hasn't changed his outlook though.

He and Whisper still celebrate the seasonal Moons, having small feasts before leaving out for the Woods before Moonrise.

[lelianasbong]

HEY ive seen talk here & there about how EA!wyll is way different from how he is now. can you tell me what the rewrite changed about his character, im so so curious

AAAHHHHH YES. So okay. I tried to break this down into more digestible pieces and I'm working almost entirely off my memory so please forgive (and for anyone who's reading and knows better, feel free to correct) any errors.

Wyll's story - originally Wyll was a son of house Eltan (relatively minor noble house compared to Ravengard but still very well-known, they founded the Flaming Fists). He was sent to the Fists as punishment for stealing (this was seemingly where his strained relationship with his father began, rather than the pact with Mizora - which came later rather than him defending Baldur's Gate at seventeen). Apparently he didn't excel there because in addition to the disastrous goblin attack that led him to treating with Mizora in the first place, one of the Flaming Fists talks shit about him when you meet her, the gobbos call him Captain Failure, etc.

Wyll's personality - he was quicker to anger, especially as it concerned goblins. His whole vendetta was against goblins: they killed people, stole his eye (and were HOLDING ONTO IT IN THE CAMP) rather than him losing it during the battle with the Cult of the Dragon. He was ready and willing to torture the goblins at the windmill on the off chance that they had intel on the one that took his eye, and when you met Spike Wyll would tadpole into your brain with an eager LET'S KILL THEM. His Blade of Frontiers persona was just a little more obviously put-on, like he was clinging to it out of insecurity.

EA Wyll was more prone to puns and saying weird shit than even his final release self (which is saying something bc Wyll as he is now loves puns & whimsy & being a huge cheeseball).

Wyll's romance - EA Wyll was willing to get physical sooner, even though Mizora's presence cast a dark cloud on the romance. She'd interrupt your moment of intimacy using Wyll's sending stone (though it's a bit ambiguous whether it's actually her or Wyll's conflicted feelings toward her that makes him hesitate). You can tell he's sort of playing the suave hero during the scene - "may I kiss you?", "where were we?", leaning in and smirking, the whole bit. You basically had the choice to 1) fuck him so good he forgot all about Mizora or 2) hold him through the night and just make him feel safe and protected, which surprises and pleases him - "I'm used to being the hero. Not so used to needing one."

Mizora - she was kidnapped by goblins in EA and that was her whole rescue mission, rather than being spirited away to Moonrise. Wyll in final release explicitly states that he's never slept with Mizora - "I'm really not that kind of man" - but in EA there was some indication that their relationship was physical, that he wanted her despite himself.

[c0rvidbones]

Fem!Durge Paladin x Gale

When the Durge finds out what she once was, and an Oath that was unintentionally broken.

My Durge, Daekrana (Or Dana to those she cares for) did not handle the news of who she once was well. Not hours before, her Oath to the Raven Queen had been broken, and she was already unwell.

Contains: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, allusion/reference to animal death

Be gentle I have never posted anything on here for this before <3

------------------

Dana felt sick to her stomach when her eyes fell over the letter she found. It was her own handwriting. And what it said was truly horrifying. Gale, Karlach, and Astarion kept a loose watch as she poked through the littered texts of the desk, but it was Gale who saw his lover's hands trembling. Moreso than they already had been when she had been overtaken by the Urge earlier and broke her oath. That gutted feeling already had her a bit compromised, but otherwise unharmed - Dana had said she would fix it that evening as there were far more important matters to deal with.

Gale leans slightly to peek over Dana's head - it isn't hard, his paladin is awfully short for an elf - but she crumpled the letter and shoved it in her bag before he could see Anything other than the hue of the ink. Red like blood. He was curious, but Dana's now Severe expression and more-pallid-than-usual complexion told him not to pry yet.

She would turn and motion for the others, the scale of her armour making sufficient noise for them to hear and turn to see the sign. They follow, and onward they proceeded through the colony. Dana stayed silent the entire fight, her expression hard, cold, a thick wall of defensive mask thrown up to shield herself from this mental strain.

Defeating Ketheric and then the avatar of Myrkul was quick work for her and Karlach, both dealing significantly heavy damage with their respective weapons and combined strengths of Rages and Smites.

It was immediately after the battle and evacuation with Aylin to the main halls of Moonrise that the elf would toss her hammer aside in an unusual outburst of emotion, quickly walking away from her party and Outside of the halls, her hands coming up and pulling her braids and ponytail out in an anxious Fit. She stayed within the light of the moonlanterns, but just barely. Just at the edges. She stared off into the shadow-cursed lands, her hair let down for the first time in a long time, her eyes glazed with a mix of tormented agonies and dejected acceptance. She drops into a crouch, her feet staying firmly planted but hugging her knees to her chest, her forehead pressed to her forearms.

She could Feel Gale standing nearby. He didn't pry, didn't speak. He instead knelt beside his lover and slid an arm around her, cautious in the event she shied away but warmed when he felt her shoulder lightly lean into him.

No tears fell, but she was grateful for the company. He didn't quite know what was going on, but he would be here all the same. He does know when to be quiet, contrary to popular belief, and he stays with her as she mentally processed whatever she was thinking of.

It had been a two-for-one. Hours before she found that letter, she had come across Steelclaw, she had tried to grasp at memories and instead had grasped the feline's head in her hands and... well. She felt sick thinking about it. And little would let her forget the ripping sensation of her oath being broken and the vision of the first Oathbreaker knight. A piece of her still feels missing, and now she can't even find the words to get her oath repaired.

After a few drawn moments, she forcibly takes a deep breath, lightly shrugging Gale's hand from her shoulder and standing, her back turning as she starts putting her hair back up into its ponytail and braids, already walking back into the towers. Gale frowns, a little hurt but willing to look past it for sake of knowing this just isn't what Dana usually acts like. He tails her inside, watching her fetch her hammer and stow it on her back where she always carries it, her expression carefully blank as she listens to Dame Aylin and Isobel's reuniting.

After returning to camp, Dana would approach the black knight that uptook residence not far from Gale's camp, and before the knight could speak, she had gently taken the armoured undead by the wrist - another surprise, as she seemed to loathe touch from anyone other than Gale, with the lone exception being a hug from Karlach when she had finally fixed her engine - and wordlessly lead the knight to the most isolated part of the camp. She was still in sight of everyone, and the knight's posture seemed as formal as ever. Yet nobody could hear the first words she spoke when her lips parted save for the knight himself.

"I will accept the title of oathbreaker. I... deserve. The fall."

The knight paused, aware that she was perhaps making the agreement as a self inflicted punishment, but he would nod and lift a hand, his firelight eyes dimming as he speaks the words to induct her.

Hours later, she still won't speak, even as she sets up her part of Gale's tent, and though her paladin auras are still active... one feels new. Like her allies are stronger when close to her.

She lies beside Gale, not initially seeking contact, but after a few breaths, she hesitantly slips her hand into his. Not mad at him, and trying her hardest to not let her emotions rip her away from him. Gale squeezes her hand, his voice soft and concerned, "Did you want to talk about it?" Dana shook her head, her blue-black eyes closing, her brows knitting. Gale tries a different tactic, "I can wait. But holding on to what troubles you is never healthy. I... just want you to remember I'm here for you, alright?" She nods, and after another moment, turns to her side and pull's Gale's arm around her before draping her arm around his waist, pushing her head into his chest. He kisses her forehead and folds her into his arms without another word, lacing his fingers through her hair. She sinks into a trance quickly, and Gale is quick to follow in sleep.

The next day is a horrible and gutwrenching series of events for Dana - the Emperor, Wyrm's Crossing's state, the poor blacksmith replaced by the changeling woman as well as the dryad, and the Circus of Last Days' whole fiasco. That night she chose to rest alone, and was awoken by her wretched little butler of a beast. She spoke with very few syllables and a bounty of irate glares, yet what broke her in full was the mention of what she was at last. Her eyes were wide with horror, and even after sending the butler away, she couldn't fall back into a rest. Her first reaction was to go to the knight again, this time her voice weak and watery, tears threatening to claim her. "How. How did I become a paladin. When I am this. Have I broken my Oath before? How many times have we met, knight?"

He answered calmly. "Who you are does not bar you from chosen paths in life. You have broken it before, and resworn it before. We have met plenty of times. It will always be up to you if it is the last."

Shaking her head, her heart splintering, she called off everything for that day to linger in camp, feeling like a ghost. She would find her way to Gale by nightfall, waiting for him to come into his own tent, standing with her slight and trembling frame looking like a mess, her symbol to the Raven Queen clutched desperately in her hands. Gale looked surprised and wary at first, hesitating before closing the tent flap behind himself and casting a security spell. To keep people from hearing Dana and himself, but prepared to break it should she lose control as she had all those nights ago.

Instead, he's greeted with - at last, once again - her voice. Though it's strained and weak, and barely holding back tears. "Gale," She's already shaking like a leaf, and his wariness shifts into genuine alarm. She sounds desperate, on the verge of a dangerous despair that she can't escape without help. He's in front of her in a heartbeat, his arms slipping around her waist, and hers slide under his to cling to him. Her strength feels returned at least, though it's so unnerving to see the usually calm and level headed paladin shattering like she has been. Gut-wrenching sobs escape her small frame as she presses her face into his chest, and he slowly sinks into a kneeling position with her in his arms, keeping her close

Even as she weeps, her words are a jumbled, mottled mess that Gale can blessedly understand. "Gale, I'm a much worse person than I thought I was, how did I ever swear an oath, how did I ever serve the Raven Queen, how did I ever end up with kind people on all sides while I'm a revolting monster?" He soothed a hand up and down her back, his voice gentle and as reassuring as he can muster.

"Dana, my love, you're not a monst—"

"I AM! GALE —" Her voice is far louder than she intends, pulling herself out of his arms with a reluctant force, her arms wrapping around her as she bows her head. Refusing comfort. Her voice crumbles, "I. I'm — a Bhaalspawn, Gale, and not just any Bhaalspawn, but the one that started the Absolute Cult. If the former was not enough to condemn me, then the latter would. I'm sickened by myself, I - I was horrible. I was a monster — AM, a monster, gods," She groans, burying her face in her hands, pressing the small raven skull to her skin, "I did so many terrible things, why would y—"

She gasps, as if the next touch burned, but Gale had pushed her hands from her face to force her to look him in the eye. Tear-stained cheeks flush as he presses a kiss to her lips to silence her fears and spiralling, and when he breaks it, he presses his forehead to hers with a fire in those soft brown eyes of his, her own still wide in shock. "Daekrana. You are a vastly different person from who you were then. You have fought and resisted every violent thought and impulse until you thought you were safe. You slipped, and you have mourned your mistake. Admittedly, you being a Bhaalspawn is a surprise, but you can't chase me away that easily. Who you were was a monster, sure, but is that who you are now? The woman who fought the goblins, convinced Khaga she was wrong, saved the myconids, the gnomes, the Harpers, the tieflings?Would you call those the actions of a monster?" His smile is genuine and sweet, her expression glassy with awe and a new wave of tears. She shakes her head just a little, and his smile softens a touch, though no less loving. "You've been terribly strong and brave, my love. I assume this is what was eating you alive for the past few days - please. Allow yourself to be weak with me. I can be strong enough for the both of us, at least for a little while."

A weak bubbled laugh escapes her, as she allows Gale to bring her back into his arms. "Strong in the mental sense. I can still carry you around. You hardly weigh anything to me." The fact she was able to tease him meant she believed it, and he chuckled, though a flush still found his face as she slid close enough to settle in his lap.

"True, though if you didn't wear the world's heaviest armour and carry an oversized hammer everywhere, I could still probably carry you. Your height makes you less cumbersome in my arms than I assumedly am in yours, love." He still sounds fond and sweet, and Dana sinks into him, relieved by his comforting embrace.

[rinwellisathing]

Papa Bhaal's House of Horrors: Part 1

“Fuck fuck fuck...Why did you piss him off, Aryn?” The young elven woman sobbed, sliding down to a sitting position, legs not able to carry her any further as she hugged her knees to her chest. “You should've left him alone, why'd you piss him off?” “Hey it's not my fault, Brynna! How was I supposed to know he was crazy?” The human shot back, pressing his back to the door of the shed as it strained against the vicious knocks against it from the outside. “Guys...please stop fighting, the Fist will be here soon, I'm sure...it's gonna be okay we just have to stay calm and....” The dwarf was cut off as she and the human were thrown across the shed as the door splintered, sending them sprawling. Four pairs of glowing eyes lit up the darkness and the blade of an axe gleamed in the pale moonlight. Screams pierced the night. ----

“Good afternoon, Moonrise County. It's Alfira coming to you from Last Light FM, your local source for weather, traffic, news, and some good mood tunes. It's getting chilly as harvest season begins, so druids get those crops harvested quickly now. We are also likely to see rain for the holiday weekend, tough break for those last minute tourists looking for a woodland get away. Traffic heading towards Baldur's Gate is at a stand still thanks to a stopped vehicle across the roadway. Now here's our chart topping local favorite three years running, The Sirens' cover of local folk song 'Down By The River'” Alfira removed her headset and nodded her head gratefully as her partner handed her a cup of coffee and the morning paper. “Thanks Lakrissa...” She took a sip and then eyed the headline. “More tourists disappeared, huh?” “Yeah, fifth group this year....I think the cult is getting restless.” Lakrissa grinned, her tone sing-song and teasing. “There's no cult, Lakrissa. Honestly it's probably just overconfident city people getting lost in the woods without enough supplies. It's sad, but not some crazy murder conspiracy.” Alfira frowned, shaking her head. “And I'm not going to entertain the idea it is and get everyone in a tizzy.” “But it's fall, Alfira. Spooky season! Don't you wanna do a little themed broadcast and get those numbers up?” Lakrissa's grin widened, eager and excited. “Gods know the station could use it.” Alfira stifled a laugh and looked deadpan at her lover. “Lakrissa, it's Moonrise County, population like...MAYBE two hundred at best...Those numbers aren't going anywhere.”

--- “Move it a little to the left, Orin.” Sentry frowned, making a frame with his hands and scanning the hanging corpse dangling from a meat hook in the shed. His little sister repositioned the head just a little closer to the shoulder, slightly off from where it would naturally have been, and looked quizzically at her brother. “Yeah! Perfect! Just like that!” He reached into the pocket of his denim cut offs and produced a heavy needle and some waxed thread. “Now just hold it steady.” “There's room for a second head at this angle, slaughter-kin.” Orin pointed out with a grin as blood dripped down the front of her hand sewn red dress. “Shit, you're right. What are we thinkin', pig? Sheep?” Sentry pondered as he moved the needle expertly through the skin, sewing the head into place. Orin pranced over to a cold chest in the corner of the shed and lifted the lid with a pale, thin arm, one long braid swinging over her shoulder as she peered inside and began to poke around. She ran her hands over the various heads the freezer contained, finally gripping a pair of horns and lifting it with a grin. “Mmm...This one!” She smirked, holding up the head of a dark grey goat, its strange yellow eyes gazing sightlessly forward.

“Great choice, little sister.” Sentry grinned, beckoning her back over as he finished his final stitch. “Now, just place it in position, and....” He paused a moment, ears pricking up at the sound of a car horn outside.

Orin grimaced and rolled her eyes, making a gagging noise as she watched her brother scamper to the door of the shed and throw it open, rushing out the door, waving eagerly as the deep emerald green convertible parked on the long dusty drive of the 'manor'. Polished black shoes, far too nice for this bumblefuck of a place, stepped from the car, followed by designer black slacks with gold embroidery and then a matching jacket over a deep green button down, the top five or so buttons undone revealing gold chains resting against a next of dark chest hair, a glimmering obsidian pendant in the shape of a clawed hand hanging from one. The man had deep tan skin, a few scars at his chin and cheeks, a nose that had never quite healed right after being broken more than a few times, and unkempt stubble. He wore a pair of stylish dark glasses and his messy black hair was just barely brushed. Still, Sentry fawned over this guy like he was a rock star. “Envyyyyy” Sentry grinned as he made his way over to the newcomer, swaying his hips as he did, unable to keep his tail from wagging like an excited puppy. “ Is this a social call or d'you have a job for us?” The tiefling asked, standing practically up against the human, one long nailed finger tracing that magnificent chest hair absently. “I'm afraid I'm here on business, dear Sentry, but then again, a bit of pleasure wouldn't go amiss, I suppose....if you aren't busy.” Enver's eyes cast towards the shed even as his hands rested on Sentry's hips. Those tacky, tattered denim shorts certainly made the younger tiefling a tempting little distraction. “Well he IS busy, oil-slick interloper.” Orin frowned, folding her arms across her thin chest, eyes narrowed. “We were just in the middle of a project!”

“Interloper, hmm? That's a big word for such a little girl.” Enver chuckled. “And also inaccurate, you know I have an understanding with your family, I provide my services in the procurement of victims, I make sure they don't leave the county, and in return, I acquire information, valuables, et cetera that you have no use for. I am a perfectly welcome guest, why, one could call me part of the family almost.” He ran a hand down Sentry's bare thigh, earning a gentle purr from the tiefling. “What ever you say, lickspittle. But my brother and I were in the middle of creating art! You can't simply pull him away.” The little girl huffed, her expression murderous. “Aww, Orin, don't worry, I'll come back in a bit...Can't be a poor host, though, can I?” Sentry chuckled, grabbing Enver by the hand and leading towards the house, hips swaying as he did. ---- “It's getting chilly as harvest season begins, so druids get those crops harvested quickly now. We are also likely to see rain for the holiday weekend, tough break for those last minute tourists looking for a woodland get away. Traffic heading towards Baldur's Gate is at a stand still thanks to a stopped vehicle across the roadway. Now here's our chart topping local favorite three years running, The Sirens' cover of local folk song 'Down By The River'” The radio crackled through the speakers of the used but well cared for car that made its way down the winding backroads of Moonrise County's deep woods. “Aww...well, there goes the idea of stopping for a picnic or something.” Jaina frowned as she leaned back in the seat, pulling her hoodie closer around her shoulders. “Though in fairness, that's on me for not putting the better jacket up front.”

“You know you can always borrow mine.” Wyll smiled gently, squeezing her hand, keeping his other hand firmly on the wheel. “And anyway, it's not TOO far outside of the city, so once we're settled in we can come back if you see the perfect picnic spot.” He beamed, eyes focused on the road ahead. Neither of them saw what tore through their tires. There was nothing visible there in the road ahead of them, but within a moment, there was the tell tale POP! Sound and their car swerved and bumped, Wyll trying to regain control as they swerved into a ditch by the side of the road. The car rolled and flipped, Jaina clinging tightly to the handle above the window while Wyll gripped the wheel tightly, their faces set in looks of shock as the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal filled the air. Finally, the dust settled and the car rested precariously on its side. “Hells! Are you alright?” He quickly looked to Jaina with concern. She winced as she sat up in her seat. “Yeah, my skin's tough, remember? Not a scratch...I'm just a little shaken up. What about you?” She reached to run her fingers across his face, searching for any scrapes or cuts where the window glass might have hit him. Thankfully nothing. “Same.” Wyll confirmed, reaching for his seat belt. “But we're not likely to get any further like this...Maybe we ought to get out and try and flag down some help.” Jaina quirked a brow as she undid her own seatbelt. “On this dead stretch? We'd probably be better off trying to find a town or a phone or something.” Wyll clamored out of the car, managing to force his door open and climb out, holding out his hand to help Jaina to follow him. Wyll sighed dejectedly and shook his head. “You're right...I don't think I've seen one other car the entire time we've been driving.”

Both of them peered down the long, foggy stretch of highway that had come from Waukeen's Rest. The highway stretched on into the mist before fading into a thick copse of trees as far as the eye could see. They both turned to look ahead, Jaina's sharp eyes fell on a hill peeking up through the thick woods. Was that a roof? She picked out the outline of a fence around a small balcony peeking out from what appeared to be an attic floor of a large house. A widow's walk? Out here in the woods? “Hey, there's a house that way. I mean...it's probably a long walk, but if we start now, we might be able to get there by dark.” She suggested, gently placing a hand on Wyll's shoulder and pointing towards the hill. “Right, let's check out the creepy house on the hill all alone in the middle of the woods. Surely nothing bad could happen to us in this perfectly innocuous scenario.” Wyll gave a small chuckle. But he knew she was right, it was the only sign of civilization they had any chance of reaching before night fell and the temperature dropped and waiting here was practically a death sentence. Jaina fished a flashlight and two water bottles from the back seat and handed one bottle to Wyll. He nodded gratefully to her and the two headed off. ----

“I see you've got hospitality handled, little brother.” The imposing white scaled dragonborn smirked, arms folded across his chest as he watched Sentry lead Enver into the house. Sentry turned and smiled up at him playfully. “I mean, you can certainly join in, big brother.” He winked, pausing a moment. “I'm sure he'd like it.” “Ah! Good to see you again, Gary.” Enver gave the dragonborn a charming, roguish smile. “You know, I find I'm seeing you less and less at my office lately. It's terribly depressing.” Gary grinned, his long, sharp teeth glinting in the light. “I've been busy...and honestly, so has Sentry.” He gave his brother a pointed look. Sentry rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “You really need to relax more, brother. One of those folks out in the shed had a cassette tape with them about burn out and stress, it can kill you, y'know.” Gary exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples. “And why are you bothering with their junk? The protocol is very simple, little brother, you loot the bodies, set aside things that are useful to Enver or Ketheric, the rest goes to your geeky little friend at the pawn shop who doesn't ask questions.” “I was just curious if it was like music or something...I can't just get by with whatever's playing on the radio, it's got no bite!” Sentry pouted. “Besides, Sorcerous Salvage is full up on cassette tapes, Rolan will bitch about it if I bring him anymore.”

Gary sighed and shook his head. “You and Orin will be the death of me, brother...” “Well yes, I thought that was pretty much father's plan...or you'll be the death of us.” Sentry replied, once again grabbing Enver's arm. “Now, are you coming or not?” The Dragonborn's red eyes moved from his little brother to the charmingly sleazy human and then back towards the door. He shrugged. “I suppose there's time, Sarevok is still below the house praying, Jackal is still out on the road hunting, I haven't seen the others, so there's time.” He joined his brother, his arm slipping around Enver's waist, sharp nails digging into his hip. “But we'll use my room, yours is a disaster even by Bhaalist standards.” Sentry rolled his eyes but nodded. “Fine! Your bed is bigger anyway.” ---- Wyll and Jaina had been walking for nearly an hour by now. The going was slow and the trail was not particularly well kept. A grim sense of foreboding filled the air as the two of them gripped one another's hands for comfort. The sun was threatening to set any moment and neither one was entirely sure this path would lead to the house they had seen in the distance.

A twig snapped and Jaina's eyes darted towards the sound, her heart hammering in her chest. Nothing. Just a lonely path dappled with autumn leaves. Wyll squeezed her hand gently. “We just need to keep moving, we'll get there, we'll find help.” She nodded. “I just hope sooner rather than later, these woods are giving me the creeps.” She shuddered. The rustle of leaves underfoot and a few more sickening cracks seemed to sound all around them. Subconsciously, the two began to move a little faster, sweat beginning to bead on Wyll's brow as Jaina felt her blood run cold. The two were practically running down the trail when a voice barked. “Hey! Watch where you're going!” And they just barely missed running into a stocky male drow in hunting gear. His face was scarred and pock marked, whether from illness or habit they weren't certain. Bright lilac eyes scowled in their direction and his dark grey hair was sweat soaked beneath his battered brown and green cap. An antique bow was strapped across his back alongside a quiver full of arrows. His jacket was the same shabby brown and green as his cap and his pants matched. Heavy boots crushed the leaves and sticks beneath his feet, well, at least they knew who'd made the noise. “What in the hells are you two doing out on this trail at this hour? People hunt here and you idiots are fixing to get shot.” He growled, eyeing them up and down, sizing them up. Wyll noticed that he was more wary of Jaina than he was of him, but he supposed it was in the nature of a drow.

“Our car flipped on the side of the road, sir. We're just looking for some help.” Wyll explained cautiously, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “We don't want any trouble.” Jaina followed Wyll's lead, nodding her head along with what he was saying. “We saw a house in the distance, we thought maybe someone there had a truck...or we could find a phone?”

The drow gave a little chuckle and smirked. “Shit, alright....that's my house up there, mine and my family's. We ain't got a phone, but I got a truck, I'll give you two a lift to town in the morning.” He offered with a nod of his head. It was still getting darker out by the minute, the sunlight barely permeating the foliage overhead anymore and Jaina shivered, leaning in closer to Wyll, who looked to the man in confusion. “Damn you city folk are thick, aren't you? The invitation to stay the night's included.” The hunter adjusted his quiver and turned back the way he'd came, giving a sharp nod for them to follow. “Now come on, I'll lead you there.” He grinned wickedly, turned away from them so neither caught sight. “You don't wanna be out here when night falls.”

[sheloves-toomuch]

Chapter VI: A Deal With A Devil

Raphael is growing increasingly impatient (dare I say jealous?) with Astarion's interference into his plans for the little mermaid. How convenient for him that the Spawn and the Siren need his help...

Flashbacks and memories are written in italics.

TW: Mentions of Astarion's past abuse, blood and mentions of violence, some sexual themes.

(Gif isn't mine)

In the brief time that Zenosyne and Astarion had grown to trust one another, the party made progress through the underdark, through the shadowlands, and towards Moonrise towers. They pushed forward day by day on foot, ever on through the sun and the moonlight, making camp where and when they could find a haven.

Ever astute and perceptive to his surroundings, Astarion was quick to bring it to the attention of the party that there was a presence following them as they trudged through the darkness...

“It always feels like we’re being watched here. The shadows have shadows.” Gale replied, keeping his voice low despite the seemingly empty landscape. As if the bone chilling darkness wasn't enough to leave him unsettled, he didn't want to believe that there was someone watching him from afar without his knowledge.

“No, there’s someone following us… a woman.” Astarion challenged, concern etched into his brow. He looked forward with a hand outstretched to keep the others back. Keeping his lithe frame low, he inched forward without making a sound- his breath held fast and his feet completely silent in the dry dirt. Coming up behind Zenosyne, he leaned down to the level of her ear:

“A dwarven woman. There.” He whispered, his unnaturally cool body putting a shiver down her spine... Or, was it how close he had gotten that made her shiver like that…?

Zeno strained her eyes against the fog and the darkness that kept the air thick with mystery. She leaned in, as though it would help her see past the endless dreary landscape. Finally, she managed to spot a robed woman- her face obscured by two heavy leather gloves- crouched behind a broken wagon near the abandoned blacksmiths’. She blended in well enough alongside the craggy, open walls and crumbling foundation of the stone building. What would have been an incredibly impressive hub of machinery and commerce was now nothing but an empty, open-air nest for birds and the stray cats that hunted them. With all the care she could muster, Zeno stepped one foot over the other towards the figure. At only a few feet away, she heard the deep, gravely voice of the dwarven woman rise up from behind the dilapidated wagon- something completely unintelligible. With a cloud of smoke and sulfurous odor that blended in well with the ominous surroundings, she vanished into nothingness.

“Sulfur?” Zeno questioned out loud.

“The hells.” Wyll said with resolution. “She’s a spy from the hells.”

“Raphael.” Zeno said with surety. “He’s still watching. Waiting for someone to make a deal with him…” She sighed.

An uneasy silence befell the adventurers.

“I’m ready to head back to Last Light Inn.” Karlach said, a hint of disgust at the topic of devils and the hells. “I’ve had enough of this reeking wasteland for one day. Not to mention, I’m starving.” She shook her clanky armor to get the attention of Zeno, who had been gazing off into the distance again.

_

It would be a few hours before they returned to Last Light, the open fire and half empty bar welcoming them to sit and rest. It was always a pleasure to get to sleep in proper beds instead of in tents and bedrolls, no matter how modest the lodgings. The warm air smelled richly of cooking sausages and potatoes, butter and bread. His Majesty, the inn’s resident feline stalked back and forth along dusty wooden planks without a sound, watching the lack-luster crowd with quiet interest. His light pink wrinkled face upturned at any who approached him.

Zeno wasted no time in climbing the rickety stairs of the inn and closing the door to her room, her back resting with exhaustion on the wooden frame as she shed her clothing. Gale was always kind enough to make sure there was a hot bath for all who asked for it- creating water and warming it up using his arcane tricks, and tonight was no exception. Zeno was infinitely grateful, especially at the end of such a tiring day. Hells, it had been a tiring few months. She closed her eyes and swayed back and forth on aching feet- letting them soak for a few moments before she sank deeper into the steaming waters.

However long she lay there, basking in the steam and smelling lavender oils was not enough in her opinion. She fell asleep there, enveloped in the rich scents and relaxing salts. As she closed her eyes, she saw visions of purple and blue waters- pearls and clouds, stars and galaxies. They all blended into a surreal and inviting world for her to find some temporary respite in, her dreams hardly making sense these days. It would be all too soon when she heard a knock at her door- prompting her to jolt upright in the now cool water.

“Yes?” She cried out, startled.

“It would seem you have an uninvited guest.” Astarion said, his voice calling out with a teasing tone.

“Well, you’re always invited in, you know.” She replied, sinking back into the water for a few more precious moments.

“Oh, me?”

He stepped into the room, closing the door quickly behind him when he realized she was lying there in the bath. His face held no surprise, he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest that his actions might be interpreted as less than gentlemanly to any outside observers.

“Well, I know you’ll always invite me in. Even if I no longer need an invitation to cross the threshold.” He teased, walking over to her as she finished rinsing the suds from her long hair. He reached down and grabbed the comb that lay on the little table nearby, making the burning candle wicks jump and wave with his passing through.

“However,” He said, leaving Zeno in suspense for a few moments. He knelt by the tub, reaching out to comb her wet locks as he ran his fingers through the wavy strands. The tips of his fingers found her scalp, gently rolling circles into her skin. She sighed into his touch, letting her head fall in his direction.

“I’m not talking about myself.” He finished, continuing the work at her hair.

“What?” Zeno asked, suddenly having forgotten what they had been talking about.

“The uninvited guest? It wasn’t myself I was referring to” Astarion reminded her.

“Oh?” Zeno seemed lost in his soothing, gentle little strokes through her tresses. Seemingly unbothered by this statement, she closed her eyes again. “Do tell.”

“Raphael.”

Zeno’s eyes shot open, her heart suddenly racing at the name. She turned to look at Astarion suddenly with worried eyes, the previous fatigue seeming to leave her in an instant.

“Now hold on, hold on. I was thinking. You remember the runes?” He asked, not getting too specific in his inquiry. He didn’t have to elaborate. Zenosyne knew right away what he was referring to. The infernal text that was carved into his back. She had asked about them the first night she saw them-

“What are those scars?” She had asked, laying on the wet rocks by the river, him rested atop her bare body as he quietly dozed off.

His eyes shot open, and a look of disgust came over him. She suddenly feared the worst. She had asked too much. He sat up to look her, his still wet hair clinging to his pale neck.

“A gift. A poem. From my old master, Cazador.”

“I'm so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“He spent the entirety of an evening carving that into my flesh- making many mistakes along the way- correcting them as he saw fit.” He interrupted; his voice was laced with bitterness as he spat the name of his tormentor.

Zeno let him speak, her heart breaking at the realization that she had uncovered a difficult subject for him, one that unearthed horrible memories, no doubt.

“In infernal?” She dared to asked.

“Infernal?! Gods!” He said in surprise. “I had no idea.”

Zeno nodded, surprised that he could carry these scars for so long without knowing what they meant, but not pressing the matter further.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. I will listen, but don’t feel obligated to burden yourself with things that haunt you right now, for my sake.” Zeno said. “If anyone knows that trust has to come in your own time, it’s me.”

Astarion blinked a few times at her statement. His thoughts were shaken, caught off guard by her understanding nature. He hadn’t ever told a soul about his scars before. He also hadn’t drunk from another person before, but, here he was- doing all sorts of new and strange things. What a day.

“Do you know what it says?” He asked, unable to face the uneasy feelings he had when accepting her kindness.

“I…” She struggled. “…Should, but I don’t. It’s unlike any other infernal words I’ve ever seen written.”

His shoulders slumped at her confusion.

“No matter.” He said, trying to push aside this and any other unwanted feelings he was having. He had been doing a lot of that lately, since the first night he came to her in the river. Since that night they shared so much- their bodies and their secrets. He was no stranger to sharing his body- and yet, this felt unlike anything he had ever experienced before with a lover. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea that he was becoming vulnerable with her. With every late night they spent together- sneaking off into the trees for hushed jokes and laughter- and, sometimes more- he realized he had passed the point of no return with this one. Whatever that meant, or whatever it was that he felt, he wasn’t sure any longer.

“I remember.” Zeno said, letting Astarion continue to comb her hair as she dried off. It was a small act of intimacy that wasn’t lost on her.

“You know who knows how to read all kinds of Infernal texts?” He asked, and Zeno stopped drying herself- standing still at the suggestion he was making.

“He’s a devil. What kind of terrible price will he make you pay to translate it? You’ve already suffered enough! You don’t need to be indebted to him!” She argued, “I’m not looking to scold you for what you’re thinking, I know how desperately you want to know what they say. But I am trying to impress upon you the severity of such an exchange.”

“Let’s just hear what he has to say. Who knows? It might not be so bad!” Astarion said, twirling the comb around in the air in circles as he elaborated upon his line of reasoning.

Zenosyne shook her head with concern in her eyes- “We may listen to what he has to say but don’t underestimate him. He is cunning, and will sneak details into the contract that we never even dreamed of considering.”

We.

Astarion sharply inhaled at the statement. She was in this with him. He always knew she was, but hearing those words from her yet again left him with too many unanswered questions about his own feelings.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.” He quietly said, “I promise you that.” He looked to the side as if thinking deeply for a moment, then said with a chuckle, “It’s all so tempting… But, I think he’s here to see you.”

-

As they made their way down the loud and creaking stairs of Last Light, Zenosyne and Astarion felt watched from every angle as their companions waited with little patience for their arrival. None had approached Raphael in their time there, instead waiting for a plan. He had been seated across from a young Tiefling girl named Mol, playing a game of Lanceboard with her this whole time. As they made their way over to the table, Mol smiled at them, thinking that they were interested in her Lanceboard skills. Zenosyne didn’t bother with any niceties, she spoke up right away to quell her curiosity.

“What are you doing here, Raphael?” She asked.

The pensive devil smirked, his eyes darting from Zenosyne to Mol, then back at the board. There was only one more move to be made before the game would be over.

“Just a game with a friend.” He drawled. His chin rested in his hand.

“Then leave it and follow me. We need to talk” Zenosyne demanded, no patience in her tone whatsoever.

“There’s just ONE more move!” Mol said, with a whiny tone. Her face showed disappointment at the thought that it would go unfinished.

“Go on then.” The siren sighed, her eyes never parting from Raphael’s.

Mol defended her Mystra, leaving Raphel wide open to attack her King.

“Damn!” She cried out in frustration.

“Don’t doubt yourself, little one. You faltered there- when you could have gone for the offensive move instead.” Raphael said, a finger held high. “Next time, remember that. I trust you will remember that, too, when you consider my offer.”

Mol said nothing, instead walking away, huffing at her loss.

 “She’s just a child.” Zeno said, her tone unsurprised. Flat, even.

Raphael finally looked back to the Siren who had been demanding his attention. He stood, making eye contact with each of the party members as he did. Then, he paced a little as he made quiet conclusions about each of them in his mind. There was no doubt he was sizing them up one by one. Finally, his gaze rested once again on the siren he had known so well. Once.

“A blushing apple, just waiting to be plucked… you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” He looked pointedly at Zeno.

“The difference between you and I, my dear, is that I always know what I’m getting into before I bite the apple.”

“Please. Let me smack this creep.” Karlach growled through gritted teeth. She looked as though she were about to melt the floorboards beneath her with untamed rage.

“Have you considered my offer, then, my sweet little mermaid?” Raphael purred suggestively, ignoring the impossibly angry Tiefling.

“I have… but I’m not quite ready to accept it.” Zenosyne admitted. “I have more to ask of you, first. So I suggest you take us somewhere private.”

Raphael laughed heartily at her directness.

“You are always welcome in my house.” He said.

In an instant, the warm surroundings of Last Light Inn began melting away as they found themselves once again in his lavish House of Hope. The impossibly high ceilings felt so jarring when replacing those of such a humble inn. Not to mention the smell of sulfur that suddenly assaulted their senses. The deep, sensual red of the curtains and the gold trimmed furniture lined with plush pillows were almost tempting enough to make them all wish they’d lodged there instead. Almost.

“I’m listening.” Raphael continued.

“Ethel. The hag. She mentioned someone from my past- someone that she said would pay a fine price should she reveal my whereabouts to them…” Zeno said nervously, her pulse quickening with anxiety. Raphael’s attempt at a comforting gaze did little to lessen her uneasiness.

“What makes you think she didn’t already? What makes you think he didn’t pay the price?” he asked, in an uncaring tone. He shrugged his shoulders as though it were nothing.

“So, it was you. You’re the prince I spoke about in the visions from my past.”

Raphael smiled a wicked grin, and with all the charm of a snake said simply,

“I am he.”

“Why? Why did you want to find me so badly?” Zeno pressured him, the urgency in her tone palpable.

Raphael’s glee was hard to hide. He had something to work with, now.

“Hah! That’s not for me to reveal. Time will tell, and all will be revealed in its’ due course.”

“That’s not reassuring!” Zeno exclaimed, frustrated at his lack of a reply. She stayed silent for some time as she thought about everything she had just found out, and everything she had yet to discover regarding her mysterious past.

“Well” Raphael finally said, “If that is all”

“Actually” Astarion spoke up, “I do have a question for you.” He stepped forward. Raphael looked at him with interest.

“It’s about the runes… carved into my back.” Astarion began to falter now. He was sharing something all too personal with this devil, and now with everyone present. It was all moving so fast for him, this trust thing. Yet, he felt that if he didn’t take this chance here and now, he may never find out what it is that he had been carrying with him for 200 years. He took the leap.

“It’s written in infernal. I want to know what it says.”

“And who carved these runes, I wonder?” Raphael asked with a quizzical brow, seeming very comfortable where he stood, looking the spawn up and down with a judging gaze. He had already sized him up before. The spawn was stronger than he looked, and he was enslaved to his sanguine hunger. His mask of confidence didn’t work in the face of this devil. What was more, Raphael noted, the smell of Bergamot and Rosemary that was uniquely his was now on Zenosyne’s skin. In her hair. On her lips.

“My old master, Cazador.” Astarion replied, bravely. He wouldn’t show weakness now. Not when this much was at stake.

Raphael grinned slowly, the ends of his lips curling into a suspiciously satisfied and twisted look.

…Cazador? Oh, I have him now.

“Scars do tell such wonderful stories. What do yours tell, I wonder? A love poem? A curse?” Raphael teased, trying to get Astarion’s imagination going and his fears to heighten.

“Enough games, Raphael.” Zeno said with anger. She despised how he was toying with Astarion’s personal demons.

Raphael rolled his eyes dramatically, “Very well! You always were impatient, you know, little mermaid.” He said. Zeno’s quick defense of the spawn told Raphael all he needed to know. Luckily, though, the pale elf would be out of the picture soon enough…

“I will translate these runes for you, on one condition.”

A heavy silence filled the air as they waited for Raphael to finish his offer.

“There is a… creature. One with whom I have a storied past with. I want him dispatched and disposed of.” Raphael said, simply.

“Well, that’s… fairer than I thought.” Astarion said, a bit of hope in his words.

“You wound me, spawn. I am always fair.” Raphael said, feigning offense.

“What kind of creature? Speak plainly.” Zeno pushed for more details. There was no way she would walk into a fight with no clue as to what she was facing. Especially not at the behest of a devil.

Raphael paused, as if to place a dramatic effect on his already haunting narrative. 

“There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow- a creature who, like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion… Should it make its way out through the very doors you are about to brazenly swing open, you will have unleashed a pestilence upon this realm… In truth, it is carnage incarnate. So, if you meet the devil of which I speak, kill it. Consider no other course of action.”

The tension in the air was thick, and the silence was palpable.

“Sounds like an acquaintance I’d rather like to make, actually.” Zeno teased, trying to break up his tense glare.

In an instant, he lunged forward, baring his teeth.

“Listen here, little mermaid.” Raphael’s eyes darkened- he leaned in close so that his face was mere centimeters from her own-

‘That damned Bergamot and Rosemary’ he thought, his senses assaulted by yet another reminder that she wasn’t the same woman he knew before- she wasn’t under his thumb like she once was.

“Do not. Underestimate. This opponent… Strike first, strike true. Defy the odds. For they are distinctly in its favor. That much I owe the bastard to concede.”

Zeno felt her face grow hot. Now thoroughly frightened, she nodded, swallowing her ego.

“I accept. I’ll see it done.” She said, unable to hide the insecurity gnawing at the back of her mind. Astarion was watching closely before- but now his face turned completely to her. He stopped himself short. He might have objected. It felt wrong asking this of her.

“No games, Raphael. If we defeat this old nemesis of yours, you will tell Astarion all of what is written. You will leave no important details out of the translation- and you’ll speak honestly about all that it says.” She said, maintaining a bit of calm in her tone. She wasn’t boldly mocking him or playing along anymore. She was very serious, almost pleading with him to hold up his end of the deal. She was certain that everyone could feel the hint of desperation behind her words, especially the devil before her.

“So it is done.” Raphael agreed, keeping his face close to her own- smiling now with a broad grin.

In an instant the grand surroundings of Raphael's abode melted away, and their bodies were engulfed in roaring flames that did not burn them. The tongues of magical fire licked towards their frightened eyes- and when they opened them once again, the party stood in the plain old inn once more.

--

Raphael stood proudly in his dining hall. He cleared his throat, content with the show he had made in front of his guests. He turned around to face the massive hearth that flickered with everlasting fire, its ornate trim glowing in its infernal light beneath the massive oil painting of the devil himself. He let his red wings spring free from behind him, his horns manifesting on his skull.

“How much luckier could I get?” he asked aloud, hearing small footsteps from behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Korilla, his stealthy spy stood in the entryway. Her hands clasped nervously in front of her as they so often were.

“A contract on his skin, to of all people- my own father. He will be destroyed in Cazador’s ascension… and removed from the narrative altogether.”

He spoke directly to Korilla,

“You’ll keep an eye on that damned spawn and my little mermaid, won’t you?”

Without a word, the dwarven woman disappeared into a cloud of black sulfurous smoke.

[bloodfin]

✭・.・✫

Rain Ghoul x Dewdrop Ghoul x Phantom Ghoul (plus some background polyghouls)

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ only

Word Count: 4.347

Summary: Dew spills some wine on Rain's pretty moonrise outfit; shenanigans ensue

Pronoun tags for this fic: She/Her Rain, He/Him Dewdrop, He/They Phantom (everyone has a dick today)

Warnings: pre-existing relationships (and therefore pre-existing kink negotiations), ma'am kink, mommy kink, alcohol consumption, blood kink/drinking, spitting, aether is always a little stressed (and gets called daddy once), handjob, blowjob, anal fingering, spit as lube, anal sex, dumbification, come play, come eating, there is so much come, praise kink, knotting, breeding kink (very mild and only if you squint but just in case), horribly unreliable narrator, no beta we die like nihil; as is typical of my writing sensitive kink (mommy in this case) has been italicized and bolded for easy skipping - i know this isn't a kink for everyone, please keep yourself safe

Author’s Note: as always please mind the tags and don't read if anything squicks you out! i fear my brainrot is now terminal and i am making that everyone else's problem (sorry). if i missed a tag in the warnings or you think i should add something please let me know - i try and be thorough! enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

additional disclaimer: this is about literal demons straight from hell and has absolutely nothing to do with the actual band members of Ghost, unless someone dyed themselves blue or gold and we all missed it

read on ao3

Vernal equinox had passed, but the ghouls were still in celebration mode, the walls of the den overflowing with small paper flowers. The pink moon was due to rise - the first full moon of spring always cause for extra celebration. It was welcomed around the abbey by all members for ushering in growth and change, solidifying partnerships of all sorts. 

Phantom, Aurora, and Dew decorated while Sunshine and Cirrus cooked, the den slowly filling with the warm smell of freshly baked bread. Mountain and Aether were arranging the plants to best receive the moon's energy, while Swiss and Cumulus worked on setting up a large nest in the center of the den. 

The only one absent from the preparations was Rain, but her packmates were certain that she would come by when she was ready if she felt so called. Every moonrise was different, but this moon in particular had a strong effect on her. Sometimes the pull was so intense she would spend the evening at the bottom of the lake worshiping in her own way, or she would slink away with the other water ghouls of the abbey. 

Today, however, she wanted to play with her pack, painting her face with a gentle pink blush and lipstick. It stood out beautifully against her navy-freckled teal skin, making her sharp teeth seem even brighter. She hummed at her reflection once she finished smudging her eyeliner, the red she put on the waterline bleeding into faded black. Predatory. 

Rain was flicking through her closet when the smell of dinner wafted under her door, her ears flickering once they picked up on the sound of quiet laughter. She huffed, passing over dress after dress, jumpsuit after crop top, nothing feeling quite right or looking as powerful as the moon was making her feel. She was fiddling with her belly ring when her eyes landed on a small black skirt next to the laundry that she had been meaning to return. One more wear wouldn’t make her anymore late on giving the clothing back to its rightful owner, right? 

“Perfect,” she smiled to herself, wriggling into the skintight black leather miniskirt, sporting a slit that left absolutely no thigh to the imagination. It hugged every part of her perfectly, highlighting where her cock was straining against a too small pair of panties. Once satisfied with its placement she put on a black lace bandeau, followed by a sheer black crop top. 

The only thing missing was shoes, and she slipped into pink heels that matched her lipstick before heading out the door, her tail wagging slowly through the air. 

When she rounded the corner into the den’s common room the air shifted, the whole pack taking a collective breath when they saw her. 

“Wow,” Swiss whispered under his breath, his foot tapping rapidly under the table. 

“Mo- mo- mom-m-” 

Phantom was stuttering, frozen in place before Cumulus clapped her hand over his mouth, whispering in their ear. 

“She will eat you alive baby. Let her get settled, she just got here.” 

Their ears started to twitch like he was going to make a move, but when they saw how Rain's teeth seemed to glow in the light he nodded, leaning into Cumulus's side, content to watch for the moment. Dew, however, was not. He wanted Rain near him always, and especially now. 

Dew was probably a little too inebriated to be attempting anything close to chivalry, but anytime he saw Rain like this his brain deflated while his blood supply funneled south. 

“Saved you a chair, beautiful,” he hummed, standing to pull out the seat beside his own. 

He should have left his glass on the table, really, but the thought didn't cross his mind until he bumped into Rain, burgundy wine sloshing out of his glass to drip down her exposed stomach. The room was still, Mountain having sucked in a sharp breath while Aether started to stand, readying himself to intervene. The sparkle of Dew's skin began to fade as his face fell, turning to run into the kitchen for a towel. 

He didn't make it very far, Rain's hand reaching out to grab the back of his neck. She pulled him back and pushed him to his knees, leaning on the chair. 

“Clean your mess, Dewdrop.” 

Aether breathed a sigh of relief and plopped back into his chair while the color returned to Phantom's face, eager to see what was next. His tail thumped quietly on their chair. 

Dew looked at Rain for a brief moment before dropping his head, speaking quickly. 

“Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am.” 

Rain's eyes dilated and her fingers flexed, breath stuttering for just a moment when Dew’s hot tongue met the cool skin of her stomach, lapping up the wine. He made sure to clean around the band of her skirt first, knowing how much she hated stains. 

Once he felt the area was thoroughly cleaned he delicately worked his way to her belly button, wrapping his tongue around the glittery, dangling jewelry and sucking it clean. He tongued around the attached belly chains, not wanting to miss a single drop. There was a quiet moan from behind them, but Dew didn't dare lift his eyes, focusing instead on the beautiful creature before him.

Rain stuck her hand out and Cirrus placed Dew's half spilled glass of wine into it, complimenting her skirt. 

She smiled while she swirled the glass in her hand, bringing it to her nose for a quick sniff. 

“Thank you, I've been meaning to return it -” 

Cirrus's laugh sounded like little bells in the wind. 

“Please, keep it. You look better in it then I do.” 

Rain smiled and bent to the side, knocking their horns together. “You're too sweet to me Cici, I'll be sure to properly thank you later.” 

She smiled back, blowing her a soft kiss before returning her attention back to Mountain, tugging him from the table and towards the nest. Chairs scraped on the floor as everyone shuffled around, still watching Rain and Dew’s exchange.  

Rain studied the glass of wine in her hand, turning it slowly. It was her favorite one, thick and full bodied, a few citrus notes at the end. 

Expensive. 

“How many dicks did you have to suck to get this?” 

Dew shrugged while lapping at her cool skin. It didn’t matter to him so he didn't keep count, he would do anything for his mate. Anything to see her smile, even if he wasn't sure she'd attend the evening festivities. 

“Four,” Sunshine giggled from Cumulus's lap. Rain purred, licking the tips of her fangs. 

Dew had finished his task and was sitting back on his heels, looking up to watch Rain take another sip of the wine. His tongue darted out from between his lips with a quiet whimper. Rain looked down at him, one perfectly done brow raised. 

“Need more?” 

Dew nodded his head rapidly before opening his mouth wide, groaning when Rain slipped her thumb into his mouth, pulling at his cheek. She took a large sip of wine before setting the glass down, bending at the waist to bring her lips to Dew's. His sharp gag as he struggled to swallow triggered a series of muffled groans and the slick sounds of hands meeting wet skin. 

“Thank you ma'am,” he panted, struggling to speak around her thumb. He rolled his head to the side, exposing his thick veins and the silvery scars of their prior couplings. 

“Got plenty for you, too, if you need.” 

Dew often begged to be bitten where his gills once were, aching to feel something there again. But now he was offering in submission, to let Rain take what she needed under the power of the moon. 

Her tongue darted out of the corner of her mouth as she looked him up and down. 

With a quick nod of her head Dew was scrambling towards the nest, quickly divesting himself of his clothes as he went. She slowly followed him, sinking to her knees to pull his back to her chest, running her nose along his neck. 

“Please,” Dew sighed, flexing his claws against his thighs.

Rain inhaled deeply against his cinnamon-scented skin, fangs fully dropping before she sank them into the crook of his neck, blood quickly filling her mouth. He groaned low, the pitch only going higher when she took his hard cock into her hand, slowly stroking him from root to tip as she drank. 

“Rainy,” Aether warned gently from across the nest, voice cracking with the way Swiss had his mouth wrapped around his cock. 

She pulled herself from Dew's neck, licking at the corner of her mouth to gather a drop of his shimmering blood. 

“Don’t worry so much daddy, Dewdrop knows his limits. Would never hurt him more than he wants, promise.” 

“All good Aeth,” Dew agreed, raising a thumbs up which quickly dropped back to the pillows with a loud purr when Rain started to clean the wounds at his neck. Her tongue slowly worked around each puncture, her fist mimicking the movements of her mouth against the quickly darkening head of his cock. 

Aether nodded and fell back on his elbows, digging his fingers into Swiss’s hair, determined to enjoy the first night off in… a while. But a set of eyes still remained fully planted on Rain and Dew, the movement of a flickering tail catching her attention from the corner of her eye. 

“You okay bug? Not in the mood to play?” 

Dew barely opened his eyes, biting into his lower lip with a groan as Rain gently stroked him. 

“Wanted to watch, if that's okay with you both mm-ma'am.” 

Dew was nodding before he even finished their sentence, and Rain was grinning like a shark, Dew's crimson blood smeared all over her lips and chin. She didn't miss the way Phantom's eyes dropped to her mouth, watching her lick another spot clean. 

“Just want to watch?” 

Phantom blinked hard before forcing their eyes away from the mess, chewing at the corner of his lip. 

“He um… He just smells really good.” 

“Would you like a taste, sweetness?” 

Phantom nodded eagerly, eyes back on her mouth. “Please ma'am, please.” 

Rain beckoned him over with two crooked fingers, stifling a laugh at the eager way Phantom's tongue licked across her chin. Dew whined in her lap, quickly hushed by the drag of her pre soaked fingers up his chest to toy with the bar running through his nipple. 

Phantom hummed as he licked at her lips and chin, quiet thank you's between their breaths. 

“So polite,” Rain smiled, holding his chin to kiss them deep and slow. Phantom groaned when she slipped her tongue into their mouth, filling him with the taste of a beachside bonfire and hot iron. It was intoxicating, and they would let her have every ounce of air in his lungs if they could stay just like this forever. 

When they broke apart Phantom was a panting mess, claws digging into his own thighs. 

“Thank you mommy -” 

They paused, blinking his eyes and shaking their head to clear it. 

“Sorry thank you mommy -”

Another huff, trying to hide a whine that would rival Dew's. 

“I'm sorry momm- ma’am. Thank you ma’am.” 

Rain just smiled as she twisted Dew’s nipple between her fingers, his keen cutting through the heavier sounds of fucking that had filled the room. The way her head was tilted probably should've sent Phantom running, but instead his cock kicked against their thigh, a shiver running up his back. 

“So dumb you're having trouble speaking and I've only kissed you. Don't worry sweet little bug, mommy will take good care of you.” 

Phantom choked on their inhale as pre blurted on his leg, and Dew whined even louder, drawing Rain's attention back to him. His cock was weeping freely, begging for release while she kept teasing at his chest, working her other hand under his chin to turn him towards her. 

“Did you lose your words too?” 

Dew groaned when she started to slide her hand back towards his cock, lifting his hips to try and meet her. 

“You know I love your voice Dewdrop, if you need a moment you can watch Phantom and I play for a while.” 

Phantom's tail smacked against the pillows so quickly it sounded like someone running down the hall. Dew shook his head, voice just starting to splinter with need. 

“No ma'am, need you. Need you please.” 

“What do you need,” she cooed, pushing a lock of golden hair behind his half drooped ears. 

“Want - need your cock, your knot. Need you to fill me ‘til I swell with you, please, need you so bad.” 

Rain hummed, tapping her fingers along Dew's length while he squirmed. Phantom crept closer, kneeling in front of the pair, fangs poking into their lower lip. 

She paused, looking across both Phantom and Dew, finally settling on an idea. 

“Phantom, sweetness, you're being so good. Do you want a nice hot dick in your mouth?” 

“Please, mommy.” 

“Excellent,” she purred, kneeling tall behind Dew as she folded him to the floor.

“Why don't you come get this skirt off, without ripping it, while I get Dew all worked open hm?” 

They smiled so wide Rain was sure his ears would fall off, scrambling to her side to examine the zipper. With careful fingers Phantom undid the clasp, gently sliding the zipper down while watching Rain run her nails down Dew's back, making him arch. 

He leaned in close to her to work the band of the skirt down, breath hitching when they caught the gentle scent of orange blossoms on a sea breeze. Rain was always dangerous, the sharp iridescent scales that framed her face and joints were a reminder of that. But right now, she was deadly. 

A whine bubbled up from their throat when the band of her skirt caught on her cock, unable to bring it any lower. Rain glanced down to find Phantom gently pawing at her, looking up at her with big sad eyes. 

“Wanna be good and help you, but it's stuck. Don't wanna ruin your pretty skirt.” 

“Sweet little bug.” 

She smiled as she stood, gently ruffling their mop of hair before letting the skirt pool around her ankles. She stepped out of it and her shoes, returning to her spot behind Dew. Phantom's mouth watered at the sight of her cock hard and leaking into delicate pink lace, barely contained. 

She brought two fingers to his lips, tapping them as she spoke. 

“Get these nice and wet for me, then you can have a taste.” 

Dew groaned loud, wrapping his tail around Rain's free wrist. He pushed his ass further up, hips swaying slightly. 

Phantom moaned around Rain's fingers, wrapping their tongue around her long digits while sucking at the tips. When they pulled away he made sure to leave a thick line of saliva up her fingers, watching with rapt attention as she smeared it around with her thumb. 

She nodded her head towards Dew's exposed hole, telling him to spit. They were happy to oblige, sticky with want themselves, aching to make Rain happy. He trilled when she hummed with approval, bringing her wet fingers to Dew's hole, pressing the tip of her index finger inside. Dew's gasp was anything but quiet. 

“You're both being so good for me,” Rain praised, shifting on her legs to make the bulge of her cock more prominent. Phantom couldn't help the thin line of saliva that dripped from their fangs and down his chin. 

“Come have a taste, Ant.” 

Phantom eagerly licked across his lips, dipping down to settle against Rain's lap. They began to mouth at her cock through her already too wet panties, running his tongue up and down her length. She purred low, her free hand working into their hair while the other pressed into Dew. 

“Just the best bug, sweetest little thing,” she cooed. 

“Rainy,” Dew whined, wiggling back onto her fingers. “I need -” 

She curled her finger up, stroking against his prostate while shushing him gently. 

“I know baby, I know.” 

Dew adjusted his arms so he could rest his face against them, his back making a pretty arch. His golden skin always seemed to glitter most in dim light; he’d certainly be glowing once the moon fully rose.. Rain hummed as she worked a second finger into him, quickly followed by a third. She scissored them as much as she could, making sure Dew was starting to stretch. He was already leaking, a leftover trait from his time as a water ghoul, the slick sound filling the space. 

Phantom moaned at the sight, his drool further wetting Rain's cock. She rolled her hips gently against their chin, his attention quickly returning to suckling at her tip. 

“Please,” Dew whimpered, claws flexing into whatever poor cushion he latched on to, “ready for you now. Need to feel you, want it to ache.” 

Rain purred as she pulled her fingers from Dew, her other hand still nested in Phantom’s curls. 

“Don't worry baby, it's coming. Being so good for me. Showing off for Phantom, huh? Showing them how good you can be?” 

“Only for you ma'am,” Dew sighed, wiggling his little hips. 

Rain pinched at his nearly non-existent ass cheek before returning her attention back to Phantom, gently pulling him away from her cock. 

“Do you want to watch, or would you like to play with Dew?” 

Dew trilled, his answer obvious. Phantom had the sense to at least look like he was thinking about it before planting a kiss to her cheek and shuffling towards Dew's head, settling on their knees in front of him. 

Dew stretched out as much as he could, wrapping first his fist and then his tongue around Phantom's cock. Plum-flushed like Aether gets, although the purple was swirled with grey instead of gold. He hissed when Dew took them into his mouth, head dropping back at the heat of his tongue. 

Rain smirked as she watched them, taking her own cock in hand and pressing the head to Dew's hole. He leaned back into her, stretching himself between his partners, urging her to give him more. 

She wrapped her long fingers around the base of his tail and tugged, using the extra leverage to slide inside with a guttural moan. Dew responded with one of his own, muffled by Phantom pushing themself deeper down his throat. 

“Not gonna last,” Phantom grumbled, his hand locked around Dew's bun. “Feels too good.” 

“Mhm I know,” Rain smiled, rolling her hips to drive her cock straight against Dew's prostate. He popped off of Phantom with a little whine of protest, his breathing heavy when she began to pull at his puffy nipples. 

“Dewy isn't gonna last so long either, huh baby?” 

She asked with a particularly hard thrust into him, Phantom's eyes wide watching Dew's roll back into his head. They pulled from Dew’s mouth to rest for a moment, unwillingly to reach his end so soon. Dew’s mouth was legendary for a reason, after all. 

“Go ahead, get that pretty mouth on Dew's little cock, he wants it so bad.” 

Rain's words pulled them from their trance, blinking a few times with his head tilted just to the side before nodding quickly, shuffling back down to take Dew to the back of his throat. 

Rain wrapped one of her arms around Dew's waist and the other tangled back into Phantom's hair, rubbing gently at the sensitive skin behind their ear. Dew's hands were everywhere, flying from Rain's head to Phantom's, digging in his own thighs and pressing on Rain's, lifting his hips to help guide her into that perfect spot while desperately trying to not choke Phantom. 

She didn’t need the help, she knew Dew's body as well as she knew her own. Maybe better, even, with the way she had him moaning while dragging her cock over the perfect spot. Each roll of her hips was punctuated by one of his breathy sighs, adding to the cacophony of the room. 

Phantom for his part was chirping happily, licking long trails across the thick veins on the underside of Dew’s cock. When Rain pushed them forward he happily followed, swallowing around Dew's length with a pleased hum. Rain cooed at him from over Dew's shoulder, scratching behind his ear again before grabbing the back of his head. 

“Tap twice if you need to breathe, yeah?” 

Phantom brought his tail up and tapped the spade twice against her hand, rolling their hips gently into the nest of blankets below him. 

Rain smiled that far too toothy grin, thrusting into Dew and driving his cock further into Phantom's throat. Dew was all but jelly between them, held up by Rain's arm around his waist and Phantom’s hand pressed into his chest, his tail slowly tangling with Rain's in search of something more to hold onto. 

Phantom's tongue was good, great actually, Dew's thoughts on the matter filling the space as choked off babbling. When Phantom wrapped their tongue underneath Dew's head and sucked Dew was certain he'd open his eyes and be back in the pit, unholy pleasure running hot in his veins. 

Rain hooked her chin over Dew's shoulder, nuzzling at the space below his ear. 

“Don't swallow sweetness, let him dribble out of your mouth, down your face. That okay?” 

Phantom moaned in affirmation around Dew's length, nodding his head as best he could. It wouldn't be long now, Dew's balls were heavy in their hands, getting tighter with every thrust of Rain's hips driving him further into their mouth. 

She drove harder into him, and Dew's hands fisted Phantom's soft hair right next to Rain’s. 

“Rain, Rain, Rainy, fuck -” 

Dew's voice went high until it broke off, dying out as he painted inside Phantom's mouth. Phantom hummed as he took every drop, careful to not swallow. Once Dew had stopped pulsing they pulled away, sitting back with their head slightly tilted slightly forward before smiling, Dew's spend trickling out of his mouth and down their neck. 

“Fucking nasty,” Rain mumbled, pressing herself hard against Dew, grinding her hips to his ass. “Just how you like it, huh?”  

Dew nodded in agreement, his voice breaking on every whimper Rain pulled from him as she chased her own release. 

“Lay back bug, slide closer to me.” 

Phantom melted for her, nearly pressing themself into Dew's chest before dropping onto his back, tail shifting to rest on Dew’s thigh. They moaned when Rain wrapped her talented hand around his length, back lifting from the pillows. 

“Haven't even been touched yet,” she cooed, and Phantom shook their head. “Such a good, patient little thing.” 

Phantom nodded hard, like he was trying to say waiting for you. 

“Whenever you like, sweetness.” 

Their voice was trapped in his throat, muffled by every unholy sound Rain could pull from them as she worked his cock at the same tempo she nailed Dew, who was putty at this point. He was limp in her arms, begging for her release, her knot. For everything, for nothing, for all of it at once. 

Phantom wasn't sure how long they'd last, and when Rain rubbed her finger across his slit to gather a pearl of pre just to taste it they knew it wouldn't be long. 

She hummed in pleasure at the tang of him, mixed with the carbonated vanilla of their benzoin scent. Her hand quickly returned, long manicured fingers wrapping around their length, pulling in the most devastating way. 

Phantom could feel their eyes crossing as he watched, Rain's hand firm against him, the other tight around Dew. They brought their tail to where Rain and Dew’s were tangled together, joining the heap. 

Dew was crying now, his cock hard again, gold skin glistening. He begged, Rain purred, Phantom tried to keep their claws to themself but he looked so pretty, eyes screwed tight under a crown of sweat, his golden bun no longer neat and tidy. So they reached out, grabbing Dew by the base, feeling his little knot start to inflate under their hand. And if Phantom thought Dew had been crying before, well… He was really going now. 

“Little bug is being so sweet to you, aren't they,” Rain purred, licking below the shell of Dew's ear as she slowly ground her knot into his rim. 

“Yeah, yeah you both are. Need it ma'am, need your knot, need to cum -” 

The movement of Rain's hips became more frantic as she pressed more firmly into Dew, hissing when his tight body finally swallowed her knot, enveloping her in delicious heat. Dew keened, high pitched and devastated as he came into Phantom's hand, a string of thankyouthankyouthankyou falling from his wine stained lips. 

Dew was babbling, words broken and punctuated with breathy moans. Phantom wasn't much quieter, egging Dew on with their own muttering. C'mon Dewy, come for mommy. Make a mess, make me a mess. 

Rain followed quickly, the squeeze of Dew around her knot too much, biting into his neck with a groan from the depths of her throat. 

Phantom wasn't sure what brought them to the edge. Dew's hot come, the scent of his blood, the noise Rain made when she slid fully into his body. Maybe it was the way her calloused fingers rubbed against their frenulum with a talent flick of her wrist. All he knew was that they were floating, high in space, coated from the chin down in their own and Dew's release. 

He stirred when they heard Rain shuffling on her knees, laying down next to them with Dew tight in her arms. He hissed a little at the shuffle but it was good natured, her knot still buried tight inside his hole. Dew shuffled a bit closer, admiring the mess that was Phantom before turning his head to bat his lashes at Rain. 

“Go ahead Dew,” Rain smiled, blood dotting her lips. “Clean up your mess.”

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Cold Comfort

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ animal death, self harm, death, fear, hurt/comfort, roughness, oral (f!), fingering (f!), masturbation (m!), implied trauma, tenderness, aftercare, touch sensitivity/aversion, durge going through it, karlach being the best

Finally reaching Moonrise Towers, she finds her urge overtaking her, taking an innocent life. Astarion seeks to keep her company through the long night...

-

All three of them staring in cold shock, her back bristling in pleasure in front of them. Her foot retreating from the little thing. The crunch of her heel still loud in their ears.

Her control of her bloodlust had been tenuous at best. Able to control herself enough to not kill Isobel, but beyond that struggling. A dark slackening smile coming over her face, her posture pulling higher.

Only hours earlier commanding the goblins to take their own lives. Z'rell's impressed smile as one plunged a knife into his chest.

He only hoped she could continue to aim it away from them.

Shadowheart gripped her own sleeve in an effort to steady herself, eyes brimming in tears staring at the crumpled cat. His eyes darting to Karlach's. Her's equally alarmed but shaking her head quickly. "Wait." She mouthed.

And she was right, the wicked body in front of them softening back into her again. A gasp from her, a low mournful wail as she looked down at the still animal.

"I-" She wavered, hand poised to reach out for the little corpse. "I was just trying to remember..."

"What is wrong with me?!" She wailed, closing her eyes tight. "Gods help me." A whisper, a calling prayer.

Astarion was glad Karlach was there, stepping forward. Putting a strong hand on her shoulder, leading her gently away. "Come on soldier," She urged kindly as they stepped quietly back into the towers. Shadowheart taking up at her side, hushing reassurances into her.

It had been a quiet camp that night. Those not at the tower picking up on the sharp mournful energy coming off of them. At least Shadowheart had the tact to wait until she was out of earshot to catch them up. Only Gale shooting her obvious scared flitting glances.

Sitting silent, her legs pulled up to her chest at the edge of the fire. Arms rested on her knees, staring into the flames. Eyes exhausted and dark.

He wanted to say something, turning conversations over and over in his head. Gods he was her lover, shouldn't he be consoling her? Coming up dreadfully blank, he compromised to sit near her. Within reach if she wanted to seek him.

Finally, they all shuffled off to bed. Some shooting consoling words towards her as they retreated. The fear pulsing in the air.

Only Karlach coming over and kneeling down next to her, planting a warm kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest if you can, love. I'm right here if you need me."

Her mouth pursed into a strained smile, nodding. Patting Karlach's arm in thanks.

Karlach's eyes caught his again as she rose. Shooting a look down at her then back to him, urging. Come on man.

He nodded, kicking himself. She needs him, or at least it seems like she does. If only he could figure out how to do this.

Gods maybe Karlach should be her lover.

The sound of the crackling fire and soft snoring surrounded them. Her eyes still staring into the flames, reflected back in her green eyes.

"You should get some rest, Star." She whispered, so quiet he could barely hear. "I'll take first watch."

His eyebrows knitted together, was she sending him away?

"Darling, I'm fine." He assured. "I can stay out here all night. In silence, if that's what you need."

She didnt respond, eyes still dancing in flames. I guess that's not a no? He thought.

"I'll be back, I'll fetch a book to occupy us." He rose to feet, heading quietly towards his tent. Gods why was he so bad at this? Charming, seducing, misleading. That was his bread and butter. Shouldn't consoling fit in there somewhere?

He paged through a few different options, kneeling in his tent. Relented to take two or three thin tomes. Stop being so precious.

Pushing open the flap of his tent his eyes were drawn to her silhouette.

Standing now, arms limp at her side. Head looking down at something, silent. A coiled energy on the air.

He drew forward, silent steps. Instinct. Eyes picking out what she was looking at.

A log had fallen out, bright with embers. Still red hot and smoldering. Sitting at her feet.

Before he could comprehend what was happening she dropped. Falling down kneeling into the log. Nothing but a low restrained groan leaving her as the flesh of her knees burned.

He dropped the books, rushing forward. "Gods, dont!" He exclaimed, pulling on her shoulders. Calling out her name in a frantic gasp. Pulling her off of her punishment.

She fell back with him, her back meeting his chest. His eyes automatically drawn to her knees, red and angry. Burning and bleeding.

"Why did you do that?!" He asked, despite himself. Looking wild into her eyes.

Hers finally breaking their dead cold reverie. Filled with grief.

"Because I deserved it. I deserve more." She choked. Eyes tear brimmed, desperately searching his.

"No, no." He whispered, cupping her face. "You weren't in control. That wasn't you."

"How do you know that?" She shook her head. "What if that is me? What if it's always been me? It never leaves."

Hiccuping, her eyes left his. "What if I've been pretending this whole time? Living a fantasy. All of this a beautiful dream." Shivering, eyes closing. "Gods, I feel it everywhere. Something is coming, it's not here yet but it's on it's way."

He was at a loss for words, a raw piece of her laid bare that he had no inkling of. Was this what she felt all the time? How could she be such a leader with all of this in her head?

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everyone." She whispered.

"Maybe I should get Karlach," He murmured, turning his head to call out for her.

"No!" Her arm gripping his sleeve. "Please. I cant... I dont want her to know how bad it is."

He felt a pull in his chest. Hearing the words she wasn't saying. That she wasn't scared to tell him.

"You know," He started softly, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I understand more than you know. I know what it's like to not be in control of your own body. I've done things under Cazador's control that I can never take back."

She looked up at him, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "I'm so afraid. All the time." She whispered.

"I know, my sweet." He sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. "As am I."

"Thank you." She breathed, hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. Relaxing into him. "For understanding. It gets so lonely."

He suddenly wanted to kiss her. Knuckles caressing her cheek. His eyes closing as he remedied the distance between them.

She whimpered quietly, her mouth so soft and warm against his. A gentle tremor in her body.

He wrapped his arm around her back, his hand pulling the nape of her neck, pulling her deeper into him. Needing her as close as he could get.

She leaned into him with the same need, moaning softly. Her hand gripping the front of his shirt. Opening her mouth to his tongues request against her lips.

He groaned softly, she was a really good kisser. He knew she had no memory before the nautiloid but something's you cant forget, he supposed.

He needed her in his tent. Now.

Scooping under her knees and her back he lifted her. Carrying her to the far entrance of his tent. Tried not to preen at her little gasp.

The flap falling shut behind them, red tinted darkness enveloped them. Her eyes on his as he laid her down quickly on his bedroll. Her hands already pulling her camp shirt over her head.

He would usually tease about how eager she was being, but he felt it too. An urging, a desperation. Feeling as if they didn't get it out now they never could again.

He unlaced her trousers with shaking fingers, her hands pulling his shirt from his leathers. Pausing his work only briefly to raise his arms as she pulled it over his head. The sound of heavy breathing and pulling fabric.

She leaned up, his flesh free for her. Her lips meeting his throat. Kissing slow hungry pulses into the sensitive skin.

He moaned quietly, eyes pulling shut. Finally getting her damned trousers off, pulling them and her underclothes in one motion down to her shins.

She hissed in pain, pulling away from his neck. Shit, he forgot.

"I'm sorry, darling." He whispered, leaning down to kiss softly around the angry skin of her knees. Running a hand up her plush thigh. So soft. Lamb's ear.

"You're okay." She hushed, smiling gently down at him. Taking his chin in her hand. "Come here to me."

He returned to her mouth with reignited fervor. He was always the one talking between them but her voice. Her voice did something to him. Low, smooth, smoky. He wanted to hear it all the time.

"Tell me what you want." He urged against her mouth. Their limbs tangling desperately. Her body a furnace against his. Gods he could just lay like this, melting into her endless heat.

"I dont want to think. I dont want to have any room for thoughts in my head." She hushed against his mouth. "I want you to be the only thing inside me."

A thrill ran down his spine, his length throbbing. Nearly mad trying to get his leathers off. His breath a hot pant against her neck.

His fingers trailed down, pinching one of her nipples softly. She mewled against the curl of his hair. Legs opening wider.

He slotted between them, needing no further invitation. His mouth nipping and kissing at her soft skin as he moved downwards. Catching one of her peaks in his mouth.

She bucked, a low whine leaving her. "There, please there."

He smiled into her. Lapping and twisting his tongue against the hard mound. Humming approval.

She squirmed under him, hand carding into his hair. Her eyes finding his, face flushed.

He looked at her through his lashes, nibbling and rolling his tongue. Delighted by her head falling back, her hand gripping his bedroll under them.

His hand trailed down, feather light. Slipping over the curls of her center. Pushing gently between her folds.

"Gentle or hard?" He urged, voice low. Switching to her other breast. Licking long strokes.

"Hard." She moaned, bucking her hips trying to get him to push in.

He plunged into her, already soaking and gripping his fingers. "Hells," He cursed quietly. Feeling precum already leaving his tip.

He pumped inside her roughly, hypnotized by the sight. His pale hand pulsing back and forth, glistening wet to the base of his fingers. Her cunt opening to him, the slight tremor in her pelvis. Plush thighs wrapped around his thin waist.

He leaned his head down, catching her engorged clit in his mouth with a groan. His hips rutting into the blankets under them.

She moaned into her hand, trying to muffle her sweet calls for him. He knew it was unwise, that they still had a whole camp around them, but he wanted to make her scream.

He suckled down hard, hand slamming inside her. Adding a third finger.

She arched and gripped his hair. Little choppy moans choked out of her.

He experimented with his mouth, watching her. Finding the paces, the techniques that made her twist under him.

He did one long pulling suck with his tongue flat on the underside of her clit and saw her eyes flash to his. Hands coming to brace herself at her side.

There. He thought, smiling against her. Doing it again, slowly. Watching the tremor rise from her pelvis like rippling water.

She was close he could tell, her breath a strained gasping. Head lolling, all hips and clenching pulls on his fingers.

He did that same pull with his tongue, fast and mean. Fingers a blur inside her. Other hand coming to snap down on the soft flesh of her ass. The sound making his cock throb, hips grinding.

She pushed his shirt into her mouth in one final desperate moment. Her orgasm ripping through her, a muffled shrieking mess. Hips rising high, fucking herself against his mouth. Only the whites of her eyes visible.

He supported her hips in both hands, only his mouth now. Suckling down hard on her, fucking her through her orgasm. His chin, his jaw coated in her sweet cum. Gods he felt feral. So so hungry.

Tongue pulsing merciless he watched as she climbed again. Gripping her ass as she tried to get away. Moaning hot into her cunt. No he wasnt done yet.

She whined a handful of cries into his shirt, hips bucking. The fabric falling from her mouth. Eyes meeting his, wide and blown out. "Astarion, I-"

He groaned, eyes pulling shut. His name, so often said with disdain or disapproval, sounded so sweet from her. He wanted to hear it again.

He buried his face in her, nose pressed against her clit, tongue fucking into her.

"Astarion, oh Gods!" She whined, trying to twist away as her whole body shook. Her second end hitting her, far harder than the first by the looks of it. Clenching in fast pulses around his tongue. Great tremoring jolts across her body. Strained pleading mewls that directly stroked down his length.

Far too near his own end to even entertain the idea of entering her, he fucked roughly into his fist. One, two, three strokes and he was gone, his hand still soaked in her cum too much. Hitting him like a hammer against the base of his spine. Her cunt muffling his loud whimpering, his hand still holding her up to him shaking. Fingernails digging hard into the flesh of her ass. His spend dripping down his fist.

A great spreading warmth from his pelvis, a delicious exhaustion moving into his limbs. He let her down gently, cleaning his hand, wiping his face and flopping face down next to her. His breath a heavy gasp.

She giggled as she looked over at him. "You alright?" She asked, smiling at his dramatic display.

"I'm going to need a while to recover, sweet thing." He murmured into the blankets.

"No rush," She called, fingernails scratching lightly across his scalp. Oh. That felt really good. His eyes closed, nearly purring.

Seeing his reaction she brought her other hand to him. Straddling his back and scratching along both sides of his scalp.

He moaned, her fingernails lighting up pleasure trails along his head. Oh Gods, he's never felt something like this. It was almost better than the orgasm.

She sat on the base of his spine. Scratching little perfect circles. Stopping to rub his ears softly. He moaned low into his arm, the sensation close to arousal.

Moving her hands into a massage she kneaded his scalp. Moving down to his neck, his shoulders.

Her strong hands finding that knot that he always kept in his left shoulder, he melted into the bedroll. His hand, flat at his side, grabbing onto her ankle for support.

No one had ever done this for him before and he didn't know what to do with himself.

He felt like he was being unwound, his body a tapestry that she had found the end to. Pulling in long sure strokes.

Aware suddenly that he was quietly crying, her face coming down to kiss behind his ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

He nodded silently, face scrunching up. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

"Okay," She whispered kindly. Dismounting off of him, pushing a curl of his hair behind his ear tenderly. Turning to redress herself.

He desperately wanted to ask her to stay but he felt so vulnerable, afraid to ask. Afraid of what that would mean.

She pulled his blanket over him, her eyes all tenderness. Her trousers back on, searching for her shirt.

"Mine. Take mine." He urged, already falling. His eyes so heavy.

She smiled, pulling his camp shirt over her head. It fit her perfectly, the ruffle plunging into her cleavage.

"Heavenly," He sighed before falling into a deep trance.

-

She pulled the hem of the collar into her nose as she left his tent. His scent hitting the back of her throat. Bergamot, citrus, lavender. Intoxicating.

Arranging his fallen books into a neat pile next to the entrance.

She returned to the low burning fire, pulling her knees up to her chest again. Sighing. Gods she would've stayed if he had asked. Stayed for days.

Picking at the burned edges of her ruined pants. The hot angry skin on her knees a welcome reminder. He did not need someone like her staying in his tent.

A strong hand clapped down on her shoulder, fiercely warm. Already leaning into her as Karlach sat down next to her.

"Couldn't sleep either, soldier?"

"No," She sighed, head resting on her hot shoulder. "Sleep is overrated." Decidedly didn't mention her pacing around camp the last few nights. Always the first to offer to be watch. After Alfira sleep was her enemy.

"How's Fangs?" She asked quietly, appraising his shirt on her.

"Okay, I think. He's asleep at least."

"You know, you two are good for eachother. I think he likes you." She teased. Knocking her knee against hers.

"I kind of wish he didn't." She hushed, fingers picking at the frays on her pants. "I dont even know what I am. How could he like something that doesnt have a name."

Karlach said her name plainly. Repeated again when she looked at her. "You have a name. And we love you."

Finally breaking she sobbed, burying her face into Karlach's shoulder. Her warm body enveloping her. Holding her shaking form anchor until morning.

~

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 14, "In Waters Deep"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The group reaches an impasse in the mountains. En route back to the goblin camp, Voss pays them a visit with a proposition for Lae’zel. Áine finds herself in a difficult conversation with an inebriated, existential Gale away from camp. Gale puts Áine in an uncomfortable (and triggering) position. Astarion is not pleased.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: 18+/NSFW; non-con/attempted assault (start and end will be noted in the copy; specifically descriptions of a nonconsensual kiss and a physical struggle) by a canon character (Gale); descriptions of feeling triggered, vague flashbacks, and a panic attack; angry/violent Astarion; suggestive content (in memories) & dialogue; brief descriptions of graphic violence and blood; angst; lightly proofread

Word Count: 7k

Listening to: Organs - Of Monsters & Men

Áine hung her head, her hands painfully clenched on her hips. All this way and the godsdamned pathway to Moonrise they’d counted on being at the base of the mountain pass was sealed off. Her heart pounded, hurling itself against her ribs as if it too could hardly stand her, and she felt the beginnings of a feverish headache building just above her right eye.

A tug at one of her digging fingertips jarred her mixed self-pity and self-loathing. The tug returned, this time successfully removing her bruising grip on her flesh. The icy touch threaded its nimble fingers through hers, clumsy but ever more practiced in the gesture. The pad of Astarion’s thumb swept her knuckles and Áine lost a little steam.

“This is on me,” Halsin was insisting, gazing at the gnarled sealed passage with lingering shock. “Last I was here, this seal did not exist—that was however years upon years ago.”

“We had no way to know until we arrived,” Gale suggested, offering an understanding look to Halsin despite the strained fix of his brow. “And there remains the Underdark passage. Which, in fairness, could be just as blocked. And in that case…”

“In that case, we find another way,” Wyll posited, ever the optimist or at least the champion of persevering. “The cult is traveling between this stretch of Faerûn and Moonrise one way or another. We will find their path and use it against them.”

“Fuck yeah,” Karlach rallied to the plan.

Áine nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. “Well said, all of you,” she agreed, listening to everyone’s footsteps starting anew to begin the path back up the mountain. She looked up at the vampire beside her, gently squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”

“For?” he wondered, keeping their hands joined as they followed the others.

The bard shrugged, swinging their entwined fingers up a little as she said, “This, I suppose. And just in general.”

Astarion tsked in disapproval. “Just ‘in general’? That hardly answers my question, my dear.”

Áine provided only an angelic smile in response and the sight caused Astarion to blush. Her smile brightened into a grin. “You know, I think my blood looks better on you than it does on me,” she commented, admiring his pinkened cheeks and ear tips.

“Hush, you,” Astarion grumbled, feeling his skin heat further and feeding into an embarrassment cycle he would have a difficult time subduing for the next few minutes. He sought to change the subject. “How fares your shoulder today?”

She gave an experimental roll of the joint, her eye twitching faintly as she rounded it back into place. “Still a bit stiff, but much better than it would’ve been otherwise thanks to you,” she said. 

“Are we discussing your shoulder?” Shadowheart had slowed to walk with them, pleased to find that they were already discussing what she’d dropped back to ask Áine. Astarion stiffened when the cleric cast a proud glance his way. “How did my student manage?”

Gods above, his face was going up in flames again. Well, as much “in flames” as a vampire’s flesh could be.

Áine, however, was very interested in finally getting more of an answer to the unanswered question she’d posed the night before. “Student?” she repeated with interest. Her thumb was tracing small, soothing circles against the side of Astarion’s hand and he couldn’t decide if he was comforted by the fact that she seemed to know this conversation was already putting him on edge. The affectionate strokes did keep him from grumbling and stomping away at least.

Shadowheart smiled wider. “Of course,” she said, getting what she saw as a full-sweep benefit of embarrassing their vampire and letting Áine in on their exchange to properly act as Astarion’s unappointed wingwoman. He didn’t recognize her actions as helpful yet, but he would. “We had an impromptu lesson last night on how to use massage in a medicinal sense,” the cleric explained to Áine, lowering her voice and adding, “he was worried about accidentally hurting you, which was quite sweet.”

“That’s enough of that!” Astarion was grousing, but he fell silent as his eyes caught on Áine’s face. Her wide chocolate eyes shone with an appreciative tenderness, her free hand subconsciously hovering over where her heart beat and signaling just how touched she was by the whole thing. 

Áine suddenly blushed harder than he had and turned her gaze to the path beneath their feet to try hiding it, processing the strong reaction she’d had to learning he’d laid his pride at Shadowheart’s feet to ask the cleric for something…to help her. It was such a small thing, but it wouldn’t have felt like a small thing to him to ask for someone’s assistance, and knowing he’d done so despite that because he wanted to make sure she was okay made her positively melt.

Bewildered, Astarion looked over Áine’s bowed head to Shadowheart, who was already looking at him. She gave him a smug look as soon as they made eye contact, but it wasn’t the sort of smug look she’d shot him before. This was a smug look one might give a teammate after a strategic move in a game bore success. 

Shadowheart mouthed, “You’re welcome,” to him and smoothed her features just as Áine looked at her again, the flustered bard none the wiser.

Astarion was fascinated by several aspects of what had just happened. The most of which concerned Áine’s reaction to hearing what he’d first thought to be simply embarrassing on his part and also the fact that Shadowheart had just helped him continue to endear himself to her. Even while Áine was faced away and chatting with the cleric, he could still see the dark flush of her skin decorating her neck—especially around the bitemarks he’d left her last night—and on the tips of her ears.

Gods, he was doomed. The entirety of him was coming undone by sentiments he hadn’t even known he was capable of. It hardly seemed fair. To either of them really. After all, at the end of this, if she even gave him the time of day after she realized the only thing she would get with him was baggage. He was a tangle of trauma steeped in shame, his every touch with tainted intention from a body that he’d lost ownership over long ago, he was just a boy who amounted to nothing—

Astarion’s jaw flexed as Cazador’s voice clawed to the surface unbidden in his mind. His teeth gnashed tightly together, a dull pain forming in the grooves. Phantom pains ghosted across his back in the imagined pattern of his scars, his memories of how deeply and how many times Cazador had carved in those lines his only reference to what they looked like. He’d never known, so he didn’t know why it was bothering him now. Perhaps because this was the first time he’d gazed upon his own flesh and had been able to tell himself that it belonged to him, not Cazador, in the better part of two centuries.

“Why is the poem in Infernal?” Áine had asked the morning after their first little tryst in the woods. His stomach fluttered faintly at the extra memories that thinking back to that night evoked. Those feelings, what he’d experienced that night, were all another aspect of this that he needed to try to better understand. 

First and foremost, though, he had a duty to himself and he needed to find a way to better understand what he still carried with him from his old master. And if it was indeed Infernal and perhaps wasn’t even a poem at all, then…

What exactly had that monster done to him in the end? 

They all managed to retrace their stale steps back to where they’d first begun to crest the mountain path before setting up camp became the priority. A small clearing just uphill from the stone archway marking where they’d begun this leg of their journey made for an acceptable campsite and, within the hour, they’d established their temporary abodes and begun their nightly routines.

Áine had taken an armful of laundry to a nearby spring, carefully scrubbing out dirt, grime, and blood from her and her companions’ clothes. The bard still carried a tiny sense of embarrassment for how hard Shadowheart’s earlier divulgence about Astarion seeking medical advice for her bad shoulder had hit her. Feeling her face warm again, she scrubbed a bloodstain from one of her shirts with renewed fervor.

It was just…sweet. She felt seen. She felt cared for by both of them, but something about his effort to not only help her but let down his walls a little to learn how to best help her was a heady thing to take in. 

Áine adjusted the mint leaf she was fiddling with in her mouth with a careful prod of her tongue. She sighed, defeated by her own too-loud heartstrings. “You poor sweet thing… Are you in love with me yet?” Astarion’s voice drifted through her mind, the memory even holding the faint echo of the ruined temple’s acoustics. She’d not answered him then and she wouldn’t answer him now if he asked again, but she was starting to grow concerned that she didn’t even need to answer for the truth to be discovered.

It was his fault for being so damnably easy to love. Even as much as he tried to hold himself back, cement that awful little rake mask to his honest, beautifully open face that could rend her heart in half at a moment’s notice, and skirt the hard topics with playful smirks and coy banter, she either enjoyed their dance or succeeded in seeing through it.

Last night there had hardly been any dancing around each other at all. At least, for a while.

After they’d successfully used their tadpoles to connect their minds and she’d been able to show him what he looked like, both as a mirror would and also through her own eyes after he’d asked, she’d refocused to see tears streaming from his eyes. And before she could check on him, before she could apologize for any of it being too much too soon, he’d kissed her hard. Desperately, hungrily, passionately. Before she’d had time to react at all, she was on her back and he was all she could feel, his hands on her body and in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his tears occasionally hitting her cheeks like faint, icy pinpricks.

Áine blushed anew and one of her hands raised to brush her spring-cooled fingertips against the fresh bitemarks in her neck, a shiver running through her that had little to do with the chill of her skin. 

Up until last night, their coupling had felt careful, and controlled at times too. Their first time had held moments of released inhibition on his part, the height of it when he’d so beautifully come apart in her arms, but she had meant it when she’d asked him the next morning if he’d been all there. If he was alright. The night after had felt even more careful, but it had been sweeter and more romantic, and she’d taken it to be because she’d been upset not long before and he’d intentionally taken things more slowly.

And then there’d been last night. When the only thing he’d done “carefully” was position one of his arms around her back in a way that stabilized her shoulder while he’d railed her within an inch of her life, his fangs deep in her neck as he’d repeatedly buried himself inside her. 

Her face reddened at the memory alone. It’d been all she could do not to wake the damn camp and based on the way he’d needed to stifle the occasional grunt, growl, or groan against her neck or her lips, she could only assume he’d run into a similar dilemma. A faint, smug smile tugged at her mouth. He was still cautious with what he let her do, but she looked forward to discovering all of his most secret, sensitive little spots.

Her smile faded a little as she plunged the shirt she was working on back into the cold mountain water, thinking that she also looked forward to getting him a little more used to the idea of aftercare. Not even necessarily for her—it was something she wanted to do for him, another way she wanted to convey that she cared about him. She’d so far just seemed to confuse him with her affections out of bed.

Áine’s first real attempt—given that he’d managed to exquisitely exhaust her the first night they’d spent together and on the second she’d excused herself after a while because she overthought the fact that he’d seen her cry—had been last night. Astarion had all but collapsed atop her after they’d finished and she’d been more than content to gather him close, her legs still wrapped around his hips and her arms following suit as she’d pressed a kiss to his temple. Áine had felt him start to lean into her, but he’d suddenly stiffened and cleared his throat as he reached back to slide her ankles off his backside.

“Something wrong?” she’d asked, letting her arms loosen so he could lean away if he wanted to. She wanted him to stay or to at least rest a moment and bask in the afterglow a bit, but she also didn’t want him to stay if he preferred not to. And it had seemed at first that he simply wasn’t the sort that enjoyed a bit of pillow talk and snuggling after the main event. However, she’d thought back to how foreign handholding had seemed to him on that first-morning walk back to their camp and Áine had started to wonder if this was all just new for him too.

“Not at all,” Astarion had responded and he’d been just a touch too slow to hide the longing look in his eyes. She’d mentally latched to it like a fish to a hook, deciding that he could tell her the moment her little attempts at extra affection got annoying or unwanted and, until then, she’d simply try as the mood struck her. Maybe he’d think she was odd, but then again maybe he wouldn’t. “Simply allowing us both to get some rest after…that.” He’d looked embarrassed as he added, “Apologies for being a bit sloppy.”

Áine had cocked her head. “Passionate, you mean?” she’d corrected him. “Don’t be.” He was already pulling his pants back on and had just chuckled at her words. She’d hesitated, afraid of seeming needy, and said, “...You can stay, you know.”

Astarion’s hands had stilled on his shirt as if he’d been briefly considering it before he shuffled the garment back on. “I’m afraid if I do I’ll be unable to keep my hands off you, darling,” he’d replied, but she’d sensed that this was simply a way to dodge her offer. 

She’d let it go, kissing him goodnight when he’d turned to capture her lips one more time, and watched him leave with a sting of disappointment as she went about cleaning herself up and properly readying herself for bed.

Now, gathering up the washed clothes in her arms, Áine let out a sigh. Until he informed her that he abhorred the idea of post-coital cuddles, he’d be getting them from now on. She wanted them and she just had this nagging feeling that he simply didn’t know what he was missing and she’d be more than happy to show him. 

It was almost comical to her how the importance of getting an illithid tadpole out of her brain felt on par with the importance of ensuring that, even if it ended up irritating him, Astarion understood he was someone who was cherished. She was an utter fool, but, as she’d said more than once in her life, she’d never professed to be smart.

Áine congratulated herself upon her return to camp for setting up her makeshift clothesline ahead of time before she’d done the washing, making the task of hanging the clothes a more straightforward one. She’d hardly started when Wyll joined her and held his hands out to relieve her of the wet garments. “Thank you, but I can—,” she started to say, but faltered when she saw his wary expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Leave these to me,” he said, removing the load from her arms as he added, “You may want to check on Astarion. I heard him muttering in his tent and tried to ask after him, but he barked me away before I could get a word in edgewise.”

Áine’s brows rose. “Oh… I wonder what that could be about,” she mumbled, noticing as she looked toward Astarion’s tent that Halsin was fireside tonight managing supper. “Where’s Gale?”

Wyll shrugged as he hung the laundry. “Couldn’t tell you,” he admitted. “He’s still not himself. He seems to be getting better and then he’s just…not quite Gale again. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he isn’t there yet, I don’t think. Though who could be after a salutation like Mystra’s?”

Áine grumbled at the mention of her name. “Who could, indeed.” She sighed. “I might try talking to him. Later, after I see what Astarion’s up to… I need to start a list.”

Wyll chuckled, but his expression remained troubled. “You think you’re ready to talk to Gale?” he asked. “At length, I mean. After yesterday.”

“I’m feeling more comfortable about the idea if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied. “I just need to catch him in a ‘Gale’ moment rather than a ‘not quite Gale’ moment, I suppose. But I think waiting too long will do more harm than good.”

“I think you might be right,” Wyll agreed. “Good luck. With, well, all of it.”

Áine laughed softly and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend,” she said as she began the short trek to Astarion’s tent. She passed out hellos to anyone she passed by, including Halsin and Karlach who were stooped over the fire, Karlach seeming to be less of an assistant and more of a student under Halsin’s patient instruction. 

As she drew nearer to the familiar wine-red canvas structure, her ears honed in on her lover’s voice just past the half-parted entrance. His tone sounded stressed, anxious, and almost a little sad.

“A line with a fork and…one…two…three dots?” Astarion was mumbling to himself, his fingertips tracing the base of his back and traveling as high as he could physically reach behind him. A twinge in his muscles made him jolt faintly and swear. “Bloody Infernal… How is anyone meant to read this garbage?”

Figuring he’d already heard her approach, Áine leaned in to peek through the open part of his tent door, finding him cross-legged on the floor with his shirt off and his arms wound behind him. “What are you up to, handsome?” she asked.

Managing what she’d thought next to impossible, Áine realized she’d startled him. “Ah!” he gasped. With kneejerk agitation, he asked, “Wh-What are you doing?!”

Áine flushed with chagrin and quickly said, “Sorry, sorry! I’ll go,” as she turned to duck out from under the opening in the canvas.

“No, no, wait…,” Astarion said hastily and when Áine turned to look back at him, she found one of his hands outstretched in front of him as if to guide her back. He sighed and let the hand rest against his knee. “I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I should’ve found a way to knock,” Áine suggested, but she was appreciative of how quick he’d been to apologize for his snap. “Everything okay?”

Astarion paused, trying to find his words. “I’ve…been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but…,” he sighed and it was a sound of pure frustration. “I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.”

Áine’s heart gave a sympathetic pang. “Would you like me to take another look?” she offered.

“I…,” Astarion hesitated again. Briskly, he said, “This isn’t your problem, you know.” Áine gave a quiet snort in response but said nothing as she waited for him to decide for himself. At last, Astarion’s pride buckled and he murmured, “...Fine.”

Áine entered his tent and knelt as Astarion shifted to turn his back to her. “If you intend to touch them,” he said uneasily, “would you tell me before you do?”

The bard smiled and gave his arm a gentle pat. “I would, but I won’t touch them.”

At his nod, Áine began to study the marks, subconsciously tilting her head as if it could somehow help her read the language she was hardly at all familiar with. She hummed under her breath, contemplating showing him the markings by using the tadpole again, but she knew that she’d taxed it plenty the night before to show him his face and it wouldn’t be wise to use it again so soon.

Agitated by the silence, Astarion prompted her. “And? What can you see?”

Áine sighed. “I’m honestly not sure. But maybe I could draw it for you?”

Astarion glanced toward his books and loot all lumped in a small pile at the corner of his tent. “I haven’t any ink or parchment,” he said, audibly tense.

“No need,” Áine mumbled, already tracing the markings she saw on a smaller scale into the dirt beside his bedroll. He was careful not to turn fully to look at what she worked on, reminding himself that the longer he let her study his scars, the sooner he’d get to see for himself. Still, he found himself fidgeting impatiently as he listened to the meticulous scratching of her fingertip piercing the ground. Silence stretched for a moment as Áine compared his scars with her rendition one more time. “I’m done, I think.”

Astarion turned to look at what she’d drawn, dread pooling like bile in his stomach. “What in the Hells…,” he mumbled, his brows forming a deep crease between them. She was right—it was most certainly Infernal, but…why? “What did he do to me?”

Áine pursed her lips, rubbing the dirt from her fingers. “It’s an…odd poem,” she murmured, although she wasn’t convinced the line he’d been fed about what these lines meant was the truth either.

He seemed to agree. “If it’s a poem at all…,” Astarion said, his hand resting across his mouth. A sigh eased past his lips and Áine looked up from the drawing to his face, seeing something unreadable there. “Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.”

Gods, she wanted to help him, she just didn’t know how. Áine suggested, “Maybe Karlach could read it?”

“Perhaps, but… Let’s just keep this between us for now,” he said, his jaw setting. Asking for her help, despite it being her, had taken enough out of him for the day in the way of depending upon other people. He disliked the idea of being studied like a test subject by the larger group. Astarion’s eyes finally met hers as he added, “Thank you, by the way. This is…well, it’s something.”

“Anytime,” Áine murmured, feeling his conflict like it was her own. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Astarion smirked. “Will we now? How…,” he paused, metering his negative outlook with his next words. Or word, rather. “…sweet.” 

Áine smiled, raising her hand to trace her fingertips across his cheek. “‘Sweet’ from me isn’t on offer for just anyone,” she commented, earning a snort from Astarion. “What?”

“You are by and large one of the kindest people this wretched world has to its name,” he informed her, turning his head toward her hand while maintaining eye contact with her. He breathed deeply at the pulse point on her wrist. “The fact that you seem to think that’s not the case is laughable.”

“Kind is different than sweet,” Áine declared in a soft voice, her eyes dipping to trace his lips as she leaned closer to him. “My ‘sweetness’ stocks are smaller and on a more exclusive reserve.”

Astarion still wasn’t accustomed to being the one flirted with, especially by someone who could so easily set his silent chest aflame, but gods he loved it when she looked at him like that. “From what I’ve tasted of you, you’re plenty sweet, my love,” he murmured. He leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing his nose against hers and savoring the feel of her warm breath against his lips. “However, I think what you might be getting at is that I’m,” he gave a soft theatrical gasp, “special?”

Áine grinned, skimming her fingertips up from his cheek to run through his curls. “Very special,” she murmured. She loved the little way he nudged their noses together, she realized. It was cute, but it had also been the first little gesture from him that had felt natural, like him and not just like a seduction tip from a paperback romance novel. She savored all his gestures now, even the more practiced ones because at least she now knew that he felt something for her. Áine wasn’t so sure that he was pleased about that, but she’d enjoy it however long it lasted.

The scrape of steel and Lae’zel’s voice raising outside caused Áine to look away from Astarion, frowning as she angled her head to try and see what was going on outside. Astarion huffed and leaned further in, kissing up her neck in an endeavor to reclaim her focus. Áine was amused by his persistence but started to worry that another spat was brewing between Lae’zel and Shadowheart or that they were on the precipice of being attacked. “What’s going on?” she murmured, starting to get up.

“I don’t know, darling, pay attention to me,” Astarion grumbled against her throat, making her laugh. “If they’re all dead when I let you leave in, say, a few hours, we’ll furnish that cryptic old mummy with a bit of gold and buy them back in installments.”

“He referred to you as my ‘bosom-companion’ the other day, you know,” Áine informed him, looking back at him to gauge his reaction.

Astarion arched a brow up at her and remarked, “Far be it from me to disappoint,” before he pulled her to him and buried his face against her breasts. 

She left him laughing at the shriek of surprise he’d managed to draw from her, ruffling a hand through his pomaded hair to get back at him as she ducked out of his tent. 

Fixing her neckline, Áine glanced toward Lae’zel’s tent and saw…Kith’rak Voss? He was kneeling in submission with his sword set across the ground in front of him and speaking to Lae’zel and Wyll, it seemed, who was helping to play mediator. When she caught Wyll’s eye, Áine glanced meaningfully between him and the two githyanki, wondering if he needed her to step in. Wyll nodded once back to reassure her that he had it under control before he turned his attention back to something Voss was saying.

Áine relaxed at that, mentally performing a headcount around the camp now that night had thoroughly fallen. 

Karlach lingered near the conversation taking place, her gaze shifting occasionally toward Lae’zel with some measure of concern. The githyanki warrior had remained understandably fragile in spirit since all that happened at the crèche and ‘Mama K’ was defaulting to overprotective of her friends, even as her engine roared to an all-time high.

Halsin had retired to his tent and looked as though he was reading a tome that looked like a pamphlet in his large hands, his scarred brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes scoured the pages. He only occasionally paused to have a bite of his quickly cooling dinner sitting beside him when he remembered it was there. She recalled him mentioning that he’d missed reading and was glad to see he’d already found something to pick up on the road.

Shadowheart was nowhere to be seen, but Áine soon gathered that she’d retired early when she noticed thin spindling threads of smoke making their way out of her nearby tent, born from some incense she’d been pleased to find on their way from the temple grounds.

Áine’s thoughts turned to Gale and she sighed, knowing she needed to go find him. He’d been gone for hours at this point, ever since they’d set up camp, and as much as she wanted to just turn around and fall back into bed with Astarion, they needed to talk and smooth some things over. With a resigned sigh, she trudged away from her lover’s tent and toward the edge of camp to start scouting for their missing wizard.

It didn’t take her too long to find him. Gale had found himself a small clearing to settle into and looked almost peaceful to Áine as she approached. However, there was still something very off about his demeanor, the way he held himself, even seated in the grass. 

Not wanting to scare him, Áine announced her presence. “Gale?”

Gale turned his head at hearing his name, seeming dazed. “Oh. Hello,” he said, clearly surprised to see her. “Brave of you to venture so close.”

Áine sighed. “Come off it,” she murmured, sitting down next to him. The mountain foliage around them offered a crisp, pleasant smell amplified by the cool night air. She breathed deeply of it to ground herself. 

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Gale agreed, his eyes tracing the leaves making up the canopy. “It’s the little things. Even in as much as we’ve weathered thus far.”

Áine nodded. “They’re what get us by in the end, it’s true,” she agreed. She looked at him, frowning. “Gale, I owe you an apology, I think.” And you owe me one, too, but I can only own up to my own shit, she added mentally.

“I suppose it is indeed time we dealt with the hollyphant in the room,” he said, his tone terse. “I’m listening.”

Áine’s pride flared, but she tempered the burst of incredulous anger in her chest and continued. “I stand by why I was upset,” she said candidly. “However, I reacted before I heard the whole of what Elminster said. And now knowing what the whole of his visit was about, that feels unfair of me to have done.”

“An audience with Elminster is never less than memorable,” Gale mused. “You reacted how I would have expected you to, all said. You can hardly be faulted for feeling betrayed just because you pity me now.” He sighed. “I couldn’t find a way to tell you. To tell any of the others. That was my mistake and I should have shoved my fears aside the moment I realized that absorbing the power from the magical items you provided me was no longer working.”

“What exactly is it?” Áine asked, her eyes moving over the marking across the center of his chest, its tendrils that wove up toward his eye. She’d always just thought it was a tattoo, but was it the result of the orb too?

“That’s a rather long and complicated story…,” Gale sighed, unsteadily turning toward her. “It would be easier for me, in this moment, to show you.” Áine met his eyes with confusion and he said, “Place your hand over my heart.”

Hesitantly, Áine raised her hand and let it hover over his chest where the perfect circle marked into his skin resided in the vee of his robe. Purple light flooded the space between her palm and his chest and her tadpole shivered in recognition as Gale used his own parasite to let her into his very existence.

Into the dark.

Áine’s body seized as her eyes filled with Gale’s memory—a dread vision of a hallway, a book bound, and then opened, and a horrible remnant unearthed. The book holds nothing but swirling energy, the blackest threads of the Weave that lie in deadly wait. They hurl themselves at Gale—and now at Áine too through his eyes—and shred through the layers that make him, seeking to unmake him in mind and magic if it means a tender meal. And gods is it ever hungry.        

< Beginning of non-con content warning >

Losing herself in the memory, feeling his soul wrenching in her very being as if it were her own, Áine fearfully tried to draw her hand back only to find Gale’s hands grasping hers, his grip turning painful when she tried to pull away. His fingers crushed hers like the dark Weave crushed his spirits, its claws and its teeth scraping still at the base of his heart. Even dormant, it struggles to wake, seeks to feed…

Áine succeeded at last in wrestling back her hand, clutching it against her chest as she stretched her aching fingers. “Gods above,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Please,” Gale pleaded with her in a whisper. His eyes still looked half-fogged from the vision and as he came closer and closer, Áine caught a pungent scent of wine on his breath. She realized that a faint glint that she’d seen just past him on the grass when she’d arrived had been moonlight catching on the curve of an empty wine bottle. No, two… No, three empty bottles. He reeked of it. “Áine, please don’t leave me there alone.”

“Gale, you’re not there now,” Áine asserted, leaning away and balancing against her hands. She was starting to get nervous. Gale was drunk and seemed utterly lost in his own dark memories. She’d been in scenarios like this before with faces long faded within her past and she felt the familiar constriction in her chest, the sensation wrapping against her heart and lungs even as they began to work in overtime. “Gale, st—”

But he didn’t stop encroaching. The whiskers of his beard scratched her face and the scent of alcohol stung her nose when he put his mouth on hers, her protest swallowed and silenced. Áine grappled with him, one of her arms pressed against his chest to fend him off while her other arm stayed propped behind her. “Please, Áine, a chance,” he mumbled, his words slurring. “Just one chance before my world upends…” 

She gave a muffled yelp of protest against his lips, tears stinging her eyes as she was finally able to at least wrench her head sideways. Áine tried to push him off, but he was bigger than she was and her paladin strength of old—the strength that had gotten her out of these many similar situations her mind called back to her now—was long gone, a broken oath ringing hollow. She just had herself, her own body, to rely on now.

“Gale, get off me or I’ll scream,” she gritted with panic rising in her voice, squirming away from his hands fumbling to hold her in place. He was too close for her to swing at him and, even as she had the passing thought, she felt her shoulder flare again under their weight. Her arm, the last thing keeping her upright, buckled underneath her with her old injuries’ betrayal, sending them both into the dirt.

When he put his greedy mouth on hers again, his heavier body pinning hers down, she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. That was enough to shock him and make him lean back. “You little—”

Áine tried to use the space he’d added between them to push herself up and shove him away, but her shoulder stayed locked up and she only succeeded in flailing a little. She struggled to get her pinned legs out from under his knees, knowing if she could manage that she’d be able to kick him and get away.

Just a little more, she urged herself, her right leg in a painful position but almost free and mobile again.

But suddenly Gale was no longer on top of her to struggle against.

< End of non-con content warning >

Áine remained sprawled on the grass in a mixed state of shock. She was sure she hadn’t imagined the whole thing out of some horribly lucid trauma response, but she had trouble putting two and two together until the wizard was slammed back down onto the dirt nearby by a very angry vampire.

The bard turned onto her stomach, shifting her shaking knees beneath her and trying to control her panicked breathing. A flash of silver caught her eye as a dagger pressed to Gale’s throat and her panic blossomed anew but, with it, an urgent clarity. “Astarion, hold on!” she choked.

Astarion looked every part the terrifying image of a vampire that most people held as their source of truth for the creatures. His eyes blazed crimson, aglow in the shadows blanketing them here, and his lips curled back from his fangs with a viciousness she’d never seen in him before.

He half-spat in bewilderment at her plea, his words coming out in a near-animalistic growl. “You would defend him?!”

Áine forced enough air into her hyperventilating lungs to respond, “I’m not keen to get blown up and…he’s very drunk… He’s not himself…” She was barely staving off the panic threatening to overtake her, the reactive onslaught coming now that she was no longer in immediate danger. But Gale was.

Astarion sneered down at Gale, his fingers flexing against the hilt of his dagger. “Then I’ll ask you, Gale, which will you miss more?” he wondered, his voice deadly pleasant. “Will you miss your eyes most? Or perhaps your balls?” His eyes flashed as he bore down on the prone wizard too fearful or too dazed to move. “Because I will be taking something from you this night.”

He had felt rage like this in his lifetime. Plenty. He knew it intimately. But he’d never felt it flare so violently for someone else. He’d checked Áine’s tent for her after he’d not spotted her amongst the group seeing off Voss and had taken it upon himself to follow her scent out of camp. 

Assuming he’d either find her in a little spot they could make into another of their pieces of “nowhere” or off scouting ahead for their best path forward, he’d been mildly surprised to catch Gale’s scent, staler than hers, on the same trail. Perhaps they were finally smoothing some things over. And, upon seeing them in a darkened tangle in the grass, he could admit that he’d first thought that “smoothing things over” had led to some sort of realization on her part. He’d even started to brace himself to go back to camp and wait for her to return and tell him they were done.

Then he’d smelled Gale’s blood. He’d heard him when he’d started to swear at her or say whatever it was that he’d cut off from saying. And then the palpable smell of Áine’s fear had hit Astarion’s nose, punctuated by a tiny yelp of pain when she’d hurt herself in her struggle to get away from Gale.

And without another thought, Astarion had rushed them like a man possessed, his entrance silent until he’d ripped Gale off her by the back of his robe and hurled him into the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. And there they were still while Astarion debated the wizard’s fate from a place of pure, unbridled anger, where only one thing could still permeate his red-tinted tunnel vision.

“Astarion, please,” Áine breathed raggedly. “It’s not worth it, just leave him!”

“It’s ‘not worth it’, is it?” he snarled. His addled mind translated Áine’s words to mean that she thought she wasn’t worth his ire and, bleeding Hells, was she ever wrong. “In what sense?”

��ine floundered for something, anything to dissuade him from the wizard pinned beneath him. And she could only come up with one thing. The truth.

She inhaled and her breath shook as much as her voice as she said, “Because I need you more than he does right now.”

It worked. Astarion hesitated, his eyes briefly flickering toward Áine on the ground and losing some of their blind wrath. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to steady as he regarded Gale. She was right about one thing—he reeked of wine and self-pity. 

Astarion growled low, but flicked his dagger away from Gale’s throat, sheathing it. Partway through standing, Astarion drew his fist back with inhuman speed and punched Gale once hard across his face. The wizard groaned, his hands going instinctively to cup where he’d been hit.

Astarion’s voice was all velvet and steel as he spoke down to Gale with a gesture toward Áine. “Thank her for being the sole reason you’ll walk from these woods tonight,” he ordered in a barely controlled snarl. When Gale didn’t immediately speak, Astarion roughly turned Gale’s head with the toe of his boot to face the bard. “Thank. Her.”

Gale’s nose was dripping red, a welt forming already under his eye at the apple of his cheek. Áine’s eyes were round with shock as she met his eyes and, wetly through a thin stream of tears and blood, he said, “...Thank you…”

“Very good,” Astarion muttered with venom, removing his boot from Gale’s cheek. “Now don’t speak to her again unless or until she permits it.”

The vampire stepped over the bloodied wizard and silently walked to his bard. He said nothing as he knelt, gathered her close, and plucked her off the grass, carrying her back to camp. He stayed silent when curious questions rose around them from their still-awake companions, ignoring them all. 

Áine found herself almost afraid to break the silence between them, but she didn’t have to as he gritted through his fangs, “Would you like me to take you to your tent?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head. “N-No.”

“Good,” he growled, his arms tightening around her as he ducked down and took her with him into his.

Next chapter: Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

[dez78]

A confession

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairings: Astarion x Artemis

Warnings: None just fluff

Summary: Astarion visits Artemis at camp one evening and confesses something to her.

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After speaking with Araj, the party of companions set up camp near Moonrise towers. It felt like night, but nobody could really tell, since the entire land was shrouded in darkness.

They were exhausted, so they figured they'd sleep off their recent journey. Protected by the fairy's moon light, the party settled in.

Artemis retreated to her own tent and started to remove her armor. As she was finally able to relax, she felt how strained her muscles were. She winced as she removed every piece of armor.

She sat down on her chair at her desk, removing her boots. The folds of her tent parted open slowly, she glanced up to see her fellow elven companion.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" He asked,

"Of course, what is it?" Artemis replied.

"I just wanted to thank you." Astarion started as he walked into her tent. Artemis stood up and got her night clothes out, she was standing in her undergarments.

"For what?" She questioned inquisitively as she dressed herself.

"For what you did, whilst I was in front of that vile drow." Astarion sneered as he frowned. Artemis was finishing up getting dressed as he spoke.

"I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered." Astarion poured out his feelings.

"You could have asked me to the same-to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned...!" He paused as he looked Artemis in the eyes,

".... But you didn't. And I'm grateful." He said softly, looking at her, really looking at her. Artemis approached him slowly. She could see the vulnerability; he didn't even attempt to hide it now.

"I don't want you to do anything, you're not comfortable with." Artemis told him with sincerity, he could see it in her eyes.

"It's a novel concept, I admit. And a little intimidating." Astarion started, Artemis just listened.

"It would have been so easy to bite her. To just go along with what I was being told to do. A moment of disgust to get myself through. and then I could have carried on, just like before." Astarion continued to explain.

"So why did you sleep with me? Did you think you'd get something from it?" Artemis questioned as she narrowed her eyes, her heart twinged with an all too familiar pain.

"Well of course, I needed protection. People don't trust vampires-perhaps understandably-so I needed to get someone on my side. And seducing you was easy, frankly." Astarion went on with his explanation. At this point, Artemis's heart broke. Tears well in her eyes.

"So, imagine how stupid I felt when I actually started to genuinely feel something for you." Astarion confessed and Artemis's tears quickly diminished and a look of surprise washed over her features.

"Trust me I was not happy about it. You were a complication I didn't see coming. And yet..." He stopped talking, searching Artemis's face.

"I care about you." She said,

"Really?" Was all Astarion said, but it sounded genuine.

Artemis smiled at him, she walked towards him and closed the gap between them. Astarion just stood there, completely dumbfounded. His arms stiff in the air as he looked down at Artemis. She hugged him tighter.

Slowly, Astarion relaxed and wrapped his arms around Artemis's waist, hugging her back. He was touched starved for two hundred years, surely sexual encounters happened, but never a genuine friendly hug for comfort.

This was the first time he had a hug since he was turned. He nuzzled into Artemis's shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. It felt so foreign but felt so good. He relished in the feeling of his friend's embrace.

Artemis stepped back; she caught a glimpse of Astarion's expression. Longing and the desire to hold her longer, not wanting to let go just yet.

"You're...You're full of surprises, aren't you?" He told her, still in shock.

"Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing or what comes next." Astarion said like a star struck boy. He stuck out his hand, Artemis looked at it before taking it.

Astarion pulled her closer, resting his hand on top of hers. They were silent for a moment as they looked at their hands.

"But I know this..." He started as he looked up, meeting Artemis's eyes.

"This is nice." He added with a smile and not that fake persuasive smile, it was his smile. Artemis returned her own smile. They stood there for a long moment just staring at each other.

Then boldly, Astarion broke their glance and stepped towards her, closing the space between them. He cupped Artemis jaw, she looked up at him through her lashes.

Then Astarion leaned into her, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. It wasn't anything like the first kiss they shared a few months prior. This kiss was real. It had true feelings behind it.

Their lips moved in smooth rhythm with one another. It's as if they were made to mold to each other, they fit perfectly together. Astarion kept his hand on Artemis's jaw, deepening their already passionate kiss.

When they pulled back from their kiss, they were still smiling. Astarion's hand lingered on Artemis's face a while longer before he retreated from her. He sighed in delight,

"You are perfect, every time." Was all he said. Artemis's face was flushed a bright pink.

"Well, we should get some rest." Astarion said after a brief silence, he retreated for the entrance of the tent; before leaving he peered over his shoulder and spoke in a low voice.

"Sweet dreams, darling."