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verbenaa · 3 days

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to eden | chapter 8

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.”She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E, 18+

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 14.8k 😮‍💨

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of torture/abuse, mild descriptions of blood/gore, striptease (?), fingering, cunnilingus, vampire bites (duh), handjobs, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Soft Dom Astarion returns 😌

𝒶/𝓃: hellooooo, sorry it's taken so long for me to get this written and posted! but it's here now and I very much hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts about the chapter, too!

ao3

masterlist

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

The air is quiet, the ever-present darkness lingering around them like a stagnant weight. Rin finds that she quite hates it, no matter how lovely the promise the warmth of Last Light Inn and its alcohol is to be.

Her fingers are poised on one of the delicate strings of her lyre as she strums it lightly, a low hum reverberating out from the instrument that fills the air with what she hopes will be something that sounds effortless, beautiful, ethereal.

She frowns at the sound of it from where she leans against a conveniently placed rock near the fire, the note falling flat as it dies in the silence of the dark night.

“You’re off.” A familiar voice echoes out from above, the sound of it supercilious and downright annoying, as she huffs out a breath in minute agitation.

With a turn of her head, Rin sends Astarion a withering look from where he lounges, imperious, on the rock right above her; a book held in his hand as he reads by the light of the roaring fire.

“And so is your stitching, but you don’t hear me calling you out on it, now do you?”

His stitching wasn’t, of course. It was always practiced, perfect, and near precise—Astarion as good with a needle as he was with a knife or an arrow.

But, as always, he didn’t have to know that. He has enough of an ego as it is and Rin has no intentions of adding to it unnecessarily.

Astarion flips the page with unnecessary force, his obvious agitation dragging a secret smile to her lips that she hides into the strings of her lyre.

He really made it far too easy to tease him, sometimes.

Astarion hmphs into the nighttime air, looking astutely back down at the book in his lap in an attempt to ignore her as she bites back a laugh that threatens to break free.

Rin turns her attention back to the instrument in her hands, fingers running down the carved edge of it as her mind wanders aimlessly in the silence and she stares out at the utterly boring landscape.

It was pretty, she supposes, if one cared for a setting devoid of most kinds of life. Ultimately, there was just not terribly much for her to look at, leaving her with nothing but the amusement of her own thoughts, much to her frustration.

There wasn’t much left for her to do but think, it seemed.

Rin had already eaten dinner while conversing with Gale; engaged in some gossip over a glass of wine with Shadowheart; discussed the merits of carnivorous fauna with Halsin; indulged Lae’zel in a practice sparring session (which she lost quite terribly, much to Astarion’s joy and Lae’zel’s disappointment at Rin’s apparent lack of skill); shared a nice pint from the inn with Karlach; and then watched on as Astarion drained poor Wyll dry of some gold in a game of cards (she’ll have to try to figure out how to get him his money back, one way or another).

She would probably have to beg Astarion to do it—something she was not eager to do, but would for the sake of Wyll and all his noble, princely goodness.

Perhaps she should try to steal it off of him, instead. It certainly would make for a good challenge, at the very least, provided she didn’t get caught doing it. Rin has no doubt the cost for that particular crime would be steep, one that she doesn’t know if she can afford to pay for.

Astarion already spent enough time in her thoughts as it was, the price nothing more than that of her precious yet dwindling sanity. She already feels as though she is slowly losing her mind every time she replays the events of the other night over in her head, no longer than a mere week ago.

She and Astarion had both quite politely ignored the events of that night, the memory of the closeness of their lips and the things she had said settling into the recesses of her mind as if they were nothing more than a dream, one that haunts her when she lays down her head onto her sad excuse for a pillow.

It was a lapse in judgment, at the very least. The klauthgrass had clearly addled her mind more than she thought when she looks back on it. It’s the only logical reason she would ever had said the things she did—whether spoken from her lips or written down in a letter never to be sent.

She also still needed to burn the damn letter, but that was neither here nor there.

What mattered was that they had settled back into their usual camaraderie, trading cutting words and sly smiles back and forth with one another as they had always done despite a brand new, gently simmering tension that now lay just underneath the surface.

But it was fine.

Rin was nothing if not an expert at ignoring the things that were bothering her, was she not? Their little…situation was simply that.

A situation.

One that was easily forgettable once she set her mind to actually forgetting about it.

Rin trades that particular line of thinking out with a deep exhale, shoving it back into a conveniently placed box in a corner of her mind and instead sets to retuning the instrument in her hands, worn pine both familiar and comforting as its weight rests against her.

Her wonderful, familiar lyre that had been with her for years now, through both thick and thin. It hadn’t helped her make terribly much gold, but it had been a better friend to her than any person had over the years.

She turns the pegs on the back of it little by little, tiny twists of her fingers adjusting the strings in a way she hopes will make her next attempt at song better and not worse.

The night flows by as she sits in the warmth of the fire, the soft crackles of the logs soothing as Rin retunes the instrument until she’s finally happy with what she hopes will be a drastic improvement to the earlier noise it had made.

With a satisfied sigh, Rin moves to strum at her lyre, fingers just about to touch the strings when a biting voice interrupts her.

“I do hope you didn’t make it worse. My poor ears can’t take much more abuse.”

Rin ignores the jab with a serene blink before deigning not to answer as her raised hand closes into a fist, nails biting into her palm as she prays to anyone listening for an ounce of patience.

In lieu of violence—despite him deserving it—she sees a perfect opportunity to turn the conversation from another of her apparent failures onto one of his instead.

She turns to look at him with a sly look, fixing him with clever eyes alight with mischief.

“You know, Astarion, I happened to read something quite interesting in one of the books I found at The Waning Moon.”

Astarion turns another page in his book as he feigns disinterest, but his eyes don’t scan the rows of elvish decorating the page in neatly printed rows. “Oh? Do tell, then. Was it something violent? Gory? Scandalous?”

“Scandalous, certainly. I seem to have come across a small little volume that contained a list,” Rin’s brows waggle conspiratorially. “A list of banned patrons.”

Astarion’s interest is firmly piqued as soon as she says the words, finally looking up from the tome in his lap to focus on her, indifference giving way to a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“You should have said so from the start. Tell me more, darling, what are the offenses? Give me all the sordid details.”

He leans in closer from his seat above her, Astarion and his flair for the dramatic never failing to amuse her and she can’t help the equally wicked smile that spreads across her lips in response.

“Most of them were ordinary—you know, the standard. Bar fights, skipping the bill, unnecessary wanton activity with a pickle. But there was one that really stuck out to me, quite a striking description frankly. I think it said something along the lines of ‘a pale elf with a snide mouth’ that apparently insulted someone of particular importance. Sound familiar?”

“Well, whoever they are sounds like they had a fantastic time to me.” His smile is devious as he smirks. “In fact, I’d say that whoever it was deserved such words.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure the insults thrown were of the highest calibre, as well.”

Astarion grin is a roguish one that looks terribly handsome on his features but something heavy intercedes over the amusement in his eyes as the deeper meaning behind that seemingly small and unimportant notation sinks in.

The smirk falls slowly from Astarion’s lips, a slight darkness settling across the features of his face as the corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly.

Ah. Of course.

“You have no memory of ever coming here, do you?” She softens her voice, only slightly, but she has no doubt Astarion notices the change regardless.

“No. I’ve already told you I don’t have many memories from my life before Cazador,” He snaps. “But clearly I’ve here before. Obviously.”

Rin had given some thought to the presumed Astarion of before in the rare moments of peace that were few and far in between, when her mind was free to wander before sleep overtook her.

The Astarion that existed before the tadpole, before Cazador. Back when his heart still beat and his skin was flushed with life. Astarion, with not-red eyes, wearing finely tailored silks and wools, drinking the richest of wines; for he was sure to have been wealthy.

She had spent many years watching the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate from her place on the streets, staring up into their windows at twilight to watch them swoon and twirl in their finery, and Astarion moved like the best of them—graceful and elegant, proud and arrogant.

He had been a magistrate, or so he had said.

She could only trust so many of the words that come from his lips, but somehow the image of Astarion in ostentatious robes handing down whatever judgement he deemed worthy is far too easy for her to envision for her to entirely disbelieve the notion.

But he must have had a family, surely.

Parents, siblings, friends—perhaps even a lover or two. Or three, knowing him.

Gods forbid he had sired any children.

But the implication remains all the same. So many questions, almost all of which he may never know the answers to.

“You should be proud, Astarion.” Rin attempts a tiny bit of levity, though it doesn’t seem to help. “An annoyance both alive and undead. Not many could ever hope to achieve such a thing.”

“Well,” he sniffs with an air of put-on pride, smile weak. “It’s nice to know I’m consistent, at least.”

“You did get thrown out of a tavern last time you were here. Perhaps this trip to sweet, little Reithwin is faring much better than the one prior. Your last visit didn’t have me present, after all.”

“My last visit was probably still more peaceful, I’d wager. I doubt I was busy being vexed by a senseless blonde bard all the while having a worm buried in my head.” His voice raises a few octaves as he narrows his eyes at her.

She would rather have his ire than his sorrow, it’s a much better sight than the mournful look beginning to creep over his features.

“Presumably weren’t being vexed by a senseless blonde bard.” Rin shoots Astarion a small smile. “Maybe you have a type.”

He only gives a mirthless laugh in response.

“I am sorry, Astarion. I wish you were able to remember more.”

Astarion sighs, uncharacteristically defeated and the sound of it has her chest tightening.

“Yet another thing I can add to the unending list of things that Cazador took from me. From us.”

“Us?” Rin muses over the word, the answer to a question she had long considered but never managed to ask, not amongst the seemingly never-ending amount of things that popped up on their list to be taken care of. “So, you aren’t the only one, then? Of Cazador’s spawn, I mean.”

She briefly worries she’s overstepped an invisible boundary, that Astarion will shut her down and storm away without another word, leaving her with no answer to the question.

Her curiosity about him grows with every passing day and she simply wants to know more about him.

Not the charming, surface level vanity he would normally put forward for her, but the real Astarion.

The one who tells her and only her small stories about himself and his life, the one who responds to her silly little letters, the one who had thanked her, with actual gratitude, drawing of his scars in hand.

The Astarion who—for some unfathomable reason—no matter how much he may complain or insult her, still chooses her above all others to spend his time with.

Rin turns to look up at him, the straightening of his spine obvious even in the darkness of the camp. Astarion, for his part, takes her question in stride, though there’s a telltale tightness around his mouth that signals his ever-present bitterness at Cazador’s mention.

He nods, the motion stiff as Rin’s brows draw together into a frown.

“There were seven of us, in all. Brothers and sisters, as he liked to call us. Quite the family.” Astarion lets out a derisive laugh, words acrimonious as he spits them out.

Ruby red eyes look ahead, his gaze catching on nothing in particular as he stares at the barren world on the other side of the water, the landscape as bleak as his expression.

“But I was one of his first. He was a monster to us all. Tortured us. Carved the same thing into my back as he did into all of theirs. But Cazador took a special pleasure in my pain. In my screams. He said my screams sounded sweetest.”

And oh, how her heart twists to hear the fragile timbre of his voice as his breath hitches, an undercurrent of agony flowing so readily and truthful from him.

Rin averts her eyes as his voice breaks on the last few words, settling her vision on one of the red ferns flowing in the ever-present breeze in an attempt to let him keep some of his suffering to himself, to leave some of his dignity in tact.

It’s the least she can do.

“And now that I’m gone…I don’t know. I pity the other six.” Astarion takes a deep, bracing breath, his sorrow palpable, and Rin’s chest aches again.

She doesn’t have anything to say, and how could she?

Oh, terribly sorry you spent two centuries being tortured unendingly. That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve it, Astarion.

No, any words of consolation she has only seem to fall flat in the face of his misery. He doesn’t need her to tell him about how horrible it is, how neither he nor his siblings deserved the pain, the anguish, the endless torture that Cazador dished out on a whim to bend and break them all to his will.

The only thing Rin can think to give him is her own paltry attempt at comfort as she leans in towards him slowly until her head rests just against the side of his leg in silent consolation.

He doesn’t like to be touched at the best of times, but somehow she knows he would hate the inevitable pity he would choose to find in her words much worse.

Astarion freezes, muscles tensing as if in wait for something, sending a sharp look down at the messily braided head now resting against his knee. But when nothing other than the presence of her subtle weight leaning against him ever comes, the only movement she makes the easy in and out of her breathing, he relaxes slightly.

Rin doesn’t dare to look up at him, instead returning her attention back to the lyre still in her arms. With a careful hand, her fingers come up to strum at a string, followed by another and another and another; music flowing out from the instrument in a slow, soft melody.

It’s nothing in particular that the plays; no well-known song or tune, only a series of notes and chords she pieces together with minimal thought that somehow manages to sound more lovely than anything she’s had luck playing the past week.

Eventually, she hears the soft rustle of a page being flipped once more as Astarion returns to his book, no words spoken to break the silence between them as Rin keeps her head resting just against him, playing her song just for him.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

She should know better, by now, than to ever be surprised by the horrors they come across—and yet, as she had walked into the operating theatre of the so-called House of Healing, her footsteps quiet over the dark, ornate, and rotting woodwork, she still managed to be shocked by what she beheld as she had peeked over the railing.

She had noticed the man first. It was impossible to not have when his blood, a bright red incarnadine, was splattered across the walls and dripping onto the floors in sickly streams. She followed the trail of it to the source, taking in the carnage of his body; eyes no more than bloodied pits and mouth opened in silent scream as he writhes on the table, somehow still alive despite the butchering of his body.

A moment later, her eyes drifted over to Doctor Malus Thorm in all his horror; elbow deep in his victim’s innards with hands that were no longer quite hands, digits turned instead into some sort of mechanical claws as he lectures aloud to the sightless nurses who stood uselessly around the body.

She had stepped into that theatre expecting a battle, her own blood to be added to all that had already been spilled and soaked into the grooves in the wood over the many years.

Instead, she managed something quite different. Something possibly worse.

She hadn’t assumed that she would be able to kill him with only her words, not when the menace of him spelled violence and promised pain, a Shar devotee to the bitter end.

And yet, it was with words that she had convinced him to sacrifice himself to his nurses, a dark turn of events that somehow seemed to fit the narrative of this terrible place all too well.

She blames the power she feels when his body finally gives its last, miserable breath on the shadow curse, on the innate darkness of this place, on the tadpole.

Any excuse works, so long as it covers up the fact that she had liked it.

It was the very same power she had felt when the other two Thorms fell; silvered words falling off her tongue to bend them to her will and end them both without her having to lift a single, gloved finger.

It had only been a small inconvenience to finish off the remaining Sisters of Mercy after they had done Rin’s dirty work for her, their trepans and bonesaws no match for her rapier, Karlach’s axe, Shadowheart’s spells, and Astarion’s blood thirst.

Her heart still beats too quick, the sound of it loud in her ears as she stands stock still on a bated breath—in fear, in anxiety, in a strange and twisted excitement.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

Rin wants nothing to do with it.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Shadowheart remarks quietly with a laugh from beside her, breaking the silence of the aftermath. There’s a new awe present in the cleric’s voice that Rin hates the sound of.

Rin looks at her friend with a small smile. “So long as you don’t get in the way of me and a good time, we’ll be dandy.”

“I wouldn’t dare after that performance.” Shadowheart laughs, a twinkling little sound, and it breaks up a bit of the nerves that had settled in her chest.

“Well. That was positively sickening. Who knew there would be so much fun to be found here?” Astarion sheathes his dagger with a twist of his wrist, the added flourish elegant as blood flicks off the blade and splatters onto the ground. “Though I do wish for a more satisfying kill. I’m in desperate need of a snack.”

Karlach claps a hand on Astarion’s shoulder with enough force that he only just manages to keep his footing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something else alive for you to sink your fangs into.”

“Does all that blood not quite do it for you, Astarion?” Shadowheart gestures with a raised brow to the drops of blood still dripping off of the surgical table, a nauseating mixture of both the man's and Thorm’s blending together.

“Hardly.” Astarion crinkles his nose at the thick, dark ichor. “I’ve had worse, but it smells terrible and I can’t imagine it tastes much better.”

Rin glances up at Astarion beside her, taking in his somehow paler than normal complexion and a thought hits her, her brow furrowing in consideration.

When was the last time he had fed?

And what on?

He had been subsisting on a diet of—well, mostly her, honestly; along with the occasional forest creature.

Astarion certainly hadn’t tasted her since their last night on the Mountain Pass, longer than he’s ever gone without her blood since his first feed from her all those moons ago.

Rin had become so used to his little visits, popping into her tent during the evening to have his fill of her—blood and more. The absence of them since has felt surprisingly stark, a loss she didn’t realize she would mourn in the wake of the palpable tension that had settled between them no matter how hard they each attempted to ignore it.

For just as surely as he hadn’t drank from her neck, he had not come to taste the rest of her either; their nights spent instead trading remarks back and forth by the fire.

Not that she was complaining.

Quite the contrary.

She had found herself growing quite fond of this new aspect of their relationship that they had eased into; trading stories and anecdotes with each other over a bottle of wine or a game of cards, he reading his books while she plays her music, Astarion working on his stitching as she looks on and inevitably bothers him with her presence.

It was…nice. Normal, almost.

Or whatever their version of nice and normal was.

Rin snaps herself out of her thoughts with a blink and turns to her companions with a nod, hoping the daze she was in doesn’t show on her face. “Right then. Let’s loot, shall we?”

They meander their way about the rest of the room, navigating their way around the bodies and books scattered about the floor, some of the thin pages now soaked with the blood of the fallen. They don’t find terribly much, some gold here or an interesting text there.

But mostly, it’s all useless.

Rin thinks that at one time, the quatrefoil tiles lining the floors of this place must have been beautiful—crisp, clean white contrasting against vibrant blue.

Now, though, they are covered in long streaks of dark, sticky blood, the ichor long staining tile and grout alike; the corners of them chipping as they step over them on their way out of the long hallway at the entry of the building.

Rin falls back beside Astarion as they make their way onto the uneven cobblestones of Reithwin, gnarled roots threatening to trip her as they grow up in between the grooves. With a small smile and nod, she gestures for Shadowheart to take the lead, the cleric walking ahead as her long braid bounces behind her.

She falls into step with him easily, matching his pace as she keeps her eyes ahead, always on the lookout for what the next danger to jump out at them will be.

“Have you been hunting recently?” It’s a casual question, no accusation in her tone as she stretches her arms behind her back.

Astarion casts a surreptitious glance her way, eyes wandering across her profile as she stays looking ahead. “There’s precious little living here, my dear.”

“Then why haven’t you come to me? You’ve never cared about bothering me before when you would pop into my tent unannounced.”

“I-” Astarion looks away from her for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I assumed you needed a break to…replenish your sources."

His non-answer has one of Rin’s brows drawing up in skepticism, which he readily ignores. However, the thought of him perhaps not coming to her for her own health is almost sweet, if believable.

If.

She’s not so sure that it’s the truth, but she will take it at face value, for now.

“Astarion,” she leans towards him to give him a slight nudge with her elbow, the touch light. “I think my ‘sources’ have been thoroughly replenished. You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.”

It would be careless of her, as a leader, to let him continue to starve himself. She’s only doing the most responsible thing by offering herself up to him again. It’s for the better of their entire party and Faerûn at large, wasn’t it? The Absolute wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, after all.

And if it happened to mean she got to spend a little extra time with him—well, that would be nothing more than luck on her part.

“Well, if you’re offering, sweet thing,” His lips curl up in a smirk, eyes alight with a predator’s gleam at the promise of her blood. “Come find me in my tent tonight, darling, and we shall feast.”

“Feast? Shall there be something there for me then, as well?” Rin releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and glances up at him with a small, secret smile that has a corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“Only the best for my favorite little treat.”

“Careful, you’ll spoil me.” If only, she thinks, and the thought is terribly traitorous as she bites down on a corner of her lip in hopes of stopping the pink that threatens to rise to her cheeks.

But from the answering smirk on Astarion’s face as they venture further into the into the crushing darkness of Reithwin’s destroyed streets she thinks he must able to glean the thought on his own.

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin steels herself outside the flap of Astarion’s tent, readying herself for whatever waits for her inside. She isn’t sure why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fed from her before.

Or slept with her, for that matter.

There’s no flickering flame to be seen from the outside of his tent, nothing to give her any sort of hint of what possibly awaits her inside aside from him, his silhouette undecipherable in the darkness.

With a deep breath, she pulls the flap to the side and steps forward, a familiar scent—rich brandy curling together with earthy rosemary and fresh bergamot—swirling in the air as her eyes land on the vampire in question.

“Well,” Astarion lounges casually against his bedroll as his eyes find her own, leaning back on his elbows with enviable ease as a silver goblet rests beside him. “Hello there, darling.”

Her eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of his chest, the sight of him waiting for her shirtless so reminiscent to that first night together that she pulls up short.

It felt like eons ago, now; her traipsing through the forest outside of the Emerald Grove to find him waiting in a picturesque clearing for her and her alone. While there was no soft grass with charming little flowers to decorate the ground and no glittering moonlight to beam down upon them and highlight their skin as they moved together—she feels just as out of her depth now as she did then, when she had discovered him with his shirt already off and honeyed words just waiting to fall from his lips.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long again.” Rin snatches her eyes up from his chest to meet his own, a smirk already decorating his lips at her momentary distraction.

“Oh, I’ll always wait for you, beautiful.” Her eyes roll despite herself as she lets out a huff at such trite words.

“Did you need a nibble or should I see myself out?” She points behind herself to the exit of his tent for emphasis, brow arched.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?” Astarion answers a touch too quickly as he sits up a little higher, body tensing as if ready to jump up in the event she were to actually leave. “I would so hate to see you go.”

He must be hungry, then, if he’s so desperate for her presence.

Rin smiles at him as she looks around the tent expectantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she spies not a single treat aside from an empty goblet she presumes to be for her. “You know, I recall you promising me a feast.”

Astarion has the audacity to not look even the tiniest bit sheepish as her eyes narrow and her bottom lip juts out into a pout, a noise of frustration escaping from her lips. She should have known better than to trust a vampire when it came to procuring treats.

“I’m short on baked goods, pet, but I can promise you something else delicious instead.” His intent is obvious as he sends her a decidedly suggestive look. “Won’t you give me a show first, though?”

“I didn’t realize you were in need of entertainment, Astarion. I could always bring Volo in to recite some poetry while you dine, if you’d like.”

“A charming idea, to be sure.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “But I was thinking of something a little more…intimate.”

Astarion eyes her form tip to toe as she stands in front of him, but it lacks the casual closeness she’s come to expect from him, something in the forced insincerity of the gesture grating.

“Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile,” He gestures passively with a wave of his hand through the air towards where she stands as he continues. “Get yourself out of those wretched clothes, for example. You look much prettier without them on, anyways.”

Irritation sparks along the line of her mouth, emerald eyes sharpening as she stares at him. Weeks ago, the words would have had her blushing and the beginnings of desire kindling in her belly; but now they fall lifeless upon her ears, none of the ease and familiarity she has come to enjoy during their little interludes present in them.

The words are merely mechanic—as calculated and practiced as they were on that very first night.

Worse, it doesn’t even seem like he enjoys saying the words, the sound of them hollow as they leave his mouth and the smirk pasted on his lips halfhearted.

It feels utterly obvious once she realizes what he’s trying to do and she can see through his ill-prepared idea with ease, this little power play of his nothing more than a paltry attempt to control their situation, some sort of damage control after the other night.

They’ve both given too much of themselves now to return to the shallow, impersonal relationship they once had whether he likes it or not, and Rin will be damned if she lets him call the shots and force them back to the beginning.

But, if Astarion wants to play a game—well, she’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to win.

Rin looks down at her clothes with a pointed look and while they were perhaps nothing fancy—the oversized linen and worn leather may be simple but they were far from wretched.

“Well. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Her smile is an inch too wide to be believable, betraying her irritation. “Shall I do a twirl for you as well? Or perhaps you would like a little trick?”

Rin holds up her hand, ready to ignis the damned tent if necessary to illustrate her point. Nothing that a few gold and a trip to dear Withers couldn’t fix if she accidentally managed to char him in the process.

“You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.” She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

His eyes are drawn quickly back to the center of his tent when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, returning to Rin just in time to catch a glimpse of her hands running down the front of her blouse. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one, if you ask me.”

Astarion frowns, opening his mouth to protest before quickly shutting it as her hands reach the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the worn leather. Rin raises her brow, a teasing smile forming on her lips now that she has his attention.

Any irritation she feels is tempered by the thrill of Astarion’s gaze so set on her, his complete focus hers and hers alone as honest interest finally sparks to life in those red eyes of his.

With little flourish she begins to pull her leggings down her legs, peeling the pants away from her skin with less grace than she would prefer, but it would have to do. She kicks them to the side once she frees herself from them, uncaring where they land as she adjusts to the cool air of the night against newly bared skin that Astarion’s eyes rove.

“Do you think I should take this off next?” She thumbs at the hem of her shirt, examining the fraying stitching at the hem in desperate need of a mend. She’d have to ask Astarion to do it for her, damn it. “Since you find it so offensive and all that.”

“Be my guest, darling.” He gestures with a hand towards the garment, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll even do you a favor and burn it for you for later.”

“How kind of you to go through all the trouble.”

Rin’s smile is wry as she grabs the hem of her plain tunic and deftly lifts it over her head before dropping it.

It drifts to the ground, fluttering down softly to fall in a graceless heap beside her bare legs, Astarion’s eyes darkening ever so slightly at the sight of her in nothing more than an unadorned corset and plain underwear, upping her confidence tenfold as she lets a corner of her mouth lift.

“I suppose you’ll want to burn this too?” She runs her fingers teasingly across the top edge of the corset, her touch light as she brushes against the cotton and the plush of her breasts where they spill out above the garment.

She hadn’t worn it with the intent of being admired, but when Astarion’s eyes follow every brush of her fingers against her breasts she’s suddenly quite grateful that she had chosen to wear it tonight instead of opting to go without as she normally would have, if only for it to act as a different kind of armor—one last layer to bolster her defenses in a battle she will surely lose.

Astarion swallows, legs shifting slightly as his eyes caress over her curves. “We can negotiate the corset.”

“Your kindness truly knows no bounds.” Her fingers hover over the looped bow that sits at her breasts, tied in a hurry earlier after she had changed out of her armor.

The corset itself was nothing more than a plain ivory cotton—no expensive satin or fine boning—but when she pulls at the laces keeping the pretty little bow tied at the center of her cleavage, the tiniest bit of her full breasts exposed with the motion, the look in Astarion’s eyes could fool her into thinking it was the finest thing he had ever seen.

Little by little, she pulls every cross of the laces, freeing more and more of herself with every delicate yank of her fingers as Astarion’s eyes obediently follow every inch of skin exposed until she reaches the last one, tugging it gently to loosen the final cross.

It hangs loose around her form, the curve of her breasts just visible with the line of skin exposed down her chest. Rin wills her hands to steady under Astarion’s study as she brings them up to the straps on her shoulders, pushing each one off so she can shrug out of the garment.

With one last push, the corset falls to the ground at her feet and she steps out of the circle of it before sending it aside with a soft kick.

Rin’s breasts pebble in the cool air, heat beginning to curl deep in her stomach under Astarion’s watchful gaze. She keeps her limbs loose, relaxed; her face at ease as she meets his eyes.

“You aren’t quite finished yet, my sweet.” Astarion’s voice is tight as he gestures with a brief nod towards her nearly naked form, gaze moving from her bare breasts and down lower to linger on her still-clothed center.

“You know, I think I’ve grown tired of being your entertainment,” She cocks her head to the side, unbound waves of darkened wheat—the color barely discernible in the darkness of his tent—cascading with the movement. “If you want them off so badly, do it yourself.”

He raises a brow in question but obliges her nonetheless, moving from where he had been so indolently reclined against his bedroll as he watches her with keen eyes.

With slow, careful steps Astarion makes his way towards where she stands before him and she is helpless but to admire the way his muscles shift on his lithe form, the grace with which he moves as he stalks closer to her that of a predator on the hunt for his prey.

And what was she, she supposes, if not his prey? It was why she had come here tonight, after all—to let him drink his fill of her blood with his lips at her neck, sucking down her life’s essence to his heart’s content.

She certainly feels like his prey, at least. How could she feel anything but when he moves around her in a slow circle, eyes brushing over her bared skin like a lover’s caress, knowing and intimate.

Astarion moves around her in another perfect circle before he finishes his perusal, stopping to stand behind her close enough to touch, his bare chest almost brushing against her spine. Familiar hands come to her waist as his head lowers to rest upon her shoulder, thumbs rubbing light circles into the skin.

His lips press a featherlight kiss to her jaw that has her catching a breath. “Who said you were in charge here, my dear?”

His touch is electric against her skin, and Rin resists the urge to lean back into him, to press against the coolness of his chest and relish the feeling of his skin on hers. His mouth is terribly distracting where he adorns her with little kisses across the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck, and she briefly wonders if he means to bite her just like this, held tight in the circle of his arms.

“Whoever said that you were?” Rin counters back with a glance out of the corner of her eye to where his cheek rests against her shoulder, ignoring the wetness that has begun to pool between her thighs.

She has no intention of giving into his every want and demand, or at least not yet.

The hands bracketing her waist begin to move despite his protests, sliding down over her hips with frustrating slowness until he reaches the hem of her embarrassingly simple underwear.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Astarion sighs dramatically against the column of her throat. “Must you be so difficult?"

There’s an unexpected fondness in his voice, an affection that she can’t remember if she’s ever heard so openly from him before that has the air around them changing; shifting from something practiced and performative to familiar and lovely and absolutely perfect.

The sound of it has a shred of something warm blossoming in Rin’s chest—unknown but not entirely unwelcome, she decides.

He plays at the edge of her panties, fingers toying with the thin cotton where it rests against her skin on either hip, his touch sending another wave of heat straight to her core as she bites back a sigh at the sensation.

“You should be aware by now that listening has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion’s fingers hook into both sides of her underwear before beginning to pull, the garment sliding down over her hips and bottom as Astarion sinks down with it. “You seem to remember how to follow my instructions when it counts, dearest.”

He drops silently to his knees behind Rin, dragging her underwear down her legs as he goes, each slide of the fabric against her skin only serving to heighten the heat kindling inside her. She gingerly steps out of each leg, desperately wishing she could see what he must look like lowered behind her in such a manner—the sight of him on his knees surely one that she has seen in her dreams of him.

But before she can make up her mind to steal a glance or even just turn, Astarion is gliding back up her body, hands glancing against her skin as he goes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“You know, I thought I came here for you to feed on.” It’s an effort to keep her voice steady as his arms wrap back around her waist, touch cool against her skin.

His head lowers back to her ear, lips brushing against the shell as a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. “Oh, you did. But I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun as well. It’s been awhile, darling, and I’ve missed you.”

A hand traces down her stomach in a teasing touch; long, sweeping lines of his fingertips back and forth across her skin brushing down until he reaches the apex of her thighs.

Astarion moves at a glacial pace as his fingers dip lower and lower until they find their way to her center, swiping through her folds to spread her essence on the tips of them as Rin’s head falls back onto his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as he explores.

“Miss my blood or miss me?” Rin’s lashes flutter shut as he runs his fingers up and down her, careful to avoid the two places she wants him to touch most as she flushes at the evidence of her arousal he finds.

“Can’t it be both?” His fingers finally find her entrance, tracing around the edge in slow circles as she sharply inhales.

She’s not ready to admit how much she wants to believe him that he had missed her, had missed this—the easy intimacy they had been building together bit by bit. It’s a dizzying thought, one that has her heart skipping a beat that he surely can hear this close.

“With you? Unlikely.”

“Why, you think so little of me, darling.” Astarion punctuates his words with the press of a finger slowly in; and were it any other time, the mock outrage coloring his voice would draw a laugh from her.

This time, however, he draws a moan from her instead as he pushes deeper, seating his finger inside her before slowly withdrawing.

“Give me more to think about, then.” Rin sighs, lips opened as she tries to still her hips.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiles into her skin, lips brushing against the column of her throat as he pushes back in, sliding home to the knuckle.

Her mind ceases to a halt on whatever clever words she had been preparing when a hand draws up to her breast and cups it, Astarion’s touch a balm against her over-warm skin as he runs his thumb over the hardened peak.

Astarion’s finger moves only barely inside her, but it’s enough for Rin to feel it, friction building in her core with the simple motion. She should be embarrassed by how quickly he has worked her up, her ire so easily forgotten when wrapped in his arms and at the mercy of his skilled hands.

He’s lucky that she likes him, for she would never allow anyone else such lenience. Though, she would never allow anyone else the opportunity to get quite so close to her, either—a thought that borders on terrifying if she thinks too long about it.

A second finger joins the first, and she welcomes the slight stretch as he finally begins to pump them while he mouths at her neck, moving in a steady rhythm that has a fire burning deep in her core as she moans in relief.

Astarion’s pace is easy and unconcerned as he thrusts in and out lazily, slowly building her up higher and higher with every press forward. Her curls pillow against his pale skin as she sighs at the pleasure coursing through her, that welcome heat billowing deep inside her. His thumb finds her clit and rolls against it in soft circles as her lips open in a low moan, limbs tightening at the added touch.

The hand cupping her breast runs back down to her waist to wrap around the circle of it, fingertips stroking her skin as he secures her closer to him and the outline of his cock presses hard against her ass.

Rin can feel the grin he hides in her neck as he breathes in the scent of her and his fingers curl, searching for the place to make her fall apart under his hands. He moves them just right, finding that one spot, and she cries out as her hips buck into his palm.

“Ah, Astarion!”

“Yes, darling?” He curls his fingers again and she practically melts in his hold, the arm he has wrapped around her waist squeezing tighter to keep her upright. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He could finish her off so easily, the bastard; only a few more presses of his fingers and she would be done for, but Rin doubts that Astarion has plans to let her off so easily.

Astarion has never outright denied her the release she craves, but he certainly likes to make her work for it.

“Only that I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out sounding more wanting than she would prefer, but she’s beyond the point of summoning up a care.

Astarion tsks, and as if on cue his fingers slow to a stop before pulling them from her body. Rin whines in protest as she lifts her head to glare at him, narrowed eyes meeting amused ones as he simply smirks back at her.

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that.”

Astarion spins her around in his hold, her breasts pressing against his own bare chest as his hands run up and down her waist. A quick glance down and she can see the evidence of his own arousal, his cock pushing urgently against her stomach, still hidden by pants that she needs to rid him of preferably sooner rather than later.

“Liar. You heard me just fine.” Rin’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in closer to him.

“It’s neither here nor there.” Astarion begins to walk her back, the two of them stepping together as he leads her towards his bedroll. “There’s no need to rush. Now, lay down.”

Rin arches her brow at his bossiness, but doesn’t argue as she lowers herself to the ground and spreads herself out on his bedroll. She frowns when she sits, the surface not nearly as soft as it should be, an unfamiliar hardness beneath her.

“Astarion, what in the hells is it that I am sitting on?” She shifts to peek underneath the blankets, spying some sort of wooden thing underneath her.

“Are you really going to ruin the mood to ask me about something so stupid? You are truly impossible.” Astarion looks down on her with a pointed scowl as he moves to kneel down before her, his lithe muscles shifting as he crawls over to her in smooth movements.

“I’m not the one sleeping on a plank of wood every night. Have you no standards for good night’s trance? No wonder you’re so touchy all the time.”

He’s upon her in mere moments, an elegant hand finding the space just below her collar bone as he only answers her with a stern look. This thumb runs along the line of it, brushing against the skin as his eyes follow the motion.

Rin looks down at the hand poised on her chest, so pale against the sun-warmed gold of her own, and brings her own up to run fingertips down the back of his. She swears she can see him shiver at the touch, a barely noticeable intake of his breath as her hand rests on top of his.

Astarion’s eyes cut up to hers, and with a raise of his brow, he pushes her backwards.

Rin lets him do it, lowering herself back with the help of his little push until her head hits his pillow, a rush of his scent surrounding her as she lays. His hand still rests on the skin of her chest, the weight of it like a scorching brand as she stares up at Astarion as he cages himself above her.

She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks down upon her, hair most likely curling in an unruly halo around her head and cheeks undoubtedly colored an unbecoming shade of pink, but his eyes run over what feels like every inch of her face before his hand begins to move, tracing a featherlight line down her skin.

Her stomach jumps underneath the drag of his fingertips as his touch stops low, their eyes meeting together in a heated glance as Rin waits with bated breath.

Astarion’s head lowers towards her, and her heart beats a little faster at the thought of his lips meeting hers, the want she has been blatantly ignoring the past week begging to break free from its confines safe in the corner of her mind.

But instead, Astarion’s lips find her neck, placing a kiss on the two pinprick scars that decorate the column of it before running them across her skin—kissing over her collar, upon the peak of her breast, down her ribs one by one.

She gasps at the feeling as he drags his lips down her body, her skin flushed with desire.

He’s kissing the sensitive skin just below her stomach with teasing presses of his lips when she speaks, breathless and wanting. “Astarion, don’t you want to feed?”

Cool hands travel down the curve of her waist and over her hips before reaching her soft skin of her thighs, palms running over the tops of them as he settles himself in between her legs.

“Oh, I do.” Astarion makes to spread her thighs further, pushing them wide. “Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll get my fill.”

Rin’s cheeks fill with heat as he moves his gaze to her bare center, running claret eyes over her as she sucks in a breath. With little ceremony, his head moves forward and his tongue glides along her center, lapping at her wetness.

Her hips buck up into Astarion’s face as she reaches down to grab at his soft, downy curls as he circles the pearl at the top of her sex, the tip of his tongue light as he traces shapes along it.

He laps at her clit as she tries to quiet her mouth, holding back her moans and cries as best she can as he works her up ever higher. With a last circle, Astarion’s tongue ventures further down, abandoning her clit to instead run through her folds, groaning at the taste of her before exploring the wetness that has collected at her entrance.

“Asta—” Rin gasps sharply as his tongue traces around the edge of her, so like he had with his finger earlier—ever teasing. He dips in her entrance, the tip of it whorling against her before pushing deeper.

Her hands scrabble for purchase in his hair as he licks inside her, eating her out in earnest as her thighs tremble around his head. She swears that she can feel him chuckle against her as he tastes, tongue curling inside her as she grasps his soft curls harder between her fingers.

He thrusts his tongue deep and she keens, back arching off the bedroll as her hips roll against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling deep inside her with every press of his tongue. It’s a different sensation than that of his fingers, but no less welcome or wonderful as the feeling in her belly tightens more and more.

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh.

“Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the frosty pain warring against the heat surging through her limbs as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her.

Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the threadbare blanket below her.

The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that falls from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing.

“There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly, over and over again, and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.”

Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him, Rin comes.

A hand unclenches from the blanket to cover her mouth as she muffles her moan into her palm, back arching as precious heat courses through her limbs and her hips writhe.

Pleasure whites out her thoughts as Astarion fucks her through her orgasm with his fingers; lips and mouth still pullings sips of her blood from her thigh all the while.

She comes back to herself as his fingers slow and he peppers kisses to her leg, lapping up any stray drops as they fall from the wound. Astarion pulls his fingers from her gently, another hum of satisfaction breaking free as he brings them to his mouth and sucks, tongue licking her come clean from the digits.

She’s still floating in a euphoric haze when Astarion finally rises from between her thighs, appetite sated and pale skin flushed with the slightest hint of pink from the blood that once belonged to her now flowing through his veins.

His mouth is glistening with her—her blood, her arousal, her scent. She’s entranced by the sight of it as Astarion licks his rouged lips, tongue swiping at a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that threatens to roll down his chin.

“Did I taste as good as you had hoped?” Rin’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath in the aftermath, the words no more than a whisper.

A corner of Astarion’s mouth lifts upward as he runs his eyes over her; from his mark on her thigh, over her sex, and up her flushed form beneath him until he meets her eyes. “Better.”

Rin’s breath hitches as he kisses his way back up her body with warmed lips, leaving a trail of red upon her skin with every touch of his lips, small blooms of her crimson blood like stains of watercolor.

He kisses up the valley between her breasts before turning his head, lips running over the plump curve of one before capturing her nipple, sucking at it before flicking his tongue against the bud. Rin’s back arches at the unexpected touch, more heat already kindling as he gives it a hard suck.

Astarion pops off her breast to kiss towards its twin, her hands burying back in his hair as he sucks at her other nipple, laving it with his tongue as a whine breaks free from her lips before she urges him higher, fingertips running through his curls.

He obliges, placing one last kiss upon the tip of her breast before moving to bury his head in her neck, licking a line up the column of her throat, the very tip of his tongue tracing a thrumming vein.

Rin wraps her arms around his shoulders, hands running over the corded muscle as he slots himself between her legs, his still-clothed erection brushing against the too-sensitive skin of her thighs.

It simply wouldn’t do, she decides.

“Let me touch you. Please,” she runs her hands down his chest to dance over his skin until she reaches the waistband of his pants, his cock painfully hard as it strains against the fabric. “I want to touch you, Astarion.”

She’s taking a chance by asking, but it’s one she’s willing to try her luck for.

Despite how many times she’s enjoyed the feeling of him inside her or how well he’s come to learn her body, he’s never quite allowed her the same opportunity to touch or taste him.

She knows enough of his past—he’s told her plenty of the many different people he had taken for Cazador against his will and under duress, his body used without the ability and choice to say no.

“I want to make you feel good too, Astarion.” Rin peers up into his eyes, fingers no longer trailing along him as she pauses, waiting patiently for a real answer. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze is intense as it meets her own, the heated desire in his eyes tempering for a moment to give way to a tentative vulnerability that crosses over them as he considers her words.

“I-” Astarion speaks softer than she had expected as he breaks off, gaze intent on hers as the weight of the implication that he has a choice—one that is his and his only to make—bears down on him. “—I do.”

“Only if you want me to. You have to promise me that you want it.” She urges, hands flattening on his abdomen as excitement stirs in her chest.

“Fine. I promise that I want it.” Astarion snaps, but his words lack any real bite as a corner of his lips quirk up into a crooked smile. “Show me what you’ve got, then, if you’re so eager.”

Rin moves slow as her hand slides back down his pants and over the curve of his hardened length, caressing him over the fabric as she feels him, cupping his length softly before flitting back up to join the other still at the waist of his pants.

Astarion’s breath catches at her touch before on his own hands comes down to help as she pushes the barrier down, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. In a smooth motion, his pants and underwear are down his legs and off, baring his erection.

Precome shines at the tip of his cock as she runs her fingers down him in a barely there caress from top to bottom, his length twitching with the motion as Astarion draws in a harsh breath.

Her eyes stay on his as she grazes the soft skin again, watching for any sign she should stop as she runs her fingers along a prominent vein that runs along the side of him.

He’s velvet soft under her palm as she wraps her fingers around his shaft, giving him an experimental pump of her hand, touch gentle as she revels in the feel of him.

“Is this alright?” Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes.

Her hand glides up, brushing over the head of him as she collects the precome leaking from his slit, running her fingers over it before caressing down to the base once more.

“By all means, please continue.” Rin knows he means for the words to be casual and unaffected, but there’s already a telling breathiness to Astarion’s words that has her smirking.

The weight of him in her hand is nothing short of perfect as she gently wraps her fist around him, stroking him. Astarion moans and it’s the easily one of the most beautiful things Rin’s ever heard, the sound of it sending a spike of heat to her core.

She brings her other hand to her mouth, running her tongue over her palm before it joins the other around his cock and the added bit of glide has Astarion gasping as his hips jump.

His head falls heavy onto her shoulder as she works him, careful pumps of his length bringing him closer to the edge far faster than she ever thought possible with only her touch.

His cock weeps as Rin glides her fingers over the crown of him again, collecting more of the precome that glistens at the tip. Her hands move together, one carefully massaging the head of his cock while the other strokes at the base, the breathy moans leaving Astarion’s lips only serving to spur her on further as she works him closer to the edge.

“Does this feel good, Astarion?”

“Gods, yes.” He shudders in response, lips open against her skin as he presses a messy kiss into her shoulder.

Her palms move faster, intent on his undoing, his pleasure at her hands nothing short of exhilarating.

Gods, she would let him come wherever he wanted. Onto her stomach, across her breasts, down her throat—the thought is enough to send another spark of electricity to her empty core.

“Ah, darling,” Astarion’s voice is tight as he buries his face deeper into her neck, hips bucking into her hand as she works him from the crown of his cock to the base, his breathing getting harder with every stroke. “Much more and you’ll spoil the main event.”

“I’ll stop, if that’s what you want.” Rin slows her motions as he catches his breath against the column of her throat, so close to his own completion she can practically feel it in the way his body shakes above her own, muscles quivering with the want of release. “But would it be so awful if you were to come like this? On my hands, all over my skin?”

Astarion raises his head from her neck, pupils blown wide and hair thoroughly disheveled as he pants. “Decidedly not, but I think I want to fill that sweet cunt of yours tonight instead.”

“If you say so.” She brings one of the hands that had been stroking him to her mouth, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips to lap at a shining string of precome still sticking to her skin, savoring the flavor of him for the very first time.

Astarion swallows hard, eyes fixated on the pink of her tongue as she wraps her mouth around the tip, sucking lightly. She smiles sweetly around it, lips pink and plush, as she sends him a wink.

With a soft pop, she pulls her finger out of her mouth before moving to twine her arms around his neck, running through the soft curls at his nape. “I wouldn’t mind getting to taste more of you, either, if you’d let me.”

“Salacious girl. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?” That same fondness from earlier sneaks back into his words as she gazes up at him with as much innocence as she can muster.

“Hmm,” Rin muses, pretending to think through her answer as her fingers toy with his hair. “Whatever you want, I suppose.”

“Whatever I want?” Astarion’s brows raise in mock surprise. “You might come to regret those words, darling.”

“I find that sometimes I don’t mind being at your mercy.”

“Your self-preservation instincts need some reevaluating, my dear.”

“Is that what you think?” She laughs as her fingertips abandon his wild curls to dance absentmindedly across the lines of his shoulders.

“What I think is that these wandering hands of yours are trouble.” Astarion leans down to whisper into her ear, a smirk decorating his lips as they brush against the point of them. “It’s a pity I don’t have any pretty ribbon at my disposal to tie them up with.”

Nimble fingers move to find and circle her wrists with surprising delicacy as he removes them from around his neck to instead guide her arms up to rest around her head.

Desire pools deep in her belly at the mere mention and she doesn’t even try to fight against Astarion’s hold, not when there’s nothing she wants more than to be at the mercy of his hands.

“So, you’ll just have to be a good girl and keep these up here for me.” His hands encircle her wrists so very easily as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on them to illustrate his point. “Can you do that? I know you have a very hard time following directions.”

“I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

His hands slide down from her own where he left them resting above her head as he rises back to his knees, running over her breasts to anchor at her waist before he takes in the sight of her—warm skin and eyes bright and utterly alive.

He fits perfectly between her thighs as he moves his hips to slide his length through her folds, her slick coating him with every pass.

“No touching,” Astarion tuts. “Don’t forget.”

“Like I said, no promises. But I’ll give it a fair shot.” Rin grinds her hips against his erection, still gliding up and down her slit.

Astarion’s only response is a raise of his brow as he positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock barely pressing against her as he smirks, moving his hips away every time she tries to move hers forward.

Teasing. Always, always teasing.

Rin rolls her hips against his own as Astarion finally pushes forward, hilting himself inside her warmth in a smooth thrust, twin moans escaping from their lips at the feeling as he fills her completely.

His hands caress down to her thighs where they open for him, thumbs running up and down soft skin marred only by the red of his own bite, the marks smeared with still drying blood.

Astarion’s hips finally move, pulling away from hers only to push forward again until he bottoms out, burying himself deep. Rin relishes the feel of him moving inside her with a soft moan as she throws her head back against his pillow, back arching as he settles his hands on her hips to pull her deeper onto his cock.

His thumbs grip into her skin as he thrusts into her, hips meeting her own with long, deep strokes that have her trying and failing to hold back the little noises of pleasure that loose from her lips.

She yearns to move her hands from where they still rest above her head—yearns to drag her fingers across his skin or wrap her arms around his neck to draw him closer to her—but she resists the temptation, settling on moving her hips instead.

Rin grinds against his cock buried deep inside her as she moves her hips to match his own, thrust for thrust, the slide of him achingly flawless as they move together.

“Gods, you’re absolutely perfect.” The words slip out of Astarion’s lips, murmured low on a hard thrust. She tightens around him as the praise washes over her, lips opened on a barely restrained whimper as her lashes lower.

He’s more than beautiful in the darkness as he throws his head back on a moan, the drag of his cock smooth as he hits deep and she craves more—more closeness, more of his touch, more of his lips.

“Kiss me,” she gasps and instantly regrets the words and the desperation of them as her hands still lay obediently above her head, her back arching with every thrust.

Astarion’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he looks down at her, fixating on the petal pink of her lips, and Rin’s heart practically stops at what she sees when he looks at her.

A hand traces its way up from her hip to grab hold of her chin, touch firm as Astarion’s eyes move away from her lips to stare into her own, searching for something in the verdant depths of them. His gaze is alight with a precious heat that threatens to burn every inch of her—the fire she’s secretly dreamed of seeing there in his eyes when he looks at her.

His lips crash into hers with no words or preamble, meeting her half way as she surges her head up and their lips press together. Her arms lift, leaving their resting place above her head to wrap around his neck as Astarion’s tongue runs against the seam of her lips in askance, her own parting eagerly for him.

She can taste the remnants of herself on his lips, both the richness of her cunt and the metallic tang of her blood; and it’s heady, it’s divine as his lips chase after her own as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his hips still joined with hers all the while.

The hand that had been poised on her chin strokes upward, running over the plane of her cheek in a barely there touch that has her heart stuttering as their lips move.

Gods, she’d been wishing for the feeling of his lips on hers, and if the only way she can get it is when he fucks her, then so be it.

It’s not the only kind of kiss she wants from him but it’s the kiss she will take, desperate despite her every wish otherwise.

She’s gasping when Astarion finally breaks the kiss, taking in precious breaths of air as his lips lift only just away from hers. His hips slow and Rin looks questioningly up at Astarion, arms still twined tightly around his neck.

A small burst of panic bubbles up in her chest as she feels him slide out her, hips pulling away from hers to leave her empty; and worry that she had perhaps done something wrong or said something she shouldn’t have fills her mind.

“Astarion? Is everything alright? Did I—” she cuts herself off as the hand at her cheek brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear while its twin travels up her thigh to curve around her waist, urging her body upwards with a gentle pull.

“Let’s try something a little different, hm? Now, up.”

His hold is tight—secure—as they both shift to sitting, Astarion helping her along the way until she is upright in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs as she hovers.

“Now, tell me, sweet thing. Have you ever been fucked like this before?” His eyes pierce into her own as a hand curls around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

“No.” Rin shakes her head from side to side, biting her lip as his length finds her entrance once more, pushing with the barest hint of pressure against her.

“Good.”

With a swift thrust, Astarion sheathes himself inside of her as his lips capture hers, swallowing her answering moan as Rin arches against his chest. The hand wrapped around her waist travels down, fingertips squeezing into the flesh of her ass to help guide her hips up and down his cock.

They’re on equal footing like this, noses brushing against each other’s as their bodies work, Rin’s hips meeting Astarion’s own in a smooth cadence. The closeness—the intimacy of it��is intoxicating as their lips meet again and again, arms wrapped around each other as their fingertips dig into each other’s skin.

It’s not as fast or as hard as she’s used to, but somehow it’s better—the lack of quick thrusts is made up for instead by hard rolls of their hips, Astarion reaching the deepest part of her core as they hold each other close, not an bit of space between them.

His length brushes against what feels like every inch of her walls, sending sparks through her body as the heat coiling in her stomach rises higher with every move they make.

Rin is only mildly aware of the marks he left on her thigh breaking open once more, tiny drops of her blood leaving ruby red smears against both her and Astarion’s flesh as her hands map the planes of his face and their lips press.

Any other time, she would be blushing at the noise of their bodies moving together, the wet glide of his length driving in and out of her and the sound of skin on skin audible in the confines of Astarion’s tent; but instead she’s unabashed as she moves up and down his cock and he thrusts up to meet her, moans falling freely from both of their mouths as their kiss breaks.

She’s getting closer and she can tell he is too, the intensity of his thrusts only getting harder and deeper as every roll of his hips has his length brushing against her sweet spot as she loses her rhythm against him as her body begins to quake.

“Eyes on me.” Astarion’s forehead presses into hers as her lashes flutter, the height of her pleasure curling around her, ephemeral and just out of reach.

The heat burning inside her reaches a crescendo, his name whispered from her lips on a broken gasp as her hold on him tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

She’s tremulous as she tightens around him and he kisses her moans from her, quieting the sound of them as her hands grasp for purchase around his shoulders and he pumps his cock, hitting the very same spot that never fails to have her falling apart in his arms.

Rin sees stars behind her eyes as she tumbles over the edge of the crest, constricting hard on him as she comes on a near silent cry. Her hips writhe as Astarion holds her steady despite the ragged moan that falls from his lips as he watches her fall apart with half-lidded eyes.

She’s clinging to him as she rides out the rest of her orgasm on the hardened length still thrusting inside her, Astarion working her through the waves of pleasure that suffuse through her limbs.

A dreamy, hazy euphoria descends over her like a fog as she finally comes back to herself, her first thought to press another kiss to the pair of lips that still brush against hers.

Rin takes a lungful of air on a deep breath, beginning to move her hips against his once more despite the contented exhaustion blanketing her as she speaks with a soft, teasing lilt. “I thought you were going to come in my sweet cunt, Astarion.”

“Still the plan, darling.” Astarion’s lost in his own pleasure as he speaks, eyes fixated on her own as his hips snap hard into hers.

The hand on her ass tightens, fingertips near bruising as Astarion’s thrusts begin lose their rhythm in the wake her orgasm, the feeling of her cunt spasming around his length as she had come only serving to drive him closer to his own completion.

Her fingertips run down his cheek as he looks at her, his control breaking on every push of his hips that she meets readily.

“Then do it,” She whispers. “Please come for me, Astarion.”

Rin presses her mouth to his in a hard kiss, gasping as he changes the angle of his thrusts to hit the very end of her cunt.

At her words, Astarion follows her over the edge, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he comes. His hips rut frantically against hers, spilling himself inside her with unrestrained thrusts.

Rin grasps him tighter as his orgasm rushes through him, taking each and every sound that falls from him as he works through the waves of pleasure coursing through his limbs.

Finally, Astarion’s hips slow to a halt as their chests heave, still locked in their embrace, the haze of the aftermath floating around them. His lips press against hers one last time before he ducks his head to fit against her neck, breathing in the scent of her.

Rin’s not sure how long they stay like that, both catching their breath as her arms hang loose around him, Astarion’s face still buried in her neck as his fingers grip around waist.

Eventually, it’s Astarion who moves first, gently pulling his softened cock from her as he lifts his head and leans back towards his bedroll, taking her down with him.

They lay next to each other on the ruined blanket, a light sheen of sweat sticking to their skin.

“That was—” Astarion starts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his face.

Rin finishes the sentence for him, her heart still beating in a staccato rhythm. “Amazing? Fantastic? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Well, you think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion turns his head to face her, brow raised.

Rin leans in, bumping their foreheads together in a light touch before whispering her reply on a smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Astarion rolls her eyes and she laughs, and she swears she can see the slightest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, no doubt from the help of her blood still running through him.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his back shifting and Rin lets out an appreciative hum at the sight.

“Oh, and Astarion.” Rin smiles as she rolls her shoulders, settling further into the blanket. “If you burn my shirt, I will be forced to take action. Possibly with a knife. Just so we’re clear.”

His head whips back to glance at her, a wicked look in his eye. “Flirting again already? Give me a moment to recover, dearest.”

Astarion’s eyes skate down her naked form, still lying in a boneless heap upon his bedroll.

“Gods, look at you. You’re an absolute mess.” She can feel the blood drying on her thighs and on the spots where he had left bloodied kisses up her body, his come threatening to spill out of her with even the slightest movement. “Get ahold of yourself, darling.”

“An absolute mess that you made.” Rin peeks down to look at herself, skin still flushed and dotted with red marks in the vague shape of his lips.

“I’d gladly make it again, too.” Astarion turns back to the side, reaching for a spare decanter of presumably water and grabbing a piece of soft cloth.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

She takes in the bloodied blanket beneath her as she hazards a stretch, reaching her arms above her head as her feet point, back arching as she comes up to her elbows.

“Has anyone ever told you that your bedroll is absolutely awful? How you manage to sleep on something so hard is beyond my ability to imagine. We should steal you a new one.”

Even with the awful plank beneath her, it would be so easy to stay on a night like tonight. Too easy to imagine settling into his side, the now familiar contours of his body beside her own as they rested together, limbs tangling. She’s never slept in anyone’s arms before that she can remember, and she wonders how it must feel to spend hours simply wrapped in Astarion’s embrace and then to wake up next to him at first light.

Please ask me to stay.

The words come from a deep, dark part of her mind unbidden; but the wanting they bring with them threatens to ruin her as her heart beats harder.

“Or you could always come share mine, I guess. I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” It’s a risk speaking those kind of words, Rin crossing a line they’ve never dared to before.

Astarion’s body tenses slightly, the line of his shoulders stiffening.

He dips the mouth of the decanter over onto a spare cloth to wet it before turning back to her, expression strangely blank. The sight of it puts her ill at ease, as if the warm intimacy they had shared had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

Astarion runs the cloth over her form, erasing any evidence of him from her skin. His spend, the blood on her thighs, the messy kisses up her chest—all of it gone with a simple brush of water on cloth.

She nods her thanks, her heart sinking as regret burns in her throat.

“Well, it’s been lovely. You’re always such a treat.” Astarion summons a veil across his eyes, an empty smirk on his lips as he sets the cloth to the side. “You should go get some sleep, darling. Who knows who else you’ll need to convince to kill themselves tomorrow.”

It’s like a slap to the cheek—cold water to wake her from the warm embrace of a dream. It wasn’t the first time he had said such words to her, but this is the first time she realizes that she hates them with every fibre of her being.

“Oh.” She bites her lip, hoping she hides her disappointment well enough; but from the way Astarion averts his gaze to focus on an invisible point on other side of the tent, she doesn’t need to worry much. “I suppose you do need your beauty sleep, don’t you? Far be it from me to get in the way.”

Rin doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, she decides, as she pulls herself up to sitting beside him. She’s not certain she can look at him either, not at the cool and aloof expression that seems to have taken residence across his features.

He hadn’t looked like that when he kissed her.

No, he had looked the exact opposite, his expression mirroring the longing she knows had been etched onto her own as their lips had met.

Without a word, Rin stands and walks over the blankets heaped along the floor to where her clothes lay discarded in a heap, her footsteps soft against the ground.

Silently, she redresses, not bothering with the corset as she leaves it unlaced at her feet and pulls the rest of her clothes back on with perfunctory ease. Her tunic is partially over her head when she dares a look back at Astarion, the collar floating down to rest against her skin as she turns her head.

His face is imperceptible as he watches her, sitting still as stone. She forces a small smile, hoping that the dejection she feels doesn’t come across as she speaks to him one last time for the evening.

“Sleep well, Astarion.”

Astarion nods his head, a clear dismissal if she’s ever seen one. “Until the morning, darling.”

Until the morning, indeed.

Until the morning, where they’ll pretend everything is fine and nothing has changed as they play around each other in some sort of tiring, endless game.

And maybe Astarion can. Maybe, for him, nothing ever did change.

Rin doesn’t know quite what it is that they are building towards; but between the little bits of their lives shared with one another, the tiny little secrets that bare ragged pieces of their souls, the long evenings spent by the side of the fire laughing and talking and playing games, between the kisses and caresses and the meeting of their eyes—it feels like something.

Something more than simply being bedmates.

With a single, deep breath she reaches down to grab her corset, collecting it in hand as she turns and walks out the front flap of his tent without another look back, unable to promise she can keep her expression even in the face of his seemingly cold indifference.

Rin keeps her eyes ahead as she walks by the campfire, Gale politely looking the other way, not commenting on how she must look or what he must have heard—her hair is undoubtedly a mess, corset rumpled in hand, lips still too swollen to be confused with being anything other than readily kissed.

She withholds the sigh that threatens to break free as she makes her way towards her tent, and she’s grateful that at least there is no one else by the fire to witness the utterly pathetic sight of her as she keeps her eyes straight forward.

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Gale’s voice stops her before she can step into her tent, and she freezes, shifting the corset in hand in hopes of hiding it better, though she knows it’s useless. “I say this with the utmost respect, you understand. As your friend.”

Rin can hear the slightest bit of judgment in the words despite the kindness of them but she shakes it off. She probably deserves his judgment, in the end.

She pastes a weak smile on her face, squeezing the corset tighter in her hand as she turns to look at the wizard where he sits by the fire, a familiar spell book in hand.

“It’s all good Gale, nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“I trust your judgement, then. Sleep well, my friend.” Gale gives her a polite nod, but the look on his face says that he’s thoroughly unconvinced by her words.

Such aspiring confidence her companions have in her, it seems.

Rin certainly doesn’t blame him for it.

She can barely convince herself of the fact, after all.

With one last sigh she walks through the flap of her tent, letting it flutter shut behind her as she steps inside the familiar surroundings she now calls home.

It smells like it always does, jasmine and honey hanging in the air, and not a one of her possessions is out of place—however few of them she has.

But as she drops the corset on the ground, she can’t help but feel that something is missing.

Hands come up to cover her eyes as she presses the heel of her palms into them, hoping to rid her mind of such thoughts, however there’s no comfort to be found as shapes swirl on the back of her eyelids.

If she had any sense at all, she would quit while she was still ahead and could leave somewhat unscathed from whatever this thing growing between them is.

But she knows herself better than that.

She knows that, instead of stopping this and sparing herself the almost inevitable promise of pain that their little affair will bring, she will pull herself back together just in time to face the darkness of the morning and pretend that everything is just fine—all the while knowing deep down that she will keep making the same mistake over and over again and relish it every single time.

#this chapter wrecked me lmao it's so goddamn long #but I hope you all enjoy it!!#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion smut #verbenaa writes things!

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siiiiideblooooog · 5 months

Text

A/B/O Snippet

Gale’s hand was warm where it cupped John’s neck as they meandered back towards barracks.

“You imagine it? Kenny thought he’d have two by 20! Still a kid himself.” John shook his head in disbelief and Gale hummed. It wasn’t unusual, really. Many of the omegas John grew up with ended up wed and bred too young. “Tell you what, though, my ma would take him over me any day.”

“Yeah?” Gale’s grip on him tightened as John started to wander, reeling him back into Gale’s side. Where he wanted to be anyway so he didn’t complain. It was rare they got quiet moments alone like this and John intended to enjoy every second of this walk.

“Oh yeah. She would give anything for me to have bonded straight outta college and popped out three kids for her to dote on.” John grinned over at his alpha, but Gale wasn’t smiling back. It was funny, the things that could no longer hurt you but could still hurt the people who loved and cared about you. John hardly thought about his parents’ disapproval anymore. “Don’t you know I’m practically a spinster? I think she’s given up on ever getting me mated. Once I enlisted it was all over.”

“You want kids, though.” It wasn’t a question, but John answered anyway.

“Course I do. Kids, bonding, the whole shebang. Just never found an alpha who wanted to give it to me.” He winked at Gale, the until now unspoken. Gale rewarded him with a warm smile and a light squeeze over his bonding gland. It sent a pleasurable spark through his body. “’Sides, I was never in any rush. What about you?”

“I figured I might be mated by now, but no kids yet, probably. I’d want a little time with it just my omega and me.” Gale’s gaze bored into the side of John’s face like a physical touch but he ignored it willfully, keeping his eyes on the darkening sky. The smell of petrichor and sweet peaches danced through the air, filling John’s nose and flooding his mouth with saliva. Nothing better on the goddamn Earth than the smell of his happy alpha. “Definitely want kids though. A few, I think.”

“Mated young, a whole litter of kids at your feet, some fresh-faced omega to raise your pups and have dinner on the table when you get home?” John ignored a slight ache in his chest in favor of a cheeky smile. It was easy to imagine, this future of Gale’s. If any alpha deserved such a picturesque life straight out of the magazines, it was Gale Cleven.

“Something like that,” said Gale, supremely unbothered by John’s teasing. John let his feet carry him slightly off to the side just so Gale would tug him back close. The alpha didn’t disappoint.

“Shoulda gotten yourself an omega like Kenny while you had the chance,” John teased. Gale stopped still, right in the middle of the darkened road, nearly tripping John up as he jerked them both to a halt. John looked back at him confused and a little disoriented at the sudden loss of a warm palm on his nape. Gale fixed John with a stern look.

“Do I seem like I am hard up for choice when it comes to omegas?” he asked, voice even but with a steel undertone. A shiver went up John’s spine and he grinned. Gale was cocky so rarely—about something other than his flying that is—that John couldn’t help but revel in it.

He indulged himself with a long look at his alpha, thick blonde hair down to his polished boots. Gale was everything an alpha should be: handsome, polished, strong.

“No you do not,” he admitted.

Gale stepped in close and snaked an arm around John’s waist to tug him into the line of Gale’s body. They fit perfectly, as always, pressed together chest to knee. John squirmed a little, just to feel the hard planes of his alpha against him. Gale leaned in, their lips separated by only a wisp of air. John could taste him. Petrichor and peaches.

“If I wanted an omega like Lemmons, I’d have one.”

#i've never posted anything i've written ever before anywhere #i'm so nervous #ohhhh man #okay #mota #masters of the air #clegan #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #buck cleven #bucky egan #buck and bucky #my fic #never thought i'd use that tag #who knows if more of this will ever appear? not me

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melodramaticatheart · 3 months

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Falling to Pieces - Paedyn Gray x Kai Azer

Kai and Pae have made there way back to Ilyia, Kai now being a visitor for the night at Paedyn's fort.

Pairing: Kai Azer and Paedyn Gray Word Count: 1.2k Book: Powerless Author's Note: first time writing my babies ahhh ! this was a request by @nuncscioquidsitamor-14, which has been in my inbox for a couple weeks but now that i'm rereading powerless i felt inspired to finish it! also this was originally fluff but i'm not sure how it ended up being so angsty Taglist: @reminiscentreader, @flowers-for-em, @nqds, @art-of-fools, @lxvebelle

My breath was coming up short, pain shooting up my legs from holding my weight in the chimney now I had six sticky buns hidden in my pockets, honey oozing through the fabric. I plant my feet on the ground with a soft thud. Running down dark alleys until I find the familiar white house, well what was left of it. “Y’know I could arrest you for that.” “You could try, but we both know I'd escape” I cock my head to the side looking at Kai leaning against a street light, “So you going to hand me one or am I gonna have to steal it from you? Gray Style.” He asks, pushing himself off the pole, a shadow you’d miss if you weren’t looking. The night's darkness seemed to engulf him, only making parts of his smirk visible to me. “Here you go” I say plopping the sticky mess into his hand “But I must warn you they might not live up to Gale’s” “I don’t doubt it.” I smack his arm lightly making my way down the empty street, the stars glisten on the big canvas we call the sky helping light the slums “So…” Kai stumbled alongside me dumping a chunk of bun into his mouth “Where are we staying tonight?” “We?” I look at him skeptically, “Let me remind you down this road there’s a gold pristine palace waiting for you, with a nice big bed, and a table full of food.” I move my hand around and soften my voice to add awe to my words. He can probably hear the bitterness behind my words but doesn’t acknowledge them. “It’s funny you think I'd leave you alone, after losing you for a month.” He crossed his arm, walking backwards looking at me with a crooked grin, a dimple appearing on his right. I roll my eyes, giving in. “Come on, I'll take you to the fort.” “”The fort” sounds exciting.” He cocks his head, giving me a tight smile and turning his front back to the street.

With tight lips I make my way down the familiar alley, my stomach lurching. I hadn’t had time to return after… my thoughts caught off not allowing myself to think of the blood, the crooked fingers, the moans of pain. I stumble towards a wall staring at the small corner of the alley filled with rugged blankets and old discarded fabrics, I begin to mindlessly spin my father’s finger on my thumb. “This is home” I whisper, my lips trembling at the sight. Now that I’m closer I can make out the last bits of fabric I’d stolen for Adena before leaving for the trial. Anger bubbled up inside me, everything about this stupid kingdom has made innocent people suffer, and I was going to get them back. My hands instinctively turned to fists, the anger pooling in my gut. Kai grunted, bringing my attention to the boy who was now rubbing his neck, absentmindedly nodding his head as he slumped against the wall on the other side of the alley staring at the barricades of the place I'd grown to call home.

I went and sat next to him, not having enough courage to sit in the fort. Slowly I pulled out the sticky buns I’d stolen an hour ago, “these were her favorite'' I whisper, a look of understanding crossing his face, he quietly took the bun and threw a piece into his mouth chewing it for a few seconds as i started to nibble mine still not used to food in my stomach after so much time in the scorches. “These may not be Gale’s but they definitely come in a close second” I chuckle silently but It’s just to fill the silence. I throw my head back resting it against the wall, sighing the anger melts taking over me like a honey does a sticky bun. “I can’t do this” I breathe out, getting on my feet unsteadily. I start walking down the narrow lane ignoring the sound of Kai getting on his feet behind me “Hey, where are you going?” I hear him ask as he reaches me softly, turning me around so I can face him. “You okay, Gray?” His eyes turn 10 shades of sincere as he studies my face for an answer. I try to get out of his grip calling him enforcer just to anger him but he just stays silent not reacting to the title. “Just leave me alone Azer” I say finally getting out of his grip, almost making it out of the aisle before he calls out from behind me “Did I do something?” He asks, confused on why I'm acting this way. He doesn’t get it. He’s seen where I’ve spent the last five years sleeping and not even a little bit of sympathy from him. Even his brother could manage some when he saw the slums. No, what am I saying? I don't want his sympathy. What I want is to get him back.

I scoff, loud enough he can hear me, turning around stalking towards him. I point my finger at his chest, not being able to contain my anger any longer. “Are you seriously going to ask me here of all places if you did something?! Look Where we are your royal highness, we’re in the place I called home, a collection of blankets and fabric i’ve had to sleep in for five god damn years.” My tongue tastes bitter as I use his royal title. I resent him at this moment. “Do you know how hard it was? Huh?! Do you know, Kai? Having to sleep on the floor, only getting to eat on lucky days, getting whipped by your stupid guards just cause they felt they needed to teach a lesson towards a starving child!” I throw my hands to my hair letting my fingers dig into my scalp. I take a breath letting it fill my lungs “The only person I had, the girl I called my sister, the person I could trust with anything, I didn’t need to lie my way for her to call me a friend.” A sob broke through me, grief filling my insides. “She was all I had and your stupid kingdom, your stupid family took her away” I look at him dead in the eye as I finish “and you, you started all of it, you killed my father the only place of comfort I ever knew and you killed him right in front of me” I slowly crumble to my knees years of pent up grief releasing. The sobs come out heavy and sloppy as my heart starts to seize, I must look pathetic. The thought crosses my head causing a small laugh to leave the body of my lips. I suddenly feel fingers treading through my hair, his left arm wrapping around my waist. “I hate you!” I scream out, pounding my fists in his chest, he only pulls me closer “Hate me Pae. Hate me all you want.” He whispers into my hair, his hold loosening on me as my hits get softer, “It should’ve been me” I sob into his chest, my energy giving out, pain the size of my heart searing across my chest, my sobs growing quieter as the night gets colder.

#soph writes 𝜗𝜚 #powerless #kai azer #paedyn gray #lauren roberts #kai x paedyn #pae x kai #paedyn x kai

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secret-smut-sideblog · 6 months

Text

Nightcall

Gale x F! Tav (named)

PG-13 implied trauma, miscommunication, tenderness, loneliness, love triangle dynamics, touch starved, wandering hands, feelings developing

Gale had been spellbound by her, one of the many in that predicament. He was resigned to his one-sided longing until she sought him out after seeing another...

Masterlist

"I'll see you at the party, right?" She smiled, settling down next to him. Wiping her armor.

His heart constricted. Staring at her brilliance.

"Yes." He breathed.

She was a vision, truly. Like her whole body had been dipped in golden light. Long waves of yellow hair, tinged with orange. Olive skin, freckles smattering across her nose. The endless gold hues only broken in her eyes, a hauntingly pale blue, nearly grey.

And of course, the tattoo.

It was naturally what people first saw. Curling geometric patterns from the crest of her hairline to the dip of her neck. As if someone had laid gold foil over her in the most lovingly intricate patterns.

It had stunned him to silence when she had pulled him from that stone, eyes getting lost.

She had waited patiently for his mind to restart, arms crossed, standing feet apart.

Catching, he introduced himself as he had intended. Harnessing enough tact to keep his burning curiosity to himself.

Something he became glad for. As they traveled near every person they met had endless questions. Sometimes full-on strangers walking up and pushing invasive inquiries.

Her answers changed like the wind, though she did have a favorite handful of responses.

"An old sacred elf rite of passage."

"Ah, I spent time on a secluded island. Things get wild."

"All wood elves have tattoos, most of them are in places you can't see."

It was honestly impressive how many quips she had on hand. But she probably had ample practice, given the fade of the tattoo.

Only once did she falter.

When they had met Halsin for the first time, he had done the same hypnotized gaze as Gale had at first. And like for him, she had waited.

The druids eyes seemed to light in recognition.

"A morninglord?"

Her body tensed.

"Pardon?" Her tone was casual, smooth. Betraying the tight muscles in her shoulders.

"A child of Lathander, yes? Or am I mistaken?"

"You are."

The silence that held the air was sharp. She offered no more clarification and continued on to ask about Moonrise.

It had been left at that, though their party exchanged glances.

"Well, now I have more questions." Astarion intoned, side eyeing her as they wandered away to search chests.

"I don't know, Fangs. It's clearly a sore subject, I'd say let it drop." Karlach hushed.

"But don't you want to know?" He retorted, exasperated.

"We all want to know. Whether it's any of our business is an entirely different story." Gale sniped, suddenly feeling protective.

"Oh, boo. Why did I get saddled with the goody two shoes..." He scoffed, walking away exuding haughtiness.

As soon as Astarion was out of earshot Karlach turned to him, fervor in her eyes.

"I really really want to know."

Gale smiled. "Of course you do. There must be a good story there."

The tattoo only aided her pull, a silver tongue and a propensity for persuasion. Everything about her had a magnetic pull. A practiced fluid grace in the way she moved, flowing through the world.

He was genuinely shocked when she said she was a bard.

"Really? I would've pegged you for a cleric, maybe a monk. Bards are usually so..."

"Theatrical?" She smiled, leaning her chin on hand.

"That's a word for it."

It wasn't until he heard her play that he understood.

The way that she leaned into her violin, eyes closed. The pull of her bow a deliberate reverent movement.

Though she would often oblige the frequent more upbeat song requests, whenever he found her playing alone it was always the slower songs. The call of her violin a mournful wail, soaring over him.

People naturally leaned towards her, willing to follow her to the ends of the earth.

He was no different, but he did try to be an asset. Filling in gaps with his talents as he could find them. Figured if he could make himself at least slightly indispensable, he wouldn't get left behind.

Now, the revelery of the tiefling party in full swing he caught sight of her. Heading towards Astarion, that beckoning look in his eyes. Gale's heart sank, but he couldn't blame her. He was... well, Astarion. All sensuality and enthralling beauty.

When she turned from him as they finished talking, he trailed his eyes along her, smirking.

She headed over to him then, smiling warmly. He tried to hide the strain in his face.

"Hello, Gale." Her low melodic voice played his name like a harp.

"Ah, hello. Busy tonight, I wager?" He immediately winced, his words coming out far more clipped than he intended.

"Possibly, I'm not certain yet. There is someone I would enjoy spending some time with tonight."

"Well, Astarion is a solid pick. A little bitey for my tastes, but don't let me deter you from having fun."

Her head tilted slightly, peering into him.

Feeling like a bug under a magnifying glass, he cleared his throat.

It was unfair how beautiful she was, all dignified sloping lines. A heart shaped face further accentuated by a sharp jaw. Slanted fox eyes. Pouty flushed lips. Nose slightly hooked.

He could see a statue being made in her likeness.

Honestly it made sense for her to be with Astarion, they were both breathtaking.

Such an arresting creature giving someone like him the time of day was frankly silly.

"I could be persuaded otherwise..." She stepped a little closer to him.

Heat rising to his neck, he laughed. Surely he was reading this wrong.

"Oh I'll be here for less intense activities. The orb, you know. Don't let me spoil your fun. Go on, indulge."

She seemed uncertain for a moment but eventually left. Giving him one last look over her shoulder.

A stab of longing struck through him, impaling through his stomach.

Ah, loneliness. That familiar companion.

A book propped on his knee he tried to bury his head in literature, Weaving a light inside the cave of his tent.

It was late, he should get some rest. But yearning was eating his stomach.

How embarrassing, he was far too old to have a crush.

He sighed and shut the book decisively.

"Are you still awake?"

He jumped at her soft voice.

"Aurum? I thought you'd be... uh, indisposed."

The edge of his tent flap lifted and her glacial eyes asked for entry.

"Please, come in." He tried to smother the eagerness in his throat.

She closed the flap and tied it down.

His mouth got dry at that. Further more when he realized she was just draped in a robe.

"I have a strange request, if you'll indulge me."

She sat gracefully on knees across from him. Her long hair loose over her shoulders, falling curtain in front of her as she lowered. The two puncture marks in her neck making his stomach tighten.

Anything. You can ask for anything.

"If I could be of service, I'm more than willing to help."

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, possibly reconsidering.

Thoughtlessly he leaned forward, taking her hand. Holding it gently between both of his. Hoping his earnestness reached her.

She seemed to relax then, smiling at him in that serene way that made him feel dizzy.

"Can you hold me for the night?"

He blinked. Shock tore through him.

"Yes! I mean, of course."

She smiled wider at him, hand between his turning, rubbing the thin skin of his wrist with her thumb.

Just that small sensation was sending jolts of pleasure across his body.

"Our vampire friend not one for cuddling I assume?"

He felt like he was already pushing it. But she just laughed.

Gods, it strummed a buzzing joy in his chest whenever he could get her to laugh. The sound like wind chimes.

"No. Certainly not. Honestly, I'm not even sure he likes me at all." She pulled close to him on knees, settling onto his bedroll.

He felt like he was holding his breath, not entirely sure this wasn't a dream.

"Well, he's a damned fool if he couldn't see what he had tonight."

She looked up at him then, eyes wide and vulnerable.

His heart was surely pounding loud enough to hear.

She pulled him down with her. Laying him back, she rested her head on his chest, long legs curling up around his. Slender fingers resting over where the orb lay. A contented sigh left her, and he thought he would melt.

Curling his arm around her back, he took the hand over his heart into his, threading their fingers.

"I knew I picked the right person. You're very good at this." He could hear the smile in her voice.

Now she had a front row seat to his thumping heart. But she only nuzzled down further.

"It's a shock to us both. I am not, ahem, practiced in this."

That was a great understatement.

"I have faith that one day you'll let me give you a compliment." Her voice was hushed, drifting.

He chuckled, pulling her hair away from her face. Fingers brushing over her scalp for a moment.

"Mmm, that's nice." She sighed.

He repeated the motion, encouraged. Carding his fingers gently through her silken hair.

Her breath became slow, evening out.

With a heady shot of accomplishment, he realized she was asleep.

Letting his eyes close he submerged himself in this feeling, in this moment.

Truly, he couldn't have imagined the serenity, the puddling he would've felt here. Her body the perfect weight on his, warming him through like the morning sun. Bliss in its entirety.

She pulled further into him, her leg curling up more. The robe falling back, revealing her bare hip.

He almost reached to pull it back over but was hypnotized again.

The line of her plush thighs flowed into hip, leading up in a mesmerizing arch. Creasing along the joint of her curled leg. A teasing dip inside the arch that would perfectly fit his hand. Like it was designed for that exact purpose.

He was absolutely pushing it, but he was nothing if not ambitious.

He slid the hand holding her back downward. Watching her body closely for any discomfort.

When his hand slid over the exposed skin, he had to bite back a moan. Velvet soft. His fingers couldn't help but splay, spreading to get as much contact as he could fit in his reach.

The sight of his wide hand spread over the curves of her sent him reeling.

Just as he had suspected, he slid his hand into that divot perfectly. Utterly entranced by the sight.

That some part of him could fit into her was inconceivable.

She reached across his chest and wrapped around his ribs. Head pushing up to fold into the curve of his neck. Letting out a sweet little whine. Soft breathing washing over his skin like the tide.

The smell of her hair oils wrapped around his head in a slow haze. Lavender and orange blossom.

Head turning into hers, he started to drift. Before he knew it had fallen into a deep sleep.

Bird song lilting through the air, something roused him. Looking bleary-eyed around his tent. Feeling an absence.

Alone.

Another song hung in the air. A clear bell of a voice rising high above.

Like a siren song, it pulled him from his tent.

It was very early, the sun just peeking over the mountains, world still bathed blue. The rest of the camp snoring.

Following the voice, he came upon Aurum sitting in the grass. Knees together, hands resting on her lap. Something near prayer.

Her head was leaned back, calling out only in high haunting tones. A wordless questioning cry.

It stole his breath away. Spellbound.

Her singing would stop in phrases, as if waiting for a response. Starting the wordless hymn over again.

After a third time, she fell quiet. Head falling forward.

The air felt heavy with loss, her hands opening in her lap.

He stepped back quietly, hand to his chest. A hollow sweeping pain pulling through it.

Returning to camp he started a low fire, putting the kettle over it. Finding his best tea that he had stashed away.

Setting up two cups.

He would have to get used to waking up early.

Part 2

#gale failing every insight check. a tale old as time #gale x tav #gale smut #bg3 smut #screenshot by @dekariosz #lyrics from: choreomania - florence and the machine

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thatfreshi · 11 months

Text

Always (Uni AU P. 16)

Thank you all for patiently waiting :)

tw - mentions of abuse, grooming

Your eyes flutter open slowly, unsure of exactly where you are. When you move your head, you feel the bone in Astarion's shoulder, and remember the night prior. When you realize you indeed were asleep on him, you jerk back up.

"What time is it?"

"Almost six. You must've been tired."

He puts his phone down and sits his head on his knees.

"You alright?"

"Just not looking forward to today. Twelve-hour day, nine to nine, no breaks."

"Sounds horrible."

"It does, doesn't it? And I haven't slept in days either."

He gets out of bed reluctantly and goes to the closet, almost tripping over nothing.

"You could probably spare some time to lay down a little longer."

"No, sadly I can't. The location is an hour away, I still have to get ready, and I have to pick up some things on the way. All of that and maybe find time to eat something."

He methodically looks through the many fabrics, finding a silk dress shirt. Thoughtlessly, Astarion throws off the sweater from yesterday, revealing what appears to be many scars across his back.

"Holy shit."

You don't mean for the words to stumble out the way they do, but it's not often you see someone's skin decorated in old wounds.

"Right, forgot I hadn't told you about all of those. Though to be honest, I've never seen them."

He quickly puts on his newly chosen shirt, fiddling with the buttons on the sleeves.

"Are they-"

"From Cazador? Of course."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did he do it?"

He stops in his tracks, dumbfounded once again by you and your questions.

"I mean, there's always plenty of reasons to him. Misstep on the catwalk, look the wrong way in a photo, make him look bad in front of someone else in the industry. He does his punishments in private obviously, but you always know when you're due for one. Always."

Light steps make their way to the kitchen to get some coffee. You follow, silently.

"Sorry. I know I have more of a stomach for this kind of thing than you do."

"You shouldn't have the stomach for it at all."

"You think I don't know that?"

He turns to meet your eyes, and then sighs, leaning against the counter.

"Really, I am sorry. I'm just very irritable right now."

"Anything I can do?'

"No, I think I just need to be by myself, for the little time I have. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

He perks up at that.

"Why?"

"I mean, none of this is your fault. No need to apologize about things out of your control. Besides, I ask about all of it anyways. If you need alone time, you need alone time."

He's so used to 'sorry's, even if they aren't always genuine. Sorry when he's at Cazador's whim, sorry to people he's looped into horrific schemes, sorry any time he fucks up. Most recently, he's so incredibly apologetic to you, the way he's fallen for you, the way he can't bring himself to leave you alone, the way you always ask about the worst of it and he almost always shares. That look in your eyes when you see him hurt, he's been trying to avoid it, because it makes him feel monstrous.

"Anyways, I hope it's not all that bad today. If you need something, let me know, okay?"

You grab all your things from the night before, and make your way towards the door.

"Okay. Thank you Tav."

You smile.

"Of course Aster, anything for you, any time, anywhere. Always."

He almost says something when you walk out the door, but simply has his mouth agape, watching you walk away after saying probably the nicest thing he's heard in years.

When you make your way back to your dorm room, you hear shouting from inside, which you can only assume is Shadow and Lae arguing again. Then, when you walk in, you realize it's actually Gale's voice going back and forth with your moody roommate. Lae'zel seems to be absent from the dorm.

"Gale, you can't be fucking serious. You're sleeping with a professor? Not just any professor, but Mystra? Really? Are you that fucking stupid?"

"We are not just sleeping together, it's a real relationship. We have something special Shadowheart, not that you would particularly understand that."

"No, no you don't have something special with her, she's using you. You work for her, she's your teacher! She can decide your entire academic future on a whim!"

"No one better to fall in love with then, right?"

"Oh, fall in love? You, you are not in love with her, and she is certainly not in love with you. She's using you and your naivety Gale."

You hear her voice crack at this point, the concern for her best friend seeping through.

"Oh, so I'm naive now? Great to know you think so highly of me Shadow. You were begging me to tell you, I thought you'd be happy for me!"

"I'm not listening to this. When you want to have a real conversation, and not just make me feel like I'm crazy for worrying about you, come and find me."

Her door slams, and she storms past you in the living space, rushing out of the dorm. Gale slowly makes his way out of her room, not expecting you to be waiting.

"And now you know too, wonderful. Are you also going to call me insane for being in love, or are you capable of being reasonable?"

No words come to mind. Instead of sitting around waiting for a response, he walks right past you, off to brood in his room alone. You decide to try and find your roommate, just to make sure she's alright, and possibly get the rest of the story. Despite your efforts, you find none of your strange friends. It's as if campus has been entirely deserted. With the new chill in the air as Fall becomes even more intense, you find yourself feeling lonely, and even sad. So, you do what any other reasonable college student would, and you go grab a coffee and throw yourself into some assignments.

Essays, discussion boards, projects, powerpoints, they all sort of just blur together. Word counts become meaningless, rubrics are like unspeakable languages, emails are a life-sucking endless void of nothing. You close your laptop and stare at the ceiling, wondering why you're even sad to begin with, why all of this seems like treacherous work. Your mind floats back to Astarion, as it often does. Perhaps he was the cause of your melancholy, him and all the scars you had seen that morning. But now it's hours later, close to nightfall, and you barely have anything to show for it.

That's when Karlach and Gale show up, which helps you snap out of the mood a little bit.

"She'll come around Gale! I may not get it, but hey, we all just gotta do our own thing."

The two of them sit at your lonely little table, and Gale sighs.

"Well Tav, how's the rest of the day been?"

"Uneventful. Sad. Boring."

Gale nods in agreement.

"Oh cheer up you two! There's still time left in the night, things can get better!"

You can't help but crack a smile.

"You know what Karlach? You're right, and just for that, I'm going to get us all a little treat."

The two of them insist that you shouldn't, but you're already walking off to the coffee bar that's going to close soon. You buy a couple of stupid little candies, just to make sure everyone will have something they enjoy. You thank the barista and walk back to the table. On the way, you feel at your pocket for your phone, but it's not there.

"Must've left it at the table."

And you were right, because when you look back up Karlach is receiving a call on your phone. You walk over to try and figure out who she possibly could've answered, mouthing a question to her. She tells you to shush, her eyes far more serious than normal.

"What do you mean he's in the hospital?"

Her voice cracks when she asks, and without thinking you snatch your phone out of her hands.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #freshiau #gale of waterdeep #karlach #shadowheart

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miradelletarot · 6 months

Note

For the WIP 'midsummer' sounds really intriguing to me!! I need it!

OHH HO HOOHHH, buckle up then! *cackles* It's abundantly smutty lol. This is actually an idea i had this morning after I woke up, and had to write down everything i could before i lost it. So, it's (obviously) unfinished. I am not sure if this is gonna go into the longfic series I'm writing (since it's Gale x Sagora) or if this will be nothing more than a treato/fun brainworm thing, but I kinda dig it lol. Basically, I remember reading about the Midsummer events in Waterdeep and how debauched they are (super hot btw,) and imagined that Gale is particularly very horny b/c he has his druid wifey to play with now during these very lusty festivals (and SHE. LOVES. IT.) I head canon that after they have been home for a while, she sates some of his intellectual boredom by teaching him some druidic magic...hence the wild shaping thing I got going on here. CW: predator/prey, dom!gale, roleplay (or at least the idea of it lol) and uhhh...hot druid things I guess (eta: and probably a touch of a mention of possibly fucking outside lmao).

**Naughty things under the cut. Minors DNI**

“You know, my love –” Gale saunters over to Sagora where she stood at the kitchen counter preparing lunch. He clutched his fingers around her hips from behind, pressing his body into hers as his lips brush against the shell of her ear. “– I was thinking…we could certainly have some fun this evening.”

She shudders as his breath tickles her neck, writhing as she giggles, and spins around to face him, arms draping over his shoulders. “What did you have in mind?” Her coy smirk told him she knew exactly what he had in mind.

“Oh, I was thinking we could start with a romantic dinner, perhaps more than a little wine…a frolic through the woods?” Each thought was punctuated with sultry kisses along her neck, his hands roaming up her waist towards her breasts. She rolled her head back, surrendering to his touch as his lips traveled down along her collarbone to her cleavage that peaked out of her bodice.

She rolled languidly back into him, fingers tousling his hair as she pressed her forehead to his. “And what, my dear wizard, makes you think you can catch me?”

Gale let out a low, growling chuckle. “Well, you’ve taught me a thing or two about your magic. I think I could use that to my advantage.” He pulled away slightly, looking in her eyes with mischievous intent, and a wild smirk curling his lips. “We’ll play a little game. Hide-and-Seek.” Her breath hitched as he dug his fingers into her waist. “I’ll be the wolf, and you…you, my love…will be a cute, little rabbit.” Sagora’s eyes narrowed playfully. “That’s easy. I’ll be so small you’ll never find me.” She wrinkled her nose at him, teasing against his seductive advances.

His eyes went dark with lust as he pushed her back against the nearby wall, one hand clutching her waist, the other braced against the wall over her head as he pressed into her. His voice was thick and low against her skin.

“Careful, little bunny. You don’t want to test the patience of a hungry wolf. Do you?”

Sagora bit her lip, her pulse quickening as arousal pooled between her legs. She whispered. “What will happen if you catch me?” “Little bunnies that get caught...get devoured. Right there…in the middle of the forest.”

Her body shuddered, her walls pulsing at the very implication of Gale’s tongue sliding between her folds. It took her a moment to regain her composure under the crushing weight of her salacious need.

“…And what if you don’t?”

Gale thought for a moment as a sinful darkness filled his gaze. “Then I suppose I’ll have to chase you until I do.” He leaned in close, whispering against her parted lips. “Either way, my naughty little rabbit…I shall have my prize.” He licked the parted seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue before slipping inside, claiming her mouth with abandon. She moaned into him, her hips rocking against the hardness that tented his trousers. _____

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wheretheharekissesthefox · 9 months

Text

The place where we belong

Halsin returns to Waterdeep and is greeted by Astarion. They start to talk - secrets (and feelings) are revealed.

(Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, smut, body worship, consensual blood drinking, fellatio, frottage, mentioning of past non-con/rape, fluff, the feels, character study)

Notes:

I used official D&D/Forgotten Realms maps to pinpoint the locations of Gale's tower house. The maps can be found here , here, and here.

A few other fanfics (Tav’s gift, Tav’s sex parade – Chapter 8: Just in time for dinner, Why do you make me feel this way? - Chapter 13: Contentment) are mentioned.

To avoid confusion: In one of my other fanfics Halsin and Tav had named the owlbear cup Naïlo, which means 'night breeze' in the Elven language.

Halsin's quasi-official last name's based on this tumblr post.

According to DnD lore, elves reach their physically maturity at 25 and their mental maturity at around 100. This is also the time, when they get a new, 'adult' name.

According to DnD lore, elves don't sleep, but rest in a meditative, trance-like state called reverie. You can see Astarion (and your Elven Tav) do exactly that in camp during a long rest when a sleep-around-the-campfire cutscene plays.

Halsin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The spring air smelled fresh and slightly sweet even in the City of Splendors. It probably helped that Gale's tower house was located right next to the sea and Mount Waterdeep. Halsin knocked at the door, heart thumping against his breastbone. He smiled when Astarion opened it and looked up at him.

"Oak Father, preserve you, Astarion. How are you?"

"Hello, druid, I'm doing fantastic. And you?"

"It's good to be back. Can I come in?"

"Of course."

The vampire spawn stepped aside and waved Halsin inside. The latter chuckled amused, entered the tower house, took his boots off, and dropped his bags with a relieved sigh.

"Where's everyone?" he asked.

Astarion leaned against the door frame casually, arms crossed and hip canted to the side.

"Well, as you know, a lot of things have changed. Shadowheart became a high priestess of Selûne, Gale teaches at the Blackstaff Academy now, and our beloved bard's travelling around North Faerûn again, singing her heart out. It's just you and me, darling."

"I see. I'm glad you're here even though you can walk in the sun again," smiled Halsin.

Astarion smiled back.

"Are you hungry?"

"I wouldn't say no to a meal."

"Tea?"

"Would be appreciated, thank you."

"Come on then," lilted Astarion and turned towards the kitchen, but before Halsin could follow him, Scratch and Naïlo barged into the entrance hallway, barking and hooting. With a laugh, the druid distributed some well-deserved affection. When they finally had their fill, the dog and the owlbear scuttled back into the living room. Only now, Tara made her appearance.

"Welcome home, Mister Silverbough," she purred, slinking closer to receive chin scratches.

"Hello, Tara. It's nice to be back," smiled Halsin and provided her the volitional caresses.

Astarion choked on air he didn't need to breathe in.

"You have a last name?!"

Halsin blinked at him dumbly.

"... yes?"

"I thought you're just Halsin. You know, Halsin the druid and so on, but you have a family name?"

"Doesn't... everyone?"

"Gods! I'm shocked." Theatrically, Astarion placed a hand on his heart. "Are there even more secrets I need to be informed about?"

The addressed stayed silent for a while, then he said quietly: "I don't have an adult name. Just like you."

The vampire spawn stared at him wide-eyed.

"You don't? Halsin..." His voice broke and his hand shook as he touched the druid's arm. "Why not? What happened?"

Halsin swallowed thickly, averting his eyes from the intense ruby-red gaze.

"My... my parents died before I hit Elven Maturity. It felt wrong to get rid of the name they gave me. It would have been like throwing away a gift."

"I'm sorry," Astarion whispered sincerely.

The druid nodded.

"So am I. But other than me, you had no choice. You got turned into a spawn when you were only thirty-nine. It would have been another sixty-one years before your coming-of-age celebration."

Astarion barked a bitter laugh.

"As it turns out, I rarely had a choice in life."

"And I'm sorry about that."

Astarion bristled at the softness of Halsin's eyes and the sincerity of his words. 'Don't pity me,' he wanted to snarl, but he didn't. He knew it wasn't pity but compassion. He took a deep breath and calmed the storm that raged inside him.

"Thank you. For everything," he said and Halsin nodded, smiling understandingly.

"I'll make tea," Astarion remarked, rushing into the kitchen to hide his traitorous teary eyes.

Halsin followed him, surprisingly light-footed and silently for his height and width. The vampire spawn placed the sandwich tray on the table without looking at him.

"Astarion," the druid spoke softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" the addressed snapped. "Everything's fine. Mind your own business!"

Halsin took hold of Astarion's shaking hands.

"Why are you in distress? Tell me, little vampire."

The addressed shivered and finally looked up at the wood elf.

"I - I hate it. I hate that I never had a choice. I'm stuck with my child name – my child name – forever! I'm a member of the Ancunin family, godsdammit, I was promised great things: a dignified name, a powerful position in politics, wealth, respect. And I got fangs, red eyes, and fragile immortality instead! It wasn't my choice. I never had a choice!"

Now, tears were running down his cheeks.

"Don't you get it, druid? I'm jealous of you! You kept your name because you wanted to. You had a choice I never had. And now, look at you: the great druid Halsin Silverbough. Dignified and distinguished. And all I am is a spawn."

"Now, now," Halsin murmured, gently wiping Astarion's tears away with his thumbs. "Why so bitter about your faith? I know how unfair life was to you, how much pain and horror you had to endure, but that lies in the past. Just look at you and how wonderful you turned out even after everything you went through. Or maybe because of it. You're extraordinary, Astarion. You have such a big heart and you're so good, little vampire."

The addressed sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. The druid's words hurt, downright burned in his chest, and he felt the bitterness eat at him like acid.

Halsin's thumbs brushed over his wet cheeks again. So gently. Too gently. Astarion wanted to scream and rip the other elf's throat out.

"May I kiss you?" Halsin whispered, and even though his entire body wanted to kill instead of kiss, Astarion nodded with a sob.

Halsin's mouth was soft and undemanding. He just brushed their lips together gently before pulling back and wrapping Astarion into a hug. The latter sighed. The druid was so warm, soft and firm at the same time, and utterly unthreatening. The vampire spawn melted into his arms and started to calm down. He only let go of Halsin when the water threatened to boil over. Reluctantly, Astarion stepped back and brew tea. Lavender, of course. The druid touched his tense shoulder.

"Feeling better?"

Astarion nodded.

"Drink your tea and eat your meal," he ordered.

With a small smile, Halsin obeyed and sat down at the table. While he devoured the first sandwich, generously topped with salted butter, cucumber slices and garden cress, the vampire spawn went to the bathroom to splash some cold water in his puffy face. He felt a bit ashamed about his emotional outburst and scolded himself an idiot for telling the druid about his true feelings. He wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Astarion took in a shuddering breath – still always breathing even though there was no need for it – and willed himself to calm down.

"Astarion?"

"Give me a minute!"

He exhaled, opened his eyes, and look into the mirror above the sink. All he saw was his white shirt and his black leather trousers. And all he could conclude from it was what he already knew by looking down at his body: he was skinny. Astarion left the bathroom. Halsin looked troubled.

"I'm fine," the vampire spawn sighed. "Stop worrying and eat up."

Lost in thought, the druid gazed at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands – triple cheese – before, finally, finishing it with gusto. Astarion watched him fondly.

"Gale made a lingonberry jam pie. Do you want some?"

Halsin's eyes went wide, sparkling with joy, and the vampire spawn laughed.

"That's a yes, I wager."

He got up, grabbed the pie, and cut off a big slice. Then, he slid the plate over to the druid and handed him a fork. Halsin moaned at the first bite. The tartness of the berries and the sweetness of the sugar were perfectly balanced with the exotic spices in the crust.

"Yes, yes. Gale's a god in the kitchen, I know," teased Astarion and the druid nodded, still chewing.

"Delicious," the latter sighed then, shovelling more of the pie into his mouth.

Chuckling, the vampire spawn observed him. When Halsin had emptied his plate, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh and a stupid smile on his face. Astarion was in the mood to play the good host, refilled the druid's teacup, and washed the dishes.

Afterwards, they moved into the living room and joined the animals in front of the crackling fireplace. Contently, Halsin stretched out like a cat on a hot tin roof and cracked his knuckles, leaning against Naïlo's large, feathery flank. Astarion sat down next to him, avidly petting Scratch's ears. The dog's tail thumped against the carpet as he grumbled happily. Lazily, Halsin turned his head around and stated: "If you want, you can drink from me, little vampire."

Astarion froze, a shiver running down his spine at the pet name. He locked eyes with the druid.

"Really?" he breathed.

Halsin nodded with a smile. The vampire spawn licked his lips in anticipation and crawled towards the druid. He remembered how Halsin's blood got him drunk every time like a bear's. He still wondered why that was. Maybe it was an elf thing, but Astarion hadn't had the chance to test said theory yet.

"This is only our third time," he purred. "It's still exciting, isn't it?"

Smiling, Halsin stroke Astarion's cheek.

"It always is, little vampire."

He got off Naïlo and lay down on the floor instead. Astarion crawled on top of him, already salivating. With mirth dancing in his hazel eyes, Halsin whispered: "Be gentle."

"Anything for you, darling."

Astarion made a show of opening his mouth and presenting his sharp fangs, slowly running his tongue over his teeth. He felt smug when Halsin shuddered underneath him. It was a heady feeling to dominate such a hunk of a man. Astarion felt powerful and was, to his own surprise, utterly turned on and hard. He bent down to lick a broad strip across the druid's neck who's pulse was hammering under the suntanned skin. Astarion placed a gentle kiss there before biting down. Halsin gasped when the vampire spawn's fangs pierced his skin and icy cold numbness flooded the affected area of his neck like an anaesthetic. Astarion couldn't hold back the moan as the first gush of rich blood hit his palate. It tasted so different from other people's, almost animalistic in a way, and Astarion loved it. He swallowed another mouthful greedily and Halsin arched up into him, hips bucking.

"Astarion," the druid moaned, burying his fingers in the silver-white curls.

As an answer, the addressed slid his knee between the other man's legs and pressed his thigh into his crotch. Halsin moaned, rutting against the offered friction. He already was embarrassingly close. He could feel – and hear – how Astarion sucked his blood to the surface and gulped it down. Goosebumps spread over his skin and his thick legs trembled. Halsin deliberately stroke Astarion's pointy ear – a most intimate gesture in Elven culture – rolled his hips up, and panted: "My little vampire."

Astarion moaned into his neck, still feeding from him, and his fingernails dug deeper into the druid's chest. Halsin's eyes rolled back in his head and he climaxed with a loud, guttural moan. He felt lightheaded.

Maybe Astarion had taken too much of his blood this time, he thought, but didn't really care because he was too blissed out.

The vampire spawn finally drew back, panting and with his pupils blown wide.

"Amazing," he slurred. "Delicious. Delectable."

Halsin tugged at the laces of Astarion's trousers.

"Let me. Please."

The vampire spawn closed his eyes with a moan and nodded. Hastily, the druid fumbled the trousers down his pale, skinny legs. But Astarion flinched when Halsin's hand ran over his rear to help get the item of clothing off.

"I won't touch you more than necessary," the druid promised.

Panting, Astarion nodded and did his damn best to keep himself up on his arms.

They weren't intimate with each other. Ever. The only exceptions had been that foursome they'd had with Tav and Shadowheart which had made Astarion incredibly uncomfortable, and the other time had been when he'd first fed from Halsin almost five years ago. There had been a few sweet, chaste kisses in between, but nothing else. Astarion had never wanted anything else.

Now though, he moaned when the druid wrapped his hand around his member and started to stroke. The position wasn't favourable and Halsin's arm was at a weird angle, but he was experienced enough to make it work. He was sure that Astarion wouldn't approve if he'd flip them over. Thus, Halsin let the vampire spawn have the upper hand – at least, he gave him the illusion of it. Carefully, the druid stroke the vampire spawn's erection, spreading precum around, and rubbing his thumb over the glans. Astarion whined, lips still smeared with blood. His arms shook, saliva started to drip down from the corner of his mouth. If Halsin had been younger, he would have felt smug, but since he was over three hundred and fifty years old, he was simply enjoying making his partner feel good.

Heavy-lidded, the druid looked up at the trembling vampire spawn and another, new desire rose.

"Astarion, let me taste you. Please."

The addressed moaned and went cross-eyed.

"I… can't. Aah... Gods..."

"Please, little vampire. Let me suck you off."

Astarion's hips stuttered, his arms gave out and he landed face-first on top of Halsin's heaving chest. The latter caressed the vampire's spawn prominent hip bone.

"Sit on my face."

"Can't. My legs feel like overcooked noodles."

"May I turn you onto your back then?"

Astarion stayed quiet for a moment, only panting and twitching.

"Alright," he finally muttered.

Halsin reacted immediately, grabbing Astarion's waist, rolling them over, and swallowing his cock down to the root. Astarion cried out, almost jack-knifing off the floor. Halsin hummed, kept sucking him off, and stroke his pale thighs soothingly.

"F... uck!" Astarion whined.

He bucked his hips up one more time and came down Halsin's willing throat. The druid drank it all with relish. He hadn't had such a good cock in months. With closed eyes, he swallowed again and licked his lips.

"Gods above," Astarion wheezed, surprised about the intensity of his orgasm. He hadn't even hidden in his head. There had been no time. He definitely did not squeak when Halsin gently pulled his foreskin down and slurp at the head. Astarion's leg kicked out involuntarily.

"Off," he groaned, overwhelmed by the heat of the druid's mouth on his sensitive, spent member.

Halsin immediately complied and licked his fingers clean.

"My seeds aren't honey, you know?" the vampire spawn joked weakly.

"True. But you taste good nonetheless," the druid replied.

It made Astarion whimper and his cock twitch.

"Come here, druid," he said, opening up his arms.

The addressed embraced the vampire spawn and rolled onto his back to position his partner on top of him. He didn't want Astarion to feel suffocated. The latter hummed in appreciation and kissed Halsin as a thank you. Their tongues slid along each other, cold against hot, the taste of blood and cum mingling. Halsin slurped on Astarion's tongue before releasing it and sleepily smiling up at him. The vampire spawn sighed and lay his head onto the druid's chest. They rested like this, slipping in and out of reverie.

Halsin caressed Astarion's arm. Suddenly, he said: "I know one should not poke a bear, but your name is beautiful."

The vampire spawn smiled a little.

"Thank you. So is yours."

After a moment of comfortable silence, the druid mumbled: "There's another secret I haven't told you yet. After losing my parents, I always wished to belong somewhere again. Sure, I had the village community and later the Grove, but... I never felt like I truly belonged there. I always felt like a stranger. But now... here... I finally found a place where I belong. Tav, Shadowheart, Gale, you. Even Lae'zel, Karlach, and Wyll. I love you all, and you gave me a place in your family. I feel like I finally belong again. After decades, no, centuries. I'm grateful for it."

Astarion stayed quiet for a while, playing with Halsin's shirt while contemplating his reply.

"I feel the same. Cazador called us a family, but that's not what we were. I was lost, scared, bitter. And then, I found Tav. Our beautiful, good-hearted Tav. And I fell for her. Deeply. She brought us all together, believed in the good in us. Helped me heal. Helped me find the parts of myself again that had been lost for two centuries. And now, I belong. We all do. This is the place where we belong."

A smile spread over Halsin's face and he stroke Astarion's curls while he answered: "It truly is."

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fanfic #astarion #astarion ancunin #halsin #halsin silverbough #scratch #owlbear cup #naïlo #tara #tara the tressym #astarion x halsin #smut #mind the trigger warning #character study

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hells-wells · 2 years

Text

Don't blame The Movies 10

The Killers pattern isn't making sense to you, what's the missing piece of the puzzle?

Pairings////////// Billy X Reader, Billy X Stu X Reader///////////----------///// Warnings---------//////////// Gaslighting, teen smoking, Ghostface shenanigans

Skipping class wasn’t the biggest worry you had right now, sneaking out to the back of the school, you needed a breather, Standing in the shade, lighting a cigarette you were lost in thought and didn’t hear the footsteps quickly approaching.

“Y/n? It’s Y/n, right?” You recognized her voice from Top Story, you never missed an episode “Kenny, roll, NOW!”

You let out an annoyed sigh and turned to see Gale Weathers.

“Gale Weathers here, and I Have Y/n Y/l/n, the first survivor from these gruesome attacks. Y/n, would you like to share your experience with us?” Clicking her fingers to draw the man’s attention.

You let out a small groan.

If she wasn't such a pain I would almost admire her.

Exhaling “Not really.” turning to leave Gale follows you.

“You know, it could help put a stop to this!”

“Ah-huh, just like your coverage on Maureen’s murder helped Sid?” You replied dryly, turning to meet her gaze.

Catching Gale off guard, her tone betrayed her smile “It’s my job to report the news, especially when there’s an innocent man in prison.”

Raising an eyebrow “You’re so sure about that?”

“I am, he’s never changed his story, not a single word.” She confidently counted.

“Maybe he’s a natural liar, you reported on similar cases a few months ago.”

“You watch my show?” Her smile grew as she eyed you.

“For the antichrist of Journalism, your show is surprisingly good… At times.”

“You people make me sick!” Himbry’s angry voice yelled out, you both looked taken aback to see him speed walking towards you, you quickly dropped the cigarette and stepped on it “You know damn well you’re not supposed to be here.”

Gale gritted her teeth, obviously struggling to suppress her anger “I wasn’t aware that included the parking lot.”

He stood next to you, dropping a hand on your shoulder “Are you alright Y/n?” You nodded, watching them closely.

Gale cut in “We were just leaving, Y/n, here.” Gale handed you her card “In case you change your mind, my cell is on the back.” You watched as she and her poor cameraman practically ran out of the parking lot.

I have a feeling that poor bastard doesn’t get paid nearly enough.

“Y/n, come with me,” Himbry complained the entire way back to his office about reporters, seeing more classmates running around, he included your generation in that rant. You spotted Stu and Tatum at her locker, locking eyes he mouthed “Are you ok?” You shrugged. It wasn’t a lie, for all you knew you were about to be suspended.

“Please, sit.” Doing as you were told, you sat there silently “With everything going on, you’re not in trouble.” Himbry gently stroked your chin, instantly making you feel uncombable “But if I catch you smoking on school grounds again.” He gently warned.

You nodded “I won’t do it again.”

He nodded “Ok, the reason you’re here is that-”

The office door opened and you turned to see Miss Nancy, she made her way over to you both.

“Were you waiting long?” Her eyes darted between you and Mr Himbry.

“No.”

“Y/n, how are you feeling?” Her kind gaze fell on you.

“Why do I feel like I’m in an intervention?” You watched them both.

Miss Nancy smiled warmly, “Funny, no, we wanted to check in with you.” She took a seat facing you, Himbry followed her and pulled out a chair, sitting next to her. “We know your home life is… Isn’t the best, is your mother home?” Miss Nancy asked gently, leaning forward she placed a hand on top of yours.

“She’s back.” All this contact made you slightly uncomfortable as you weren’t used to it.

“That’s good, I was worried about you being alone”

“I’m used to it.”

She nodded “Mmm but you shouldn’t have to be. I was curious if she hadn’t come home, what would you have done?”

You thought for a moment “Probably stay with Billy or Stu, I didn’t give it much thought.”

Miss Nancy looked at Mr Himbry before turning back, facing you “You’ve known them for a while?” Mr Himbry suddenly asked.

You were growing annoyed “Yeah since we were about five.”

“An-and you’ve had sleepovers before?” Himbry seemed embarrassed to ask, his face grew flustered.

“Yeah… I’m pretty close to both families.”

“I’m going to cut to the chase Y/n, we don’t think you should spend so much time with him, I get it, he’s a friend but”

You cut her off. “He didn’t do it.”

She looked at you with sad eyes “Yes, but we as adults see things that you might not. We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I appreciate everyone’s concern but I trust him with my life.” Shaking her grip, you quickly made your way to the door and left.

Opening your locker lost in thought, your cell phone made you jump “Hello?”

“Y/n.” That same sinister voice answered with a small chuckle.

You shakily looked around you, hoping to see your friends, someone but the hallways were empty “What do you want?”

His voice purred “We never did finish our game.”

Instinctively grabbing your still tender throat “Fuck off.”

“I’ll see you soon Y/n, I’m counting down the hours.” Before he could continue you hung up, slammed the locker door shut and ran. Speed Walking down the hallway you ran into a flustered Sidney “Sorry” her breathing was erratic “Are you ok?!”

Her eyes darted behind her before grabbing your hand and continuing to run outside “He’s here, I swear he’s here!”

Dread started to overwhelm you “Wait, what?!”

“The killer, he attacked me in the girl's bathroom!”

Fear started to sink in.

She led you out the front of the school, and you spotted Dewey, tugging on her hand, Sid followed your gaze “Dewey’s over there!”

Both of you ran towards his friendly smile “Shouldn’t you girls be in class?”

Sidney frantically replied, “The killer’s here!”

Dewey looked between you both “Are you sure?”

“He attacked me in the girl’s bathroom!” She was growing more upset, turning to look at you for help “I-i ran and found Y/n”

“It’s true, he called me before I ran into Sid.” Their shocked faces turned to you.

Dewey called for backup, and led you both to Himbry’s office, after telling you both to stay here he went to check with backup, Himbry was outside his office door talking to Burke.

Sidney turned to you “Why didn’t you mention the call?” her voice was filled with doubt.

“And when would I have? He could have chased us down.”

She nodded, taking it in “What did he say?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

You leaned in closer “Just being a dick. Something about finishing our game, I hung up on him before it went on longer.”

“Why is the killer targeting us?’

The question hung in the air, why? It had to be something… First, Casey and Steve, you were attacked and then Sid, it wasn’t adding up.

Himbry and Burke decided due to the attack on Sid and your phone call it was best to place a curfew and suspend school for a few days. You weren’t convinced that her attack wasn’t one of the many arseholes dressed up, a prank went wrong but with no one coming forward, you couldn’t decide. Himbry let the teachers inform each class, Miss Nancy came with you to have a cigarette. Given what happened she allowed you to go out the back by the field. The side of the bleachers stood next to the bushes, using them to keep hidden.

“You know those things'll kill ya?” She mocked.

You couldn’t help but laugh “More or less than there being a killer on the loose?”

“Touche” She sat down with you on the cold steel “While we’re here, I’m sorry if we upset you before.”

Looking over at her “It’s fine, but why the sudden worry?.” taking a long drag you avoided eye contact.

“Look, it’s not just because of what I saw the other day.” she took a deep breath “Both of them have always been very attached to you and very protective of you… If I’m being honest I see them around with girlfriends and as far as I can tell you’ve always been just friends?”

“We… Have.”

“If they were really your friends they wouldn’t put you in that bad situation. That’s all I wanted to say earlier.”

There was silence for a moment while you took everything in.

“Y/n, I know this isn’t my place but I don’t think you have someone at home that see’s what’s wrong… You need to be careful with everything that’s happening.” You nodded “And be careful of who you trust.”

A cracking sound broke the silence, and you noticed a dark shadow moving quickly further into the bushes, Miss Nancy suddenly jumped up, her eyes glued to the bushes “Di-did you see that?!” Her eyes were glued to where the dark shadow was.

NEXT CHAPTER

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alpydk · 6 months

Text

Cabinet of Oddities (Part 13)

I don't want to say mental health affects content, but yeah it does... Oops.

Ao3 link Ao3 Full

Summary: How else do you handle rejection? Well, you get drunk and shout at the sky. At least that's what Nana wants to do.

Gale woke, his body aching but at least he was alive. He pulled the woollen blanket off his body and sat up coughing out the spit that had pooled at the back of his throat. Nobody was in the tent, that was good. It gave him a moment to collect himself, to untangle the knots from his hair, and change out of the sweat-covered clothing he had slept in. He thought over what had happened with the bibberbangs and the events that had unfolded afterwards. He could have died and it would have been over for him, for all of them. He held his hand to his chest rubbing at the pressure of the orb, it would need to be satiated again soon, this restless hunger.

Not long later he left the tent looking around. It seemed the group had just arrived back from their explorations and he approached them slowly as they sat at the fire. He saw no sign of Astarion or Nana and his heart sank a little as he realised that during his illness neither had not come to watch over him.

“Magic man, you’re alive!” Karlach gave him a wave and moved up allowing him to sit with the group. “Feeling great, yeah?”

“I would hesitate to use the word great, more rather, unburdened by the implantations of bibberbang spores.” He sat down, smoothing his hands over his robes. “That is to say, however, that I am better now compared to how I was. I thank you all for your assistance, for saving my life, what little it may be worth.”

Wyll handed over a drink to Gale. “You don’t need to thank us. We know you would have done the same for any of us.”

Gale took the drink and cupped it between his hands. They were right, he would have done the same for them. As he looked around at their faces he felt a warmth, a kinship, and he knew he was doing the right thing by continuing to travel with them. “Has everything been in order since, well… I notice Nana and Astarion are absent.”

“Yeah, they’re fine. They snuck off together to her tent just after we got back.” Karlach saw the drop of Gale’s face as she spoke. “She’s in a right mood today though, so it's probably best if they're out of the way. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt again.” Gale could tell she meant this as a joke and yet he couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it. Was Nana avoiding him because of what had happened? It had just been an unfortunate accident.

“Maybe I should go and have a quiet word, though. Just to smooth out the proverbial creases,” He began to stand only for Wyll to press his leg back down. He was still weak after his recovery so he sat with an awkward thud.

Wyll’s tone was pleasant but advising. “Not a good idea, Gale. She will be happy to know you’re doing well, but it’s probably best she lets off some steam first. Astarion will help her do that, and then in the morning we can all carry on as if nothing has changed.” He gave a reassuring smile not realising the storm going on in Gale’s mind. Astarion will help her do that. What does he mean by that?

Gale spent the next hour with Wyll and Karlach, sipping at the vile concoction Wyll had made up for them. He noted that next time before they travel he should make up a batch of tea leaves so neither he nor anyone else would have to suffer through this again. Eventually, he spotted Astarion leaving Nana’s tent and without realising stood up to meet him.

“Gale, it’s good to see you among the living!” Astarion approached with a grin on his face. “For a moment we thought Wyll was going to have to replace you as our resident do-gooder.”

Gale looked past him towards the tent to see if Nana was following. “Ah, well no, we couldn’t be having any of that, could we.”

Astarion spotted his off-centre gaze and leaned in close to him acting as if to give an intended hug. “I don’t know what you said to her last night, darling. But thank you.” He pulled himself away quickly, his voice a lot louder for the other group members to hear. “Darling, I’ve not nearly had enough wine for you yet!” He left for his own tent with a laugh.

Gale shook his head but looked at Nana’s tent in confusion. But I didn’t see her last night. What could I have said?

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

Nana sat in the tent alone after Astarion had left. She’d come too close to telling him everything. About Thomas, about the pact she had made to bring him back. She was past all that now, it wasn’t important and she just wanted to get the worm out of her head and go back home, away from Astarion and his lies, away from Shadowheart who was quick to throw blame, and away from Gale and his precious Mystra.

She poured herself a glass of wine in the hope that she could just get drunk and fall asleep. Two bottles later and shouting at a copy of Flumph Mating Rituals she discovered that this plan had failed her, and so the next step would be to confront the problem. She left the tent and decided to instead shout at the sky.

She stumbled her way past the tents of the others, fell over a collection of cushions outside of Gale’s and then after stealing two of them, stood at the edge of the nearby chasm staring down into the abyss. She swayed back and forth a little and then began to shout, the cushions waving in her hands as she attempted to point upwards.

“Mystra!” She shook a cushion in the air. “You get down here right now!” Her voice was loud and slurred and as she shot an arm in the air she fell forward slightly, the chasm below waiting for her. “How dare you… you… well, you know what you are! You’re just like the rest of them!” The second cushion fell to the ground and she attempted to pick it up falling onto her knees. “Oh, soft… wait no, no. Mystra… You hurt him! You hurt him and you deserted him and he loves you…he loves you so much.” Nana stood and her voice began to falter, the drunken tears falling from her eyes as she sputtered out the words. “And it’s not fair because you gods, you’re all so damn pathetic, sitting on your clouds, looking down on us. And you never help! You never help us when we need you, when we beg, when we cry...” She stood teetering over the edge and as her body lurched forward she felt a hand on her shoulder pulling her back.

She turned to see Gale looking at her. Her world spun and she leaned back uncontrollably. He quickly grabbed her closer pulling her into his chest and as she felt his body against hers her heart pounded. She tried to push him away slightly, the cushions still gripped in her hands but she had neither the strength nor coordination to do it effectively. The tears still streamed from her eyes as she pushed at him. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed with spite.

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

Gale loosened his grip as he turned her from the chasm. At least if she stumbled now, it would not be to her demise. She fell back from him onto the ground and threw a cushion limply past him. It vanished into the darkness of the void. He felt a mixture of emotions seeing her like this, humour at the site of her drunken behaviour, anger at the words she had shouted towards Mystra, confusion on what had gotten her into this state in the first place, and lastly concern over her wellbeing. “Nana, it is not safe to be out here in this condition. Come, let me take you back to your tent where you can sleep all this off.”

“No, not you, I don’t need you. I don't need you, or Mystra, or any of them!.” Or Mystra? What was she talking about?

Gale approached her cautiously. “Nana, I’m not entirely sure I follow what you’re saying. What have I done to deserve such treatment?”

“You said you loved her!” Her voice trailed out as she continued, mixing with pitiful cries as she stumbled over the words. “How can you love someone so cruel!?”

Loved her? When did I- It was then that he realised who had spoken to him during his feverish ramblings. The voice that had apologised and professed their love. It was not his goddess that he had dreamt of for so long, the one whom he yearned to be forgiven by. No, it had been Nana.

He sighed and held his hands to his head, rubbing at his temples “Nana, I am so sorry-”

Nana morphed her form into a makeshift image she had seen of Mystra, her red hair becoming long and dark, her eyes larger and shaded amber. Gale stood in awe at the spectacle he saw before him, Mystra here. My Goddess… Only this wasn’t her. She was different, her mannerisms, the clothing still that of Nana, the appearance less radiant than that of the one he had become so intimately familiar with. “Oh look at me,” she said, “so mighty and powerful.” She waved the cushion as she slurred “...and I don’t feel so good.”

He watched as her body lurched to the side and she started to retch. This imprecise drunken version of the goddess he had once loved pathetically emptying the contents of her stomach onto the ground next to her. He sighed deeply, hurt by the spectacle. “Nana...”

As she coughed out the last remnants of alcohol, she involuntarily transformed into her natural shape. Her white hair hung over her dirt and tear-stained face and she wiped her mouth messily, looking up to Gale exhausted and confused. He could see her pale eyes struggling to focus on a fixed version of him as if trying to find his body in a mirror image spell. “Gale… I’ve messed up, haven’t I?”

He was disappointed in her. In the immaturity she had taken towards the situation but at the same time, he felt a wave of guilt, that her behaviour had been caused by his feelings towards someone whom he should have gotten past long ago. If only I could be better. As she tried to lift herself up from the ground he offered out his hand to her for support.

She took a moment to consider it before she reached out, her fingers weaving with his, and pulled herself up falling into him.“Thank you,” she whispered. Gale held her close and walked her back to her tent making sure that she was shielded from anyone who might have woken from the noise. For her to be found appearing as she was, in this drunken state would be disastrous. When they reached the tent he placed her down softly onto the bedroll with a blanket and as she lay on the ground, body weary, he stroked her hair. She continued to mumble as she closed her eyes, her mind drifting further away. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.”

He looked at her with pity. What had her life been like to keep so much hidden about herself? Why in her drunken state had she chosen to lash out at the gods above them? We need to talk. He continued to stroke her hair as she fell asleep. “Shh, now is not the time to speak of such matters. You fall asleep, I’ll be here if you need me.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #dnd character #changeling

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envysnest · 7 months

Text

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 5/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

TW's for this chapter: Rape flashback (non-graphic) in the first two paragraphs of section 3; mild blood and descriptions of bruising (bite time!).

————

Wyll trails behind the rest of your group. With every new encounter on the road, Wyll ducks behind Karlach or Gale, hiding his horns from friendly strangers. He fights enemies with robotic fervor: stab, swing, toss. Stab, swing, toss: like a bored fishmonger beheading their wares. Everyone treads lightly around you two, and it isn’t long before you and Wyll are walking alone, yards away from the rest of your party.

You keep your voice low. “How did this happen, Wyll?”

“It's a 'gift' from my master. A token of her appreciation, you could say.” He looks miserable. “Pipeweed made it hurt less, so cheers for that.”

You shiver. “I’m sure I’ve got a numbing cream for the horns. Perhaps Violet Lily will do it?"

Wyll does smile a little, and you count it as a victory. “Didn’t you say something about an Ethel? Perhaps she’s got something for an Infernal Curse.”

“I…” You slow down to keep pace beside him. “She said she had Yellow Gnoll’s Ear back at her cottage. That mushroom would also help dull your pain.”

Wyll puts a gentle hand on your upper back. “You should have said something earlier,” he murmurs. “Had I known you needed extra care, I would have--"

The goodwill inside of you is gone, replaced by irritation. You shy out of Wyll’s grip. “I don’t need extra care,” you huff.

Wyll holds up both hands. He has that miserable look in his eye again. Shame, you realize, it’s shame.

“Sorry,” he says, and something in his face twitches— crumples, briefly— before he smiles. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You grimace. “Let’s just…” You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale slowly. The air smells like apple blossoms; fall would be here soon. It relaxes you. "We'll head south, but only for a moment. I’m not going to waste the group’s time—”

“I could use the Gnoll’s Ear too, Tav. If you need an excuse, then by all means, lean on me.”

An excuse: you didn’t have to tell the group why you needed to find Ethel’s cottage. Why would he offer that to you? What did he get out of it?

You pause in the path; Wyll stops with you. He waits calmly as you stare at him, at his new red eye and his horns and his ridged neck. Wyll worries something at his hip with his right hand: a small, braided rope of leather. It looked like something a child would make: a decorative little thing, a keepsake. It was tied to his belt, right next to his rapier. Wyll guides the braid over his middle knuckle.

He looks up at the sky. "Tav--"

“Tavvendish,” Lae’zel calls from further up the path. “A moment?”

“Coming!” you shout back. You turn to Wyll, who watches the group from over his shoulder. You curtsey to him. “Thank you, Wyll."

Wyll jumps and looks back to you. “Any time, Tav.” He gives you a little bow, but it’s unsteady. “Remember you’re not alone in this.”

Yes, you think, I am.

The party huddles around something, but what, you can't see; you catch a smattering of brown fur in the dirt road. Lae’zel cranes her neck to stare at you over Karlach’s shoulder. You exchange glances with Wyll. He raises both eyebrows and jerks his head towards Lae'zel. You approach the party.

Karlach nudges the brown, furry lump with her sword. “It’s so light. What in the hells happened to it?”

“I don’t see what’s so interesting.” Astarion stands some distance away, examining his nails. “An animal was killed by something-or-other, probably one of those vipers Tavvendish is obsessed with. We’ve seen hundreds of animals by now, haven’t we?”

You squeeze past Shadowheart and Gale. Finally, you see what the brown, furry lump is: it's a boar carcass turned on its side. Dark brown blood pools underneath it. Its neck bears two pinprick holes, each perfectly symmetrical: a bite of some kind, but a large one, bigger than you’ve ever seen before.

You touch the boar’s fur, and its corpse shifts easily under your palm. A pale tongue lolls out of its skull as it flops to one side. You press down on its neck, palpating around the bite, but nothing seeps from the wounds. You furrow your brow, press harder. Still, the bite remains stubbornly dry.

“It’s…empty,” you say aloud. “No blood.”

Astarion throws his hands in the air. “It probably bled out on the path! Fascinating!"

"Not enough for a boar," you reply.

Lae’zel crouches down with you. “It’s fresh. This must have happened hours ago. The rot has not set in yet.”

“’Least it doesn’t smell,” says Karlach. Her armor jingles as she shivers: “Brrrrr! Hate flies.”

“Yes, yes.” Astarion waves to the path. “Let’s move along before they lay their eggs.”

You place your index finger and thumb between the bite marks. From a rough estimate, the bite was too large to be a rosebush viper, or any snake in this region. Too small to be a gnoll’s, certainly, but then what else could it be? You can only think of the Monkshood Spider-- the males were as large as a man-- but that species preferred warmer locales, certainly ones lacking apple blossoms. And the Monkshood genus had a more obvious curve to their fangs—

“Any luck, Tav?” Gale asks.

“I can’t place this,” you say. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Karlach’s hand appears in your vision, and she points at the bite. “Astarion, mate. Not enough blood around for a stab.”

You turn to your pack, fish around for your notebook and charcoal. “Do you mind?” you say up at the group. “I’d like to document this. It will only be a minute.”

Astarion presses both palms to his face and lets out a muffled, frustrated scream.

Lae’zel stands. “We waste our time here,” she says, looking at each person individually. “If Tavvendish cannot offer an identification—”

“Let the woman work,” Shadowheart snaps. “It’s not as if we’re turning into mind flayers anytime soon.

“Not yet, we aren't,” growls Lae’zel.

“Oh, shit, Tavvy.” Karlach points at your drawing. “Looks just like it. You’re good at this!”

“Thank you,” you say.

“It’s a boar,” Astarion grits out. “Can we go now?”

“There’s another explanation for this.” It's Wyll, behind you. “The boar is exsanguinated.”

"Ex-sangui-huh?" Karlach mutters.

“Wyll,” you say, not looking up as you sketch the musculature of the neck. “That book was nonsense. You can’t possibly believe it.”

“I’m not talking about your book, Tav. Vampires are very real besides.”

Astarion scoffs. “Tell us more fairy tales, oh Duke Ravengard.”

“Quiet,” you snap at Astarion. “You’ve been a boor all morning.”

Astarion scoffs again and puts his hands on his hips. “I’m merely trying to keep us focused,” he drawls, leaning towards you. “We’ve all got tadpoles in our head, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Lae’zel reaches for your notebook, and you instinctively jerk it out of reach.

There’s a pause, then:

“Tavvendish,” says Lae’zel: low, and with an emotion you can't name. “Finish quickly. It’s nearly mid-day.”

“I know,” you say, willing yourself to keep your voice level and your charcoal steady. “One second.”

Her eyebrows raise, just slightly. “A minute more, then,” she says.

“By Silvanus, a minute’s all I need.”

Wyll speaks again. “We should proceed with caution. If there is a vampire lord in the area, then we aren’t adequately prepared for what follows. We need to warn the Grove.”

“I can do a little for a vampire,” says Shadowheart. “But if it’s a vampire lord, we won’t stand a chance.” She hesitates. “Wyll's right. Perhaps we'd better listen."

“Shall I beat my head against a tree, then?” Astarion says. “Will that make everyone listen?”

You blow dust off of your drawing. “It will certainly shut you up.”

“Tav,” says Gale, but he's trying not to laugh. “Be nice, won’t you?”

“I’ll be nice when he—” and you point at Astarion with the charcoal, “—returns the favor.”

Karlach tuts. “Dunno, Astarion. I wouldn’t mess around with a poisoner, not unless you want to shit out your mouth for a tenday.”

“I can’t do that,” you mutter, just as Astarion gasps: “How vile!”

Karlach leans in: you know, because you feel heat beating against your hair. “He doesn’t have to know that,” she stage-whispers to you. “I’m sick of the little ponce, myself.”

Across from you, Lae’zel huffs. It takes you a moment to realize: it's a laugh.

————

Back at the Grove, your party splits apart again. In one dark corner, Zevlor's speaking to Wyll with with great urgency; the warlock merely crosses his arms and stares at the floor, nodding occasionally.

With a shaking hand, Zevlor gestures to Wyll's horns. Wyll winces and turns away.

“‘Scuse me,” says a child.

You look down. A tiefling, no older than seven or eight, blinks up at you. He folds his hands together, then unfolds them, then folds them again.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” he says, digging one toe into the dirt. “But my friends and I need gold for our lunch—”

He points, and you follow his finger to a gaggle of tiefling children in front of the baker's, begging for food. Some of them are small, small enough to need tiptoes to see over the stall's edge. When the baker shakes his head, the children whine in unison.

The tiefling boy turns back to you. “Wouldn’t you mind? It’s just three gold for a mince pie. We can split it. Just need the one.”

A single mince pie wasn’t nearly enough for that many children. Your siblings, yourself included, usually demolished a pie each. You’d spent countless hours in the kitchen with your eldest brother Trisrel while your parents were in the workshop. Trisrel had married a Baker, and he brought back endless recipes, tricks for doing more with the Carvers's less.

You fish out your coin purse. Only a few ten-pieces roll around. Three per pie, per seven…and some of them were older, too, already towering above the rest. They’d need two each. You think of another night slaving away over rosebush viper antivenom, and then you remember Ethel’s promise of Yellow Gnoll’s Ear, and you briefly panic. You could, perhaps, beg Wyll for gold…

“I don’t know, sprout…” You trail off. The boy clasps his hands together in earnest supplication.

“Pleaaaase?” he asks.

Another timid voice pipes up beside you: “Is that really you?”

You turn around and lock eyes with a tiefling girl. You recognize her: the very same child from the Grove, the one Kagha had threatened with the Horned Opal.

“Thank you again, miss.” Her voice is soft, hesitant. She bows to you. “For the other day. I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Harm by what?” you ask. You crouch down to her level, and the tiefling backs away. She turns her face from you.

“It was just a joke,” she says. “Honest. I wanted to— um— I took Silvanus for a laugh. Won’t do it again! Swear on me mum, I won't.”

She looks so much like your youngest sister, Mira, that it pains you. The last time you saw Mira, the last time you visited Fox’s Keep, she had clutched your robes. Don’t go, sis, she had cried: sis, because back then, she was still too young for sister. You had planned to spend at least an afternoon with her on this upcoming visit, but then-- well, the Nautiloid happened.

You look between the children. “What are your names?"

The girl rubs her eyes with two closed fists. “Arabella,” she murmurs.

"Zaki," says the boy.

“Well, then, Arabella. Zaki.” You fiddle with your coin purse. “I am Tav. And I know the Oak Father would forgive you for having a laugh.”

Arabella lifts her head. “Really?”

“Really and truly.” You place one hand over your heart: “I promise, by Silvanus himself.”

“You’re not—” She turns to you, wringing her hands. “You’re not cross with me, are you, miss? Tav.”

Once, your Nana scolded your mother in front of you: Children must be disciplined. They should learn to respect authority. How your cheek had stung from her slap. Your mother had tugged on your wrist, then, urging you upright, just as Rav had done with Arabella.

You smile at her. “So long as you don’t do it again. Can you promise me that, Arabella?”

She presses her own hand to her heart, mimicking you. “I solemnly swear,” she says.

“Good girl. All is well.”

Arabella smiles back at you. She hesitates.

“What about lunch?” she asks.

Oh. It made sense that the statue thief would know how to spin a yarn. You frown. “You promised, Arabella. I mean it— don’t do it again.”

“Honest!” Arabella blurts out. “We’re just…” She exchanges glances with Zaki. “Hungry.”

“Really hungry,” Zaki adds. “Please? Pretty please?”

Arabella gasps. “I have rocks!” She digs around in her pockets and produces a small agate crystal. She shoves it at you. “Bet you anything it’s magic!”

"Hmmmm." You pretend to appraise the stone with a critical eye. Arabella shoves the stone into your waiting hand: “See?”

“Very lovely,” you say. You put your hand to your chin and hold the agate to the light. There is a faint tingle of the Weave around it, eerily enough: low and droning, like a hum. You make a questioning noise. “No, Arabella, you keep this. I’ll give you the gold.”

Zaki claps and does a little spin. “Yay!”

Arabella fights another smile as you pass her crystal back to her. “Really?” she asks, eyes wide; she clutches the crystal protectively to her chest.

“Really really," you say, and you turn to Zaki. “You should all be properly fed. I’ll give you enough for a pie each, with a little left over for a sweetie. How’s that?”

Zaki’s mouth hangs open. He and Arabella exchange excited glances.

“Only the once,” you say to your coin purse. “I’ve no money besides.” You count out gold pieces into Arabella’s waiting hands. “And what do we say?”

“Thank you!” Zaki stage-whispers. Arabella follows suit, albeit shyly: “Thaaank youuu.”

“Good children always say thank you.” You glance between Arabella’s palm and your coin purse. “How many of you are there, again?”

“Really?” Astarion drawls behind you, and you start. “Are you just going to give all our gold away?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. He raises his eyebrows and inclines his head towards you.

“Well?” he asks.

You turn back to the tiefling children. “Don’t listen to him,” you stage-whisper. “He also wants a gift."

Astarion splutters indignantly. Zaki giggles.

You place a hand on Arabella’s shoulder, gently urging her towards her friends. “Go on, little sprout,” you say. “Buy whatever you’d like.”

Arabella runs to them with the fistful of gold lofted high in the air, shrieking with delight. Zaki scrambles along behind her. All of the children hop up and down. “Mince pies!” someone shouts, and the others join in: "Mince pies!" They dance around each other eagerly: “Mince pies! Mince pies! Mince pies!”

You dust your robes off and stand. Familiar black spots appear at the edges of your vision, and you stumble backwards, your hand pressed to your forehead. You kept forgetting to stand up slowly. The tadpole stirs, squeaks a little.

“I’ve never seen a group so excited over mince pies,” Astarion says over your shoulder. He crosses his arms. In a lower register, he mutters to you, “Rather irritates me, if I’m honest.”

“Children irritate you?” you say. The children have gathered around the baker’s table, all reaching upwards for their meals. You hear the coins hit the table with a clatter. The baker smiles, relieved, at you as they wrap the pies in crisp wax paper. One by one, they give the children their pies, and you hear their little voices: “Thank you!” “Thank you.” “Thank you, saer!” “Thank youuu!”

“--can’t stand the little monsters.” Astarion pouts. “Gods. I really can’t believe you gave our gold away?"

I think there's another child needs feeding. You gesture to the children. “They were hungry, Astarion. What was I meant to do, let them starve?”

“Well,” and here Astarion smirks at you, all sarcasm and bitterness, “perhaps you let some other poor fool feed the pigs next time.”

You turn on your heel to sneer at him. “I can’t believe you, Astarion! Denying food to children? Heavens forbid you think of someone else for once.”

Astarion straightens, and suddenly, he's not smiling at all. There’s a cold look in his eyes you can’t place. “I’m only looking out for number one, dearest,” he says, but there’s no mirth in it.

“Well—”

The children race past you with their food. A few bump into your legs, teetering you off-balance.

“Oi!” you shout at Arabella. She stumbles and turns around, trailing behind the rest of the group as they vault over the grass. “Don’t go running with a full belly!” you call.

Arabella curtsies, giggling, and rushes to join the others. You can hear her yelling at her little group: “Miss Tav said to sit! Don’t run!”

Astarion gives you a pointed look. “Any other kind advice, mother dearest?”

You feel the barb in your side. “Seven younger siblings." You watch the children climb a grassy hill and settle at the top. “Sometimes I was the one who raised them.”

The tiefling children, some still standing, tuck into their meals. One stomps their feet excitedly; his friend bounces on his toes.

“Should’ve tormented the little beasts with your spiders.” Astarion immediately brightens. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” He taps your arm with the back of his knuckles, laughing. “How they’d scream!”

You jerk your arm out of his reach. “It would stress the children and the animals.”

“Oh no!” Astarion sighs with practiced theatrics. “Won’t someone think of the deadly, poisonous spiders?”

“Poison is something you eat,” you snap over your shoulder. “Venom is used by something that eats you.”

Astarion wails like he's been stabbled. He sways onto the path in front of you, staggering and coughing. “I weep for them,” he cries at the dirt, running his fingers over his cheeks. “The poor, defenseless darlings!” He looks directly at you and gasps. “Thank goodness Tavvendish Carver is here to care for them! Praise the Oak Father! It’s a divine miracle!”

You nod. “Finished?”

Astarion visibly deflates as he glares at you. “Yes, I’m finished. I put work into that, you know.”

Someone tugs your robes as he's talking, and you look down to see a curly-haired tiefling boy. He has half of the mince pie in his free hand; the other half— or what looks it— fills his cheeks to bursting.

“‘Fanks f’r lumch, ma’am,” he says; crumbs fly out of his mouth with each word. Before you can respond, he shuffles forward and wraps his arm around your leg.

Your heart leaps as he closes his eyes. You pet the boy's hair fondly, even though he’s now getting crumbs on your trousers. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. But you’re very welcome.”

From beside you, Astarion bends forward. “Come here, sweetling,” he coos at the boy. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Astarion,” you growl.

The boy’s eyes go wide. He freezes in place, mouth poised in mid-chew, hiding from Astarion behind your leg. He shakes his head dramatically.

“Ignore him!” you chirp, leaning into the tiefling boy’s eyeline, and he looks up at you. “Go and sit with your friends.”

When the child’s eyes, distrustful, slide back to Astarion, you usher him towards the other children. “Run along, sprout. Don’t mind him. Finish your pie.”

Slowly, with eyes still trained on Astarion, he lets go of your leg. You nudge him, and like a startled deer, he runs for the others. Some of the children have already finished their pies and lounge in the grass, chattering in small clumps. Two tieflings start a hand game, its pattern unfamiliar to you:

"Stella and Bella, walking in two Up the path where the wildbelles bloom Found a bard and this he said: ‘I can rhyme as many as…’ One, clap, two, clap clap, three, clap clap clap, four…”

“Hellooo?” Astarion snaps his fingers inches from your face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You scrunch your nose. “What question?”

"Oh, forget it.”

Irritation flares in you. “Duly noted. I will.”

You turn your back on the tieflings and head deeper into the Grove. Astarion, likely smelling victory, follows in close pursuit.

“You know, I’ve never noticed before— there’s a bit of green in your hair!” He tousles your hair, and you bat his hand away. “In the light, it offsets the brown quite nicely. Though…” He cups his hand around his mouth, drops his voice to a whisper: “You’re also going a bit gray.”

“I am well aware.” You snarl at him. “Do not pull my hair.”

“And ruin those lovely curls? I’d never.” He fans a hand wide behind his head. “Haven’t you seen me? I know your texture like the back of my hand.”

“If it were you, Astarion, I would have fed you, too.”

His footsteps halt behind you, but you don’t care. You keep walking.

"Eats like a bird, anyway," you mutter.

Astarion is nowhere to be seen the rest of the day.

————

Kestral is on you again. His hands-- all-encompassing, warm-- are down your blouse. You hear someone else laughing; a woman congratulates him, then congratulates you. Kestral laughs with her. You cannot move; you are helpless here, in this forested darkness, with his hands holding you down. You can only stare at your fellow Trialmates, hoping one of them will pull him away. They do not pull him away. You can taste his lip piercing in your mouth.

Kestral swings his leg over you. No, you think, squirming under him, this isn’t how it went— this isn’t how he—

Someone is on top of you.

You gasp for air, and the scene resolves itself in an instant: you are at camp, and it is seventy-four years after your Trial, and there is a tadpole squealing in your head, and Astarion hovers over you with his mouth over your throat.

Instantly, you go rigid, eyes darting over the roof of your tent. Fighting would only make it worse, you knew that. Better let Astarion finish quickly and leave you alone. Fool, you think. You should’ve known better, should’ve seen the way he looked you up and down after a battle. You think of his cool fingers tracing the Witch Bolt, think of his laughter, and you shiver. How many times would it take for you to learn?

Astarion isn’t moving. Rather, he stays there, lying on top of you, and you hear him inhale. Your lips are moving, forming well-rehearsed pleas— no, stop, please, not here, don’t hurt me— but never speaking them. You’re trembling, you realize, and you’re embarrassingly, inexplicably aroused. You loathe yourself for it.

You hear his lips part— there's something sharp against your throat—

--and this time, with this man, you do manage to speak. “No:" Feeble. Pleading.

Astarion stumbles back, shielding his head with his arm. He’s talking and gesturing everywhere; you can’t hear a word over the ringing in your ears. You swallow, frozen in place.

He leans towards you, eyes wide and curious, and in the split-second it takes for him to clamp his mouth shut, you see them: curved incisors, long and sharp and glistening in the moonlight.

The boar from earlier— the size of the bite—

Oh, you think. OH.

You sit up. Astarion cowers from you instantly, pressing his back to the other wall of the tent. Slowly, as if you emerged from underwater, his voice comes into focus: “—let me explain, I can— please, darling, don’t be upset—”

“Astarion,” you croak. You clear your throat, willing yourself to calm down. You need to know; you need to hear it from him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable. “Let me explain!”

Explain? Was there a justification for why he was...?

Your adrenaline tilts, dizzyingly, to anger. Before you can stop yourself, you lean towards him; he brings his knees to his chest.

“Start talking,” you hiss, “or I am going to rip your bloody hair out by the root.”

“I was hungry!” Astarion cries. “Pl—please, I— I was only going to be a moment, my love— you wouldn’t have known I was there—”

You have to know. “Hungry for what?”

“Are you dim?” He lowers his arms just enough to glare at you over them. “What did you think? You said you’d feed me—”

“I thought,” you say—

And you can’t bring yourself to say more: how you thought he was here to rape you, how you were ready for it. How this was an inevitability: the price you paid for social interaction with others. How you were a toy, and how the world was full of sticky, prying, greedy hands.

You slump. “I don’t— I don’t know what I thought.”

Astarion scoffs. “Well—I wasn’t—” He tsks with frustration. “I was here for—well—”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, and you see his fangs again, and all at once you feel relief.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. “Thank Silvanus. I thought it was something else.”

The peepers by the riverside are deafening. Astarion leans towards you, and the moonlight from the tent flap carves his face out in stark white. “You’re—” His voice is small. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Oh--" You wave a hand and smile. "Never mind.”

“No, not never mind. Tell me.” He pauses. “Did you think I would take advantage of you? Be honest.”

This was not a conversation you wanted to have in the middle of the night. You deflect: “How is biting me in my trance not ‘taking advantage?'"

Astarion leans back on his heels. “Fine,” he huffs. “You’ve made your point, darling.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for blood sooner?”

He curls into a ball at the foot of your bedroll. “Oh yes,” he says quietly. “Let’s ask the alchemist for blood. What a spectacular idea. You probably know a thousand ways to kill a vampire.”

You cross your arms. “I’ve never even met a vampire.”

“Congratulations, dearest. You have now. Or—” He waves dismissively. “A spawn, anyway. So sorry to disappoint.”

You have a thousand questions: where is your master? When were you sired? Are your fangs hinged? How are you walking in the sun? Is this why you take the watch every night?

But Astarion’s eyes dart to the side, and you look closer: his bony, frail wrists, his right middle finger tapping a quick staccato on the mat below him, his defined collarbones. He breathes shallowly, rapidly; the staccato gets unsteady. You suspect those high cheekbones and sculpted jaw aren’t just vanity.

“You’d like to feed on me,” you breathe.

Astarion gives you a sarcastic bow, his mouth drawn tight in a mocking smile. “Yes, dear, how kind of you to notice,” but his voice shakes, and, oh—

The poor thing is hungry.

You think of buying pies for the children in the tiefling camp, their eager faces, how they had all said “thank you,” in unison. You think of how some ate the pies standing, as if they couldn’t wait to fill their bellies. You thought Astarion judged you for feeding them, wanted to spoil the moment, but Astarion had done something else entirely.

He didn't come to you because you were easy. He came to you because you were generous.

“May I lie down?” you ask.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s your tent—”

“No, I mean for the—” Feeding sounds strange, even erotic. You look away. “For when you— I faint easily.” You lean back on your elbows. “I’ll lose consciousness. I have to be lying down for it.”

Astarion blinks, but he leans forward, towards you, eyes wide. “You’re— you’re just going to let this happen?”

You recline on your bedroll. “Do not kill me,” you say. “That’s all I ask.”

“I— Tavvendish, really?” He’s already crawling around your bedroll, towards your head, even as he admonishes you: “You’d let a spawn, someone you just met, bite you? Have you no survival instinct?”

You fold your hands over your stomach. This was terrifying, yes; Astarion licks his lips over you, and you wince. There’s that expired Malice in your pack, within arm’s reach; perhaps, if things went sideways…

“Should I say no?” you ask.

“No no no!” Astarion says softly, voice pitching high. “This works out well in my favor, you understand.” He leans an elbow on the other side of your head, draping himself over your torso. “I just…” He leans away, catches your eyes. “Are you…are you quite sure?”

You stare down at his mouth. His fangs are long and very frighteningly sharp. They have a slight curve to them, like a snake’s fangs. Astarion can’t close his mouth fully like this. Hinged, you think; he must hide them in polite company. That alcoholic smell is overpowering now, like cheap liquor.

He cradles your head in his hands; they are shaking. Tender like a lover, he turns your head towards him, exposing your neck.

“Please,” he begs quietly, so low only you can hear. “I’ll only be a moment.”

In the space between one breath and the next, he clamps down. You grunt, jolting in your bedroll. You can’t move against his cold fangs, as if they’ve pinned you to the floor. Astarion inhales—

And oh: there's a rush of paradoxical warmth where Astarion’s fangs pierce your skin. You had always questioned the appeal of a vampire's bite-- had read plenty about swooning maidens and unholy marriages for pleasure, certainly very late at night, and certainly while under the covers— but this? You go limp in Astarion's arms; your pulse thumps between your legs. Astarion whimpers and sucks at the wound, slurping noisily at your artery; you can’t find it in you to care. It feels something like the pipeweed filling you, your body vibrating with pleasure, your stack of books breathing slowly where you stare at them. Perhaps there is such a thing as vampire venom: simple chemistry at work, a muscle relaxant secreted from his fangs to encourag you o relax, ncorage yu

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And all at once you remember, No, I’m losing blood, that’s too much, and you whisper, “Astarion,” hoarse and feeble, your head feeling as if it’s stuffed with cotton, and Astarion doesn’t stop, if anything he grips you tighter to his chest, and your ears are ringing and your vision is going black around the edges and you think of crushing hands and mouths and lip piercings and suddenly you push and that forces Astarion to unlatch with a gasp, as if he’s surfacing from some very, very deep ocean. His mouth is a bright cherry red.

You are very, very dizzy.

Astarion laughs; its tempting to laugh with him, but you're too exhausted to try. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Tav,” he gasps. “That—”

You push yourself up, but your head spins. You slouch into your bedroll.

Astarion laughs again, disbelieving. It's nothing like the mocking laughs you’ve heard from him before: this one is light, boyish. “I… oh!” He presses his hand to his forehead and giggles. “I feel so much— stronger! That is lovely! Like...like a-- coffee on a rainy day--”

There's a flush across his stupid, grinning face. You get the urge to kiss him, to jump into his lap, but your body refuses to move. White fractals explode behind your eyelids. You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a woozy, “‘ssstar—”

His fluttering hands land on your shoulder. “I thank you, Tavvendish,” he says quietly; his smile nearly splits his face in two; his fangs are still out. “You’ve given me an unspeakably generous gift.”

Every nerve in your body sings. “Wh’yd y’ mean?” you mumble.

“I mean—” He cups your face in his hands.

He is so beautiful, you want to kiss him so badly—

“I can hunt now," he continues, touching his temple. My head is clear. Clear! For the first time in— why, I don’t know when.”

You can’t look at him without thinking of ripping off his clothes. Charm, you think weakly, the venom’s doing this. You turn your head and close your eyes. “Y’re welc’m.”

“Rest now, darling,” says Astarion above you, and you slip into blissful nothing.

————

“—the creche should be our priority—”

You startle awake.

“—said we should search for the druid Halsin—”

“No,” Lae’zel snaps. Her voice is hoarse around the edges. “I’ve had enough of being led across Faerun without rhyme or reason. We must focus. Our surest chance of a cure is the creche.”

“Now, Lae’zel,” Gale says, “our travels may bring us near the—”

Shadowheart cuts in: “Gale.”

Gale’s voice becomes harsh. “We will not survive a gith’yanki creche!”

Lae’zel growls. “You may not—”

You sit up in your bedroll. The sun is already quite high; its white light dapples through the tent. Your head pounds. How long had your trance been, and why couldn't you remember any of it? Had you actually fallen asleep?

Astarion’s wide eyes, his fangs, and then—

Something in your tent smells lovely. It doesn’t take you long to find its source: a gigantic, fresh bun, smelling of cinnamon and cream and sugar, lying on a plate next to your bedroll. A hot mug of coffee steams next to it. The bun is still warm, and the icing melts around your fingers as you lift it to your nose. You can’t detect any poison by scent: only that lovely cinnamon and sour-sweet icing.

Astarion, you remember, and a warm wave rolls over you. You tuck gratefully into the roll.

How strange, that you didn’t know; it seems obvious in hindsight. You sip at the coffee and wrack your brain, but your memories feel fuzzy, far-away. Your headache begins to ease with every bite. Hinged fangs: that much you could remember. Astarion’s fangs must be prehensile. Suddenly voracious, you shove more of the roll into your mouth. The blood loss must have affected you more than you thought. You nearly choke on the following mouthful.

Perhaps vampire fangs were like a cat’s claw: extended from gums for feeding, perhaps by relaxing a small tendon. They had to retract, now that you thought about it; there was no way you would have missed his fangs earlier.

And when Astarion bit you— for several minutes, you had felt—

Incredible.

Light, like floating on air.

Like you were in love.

Most importantly, your side had stopped aching.

You spare an uneasy glance at the entrance to your tent. Part of you is tempted to write the author of Venomous Fauna: it’s venom, no doubt, though a Charm could also be involved. That cold, alcoholic smell on his breath must have been it. You realize, with a start, that he must have been secreting venom for days. You'd have to pay attention today.

The other part of your brain wanted to understand. If there wasn’t a Charm after all, then what could cause that dizzy, euphoric feeling? It couldn’t have just been the blood loss— you had had enough rough encounters to know what that felt like— but then…what else could it be?

You polish off the roll and wipe your hands with a handkerchief. The closest equivalent to that wonderful feeling was a pipeweed high, perhaps a mild hallucinogen. The euphoria made simple evolutionary sense: prey should relax into the bite. You think of his curved fangs, likely meant to hold prey in place. A vampire's victim would have to lie still under them for several minutes, enjoying every second, while the vampire fed.

Then…

He chose you because...?

Coffee in hand, you crawl out of your tent. The sun beats down on you; dragonflies skirt over the water to your right.

Gale, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart argue loudly over the creche. From Shadowheart's side, Wyll shakes his head. Karlach paces a short distance away, rubbing her temples as she goes, muttering, “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…”

Astarion’s eyes flick directly to yours. His lips are pressed tightly shut; he's not participating in the argument so much as quietly observing. As you stare at him, his tongue passes over his teeth--

—and he smiles at you.

Your breath hitches. You hold up a hand in greeting.

“Tav,” sighs Wyll, relieved. “Settle something for...us…”

He blanches.

You ask, “What am I settling?” but Wyll is silent. Did you have crumbs on your mouth? No— Wyll’s gaze dips a little lower than that.

You look around: everyone stares with the same vaguely disgusted expression, save Astarion. Astarion merely looks terrified.

“What?” you ask him. “What’s the matter?”

Why is everyone staring at your neck?

You press your hands to where Astarion bit you, but your fingers sink into a tender bruise. "Agh." You withdraw your hand; dried blood sticks to your hand. A muddy brown stain soaks the neck of your blouse.

Five different weapons are drawn at once— and they all point at Astarion.

Astarion holds his hands up. “It’s— it’s not what you think!”

Lae’zel spits on the ground.

Shadowheart’s lip curls. “You were the last person to enter Tavvendish’s tent,” she says. “Talk.”

Astarion’s trembling. Badly. “It was— I-- she asked!” he shouts. He points an accusing finger at you; he can barely keep it straight. “It was her idea!” His eyes plead with yours. “Wasn’t it, Tav?”

Flames roll off of Karlach’s forearms. “Don’t blame this on Tav,” she growls; she rocks up onto her toes with anticipation. Your heart thumps, rabbit-quick, behind your ribcage. The others grow similarly restless, shifting on their feet.

“Karlach’s right, Astarion,” says Wyll. He narrows his eyes and turns his rapier, just so, and the point presses into the base of Astarion’s skull. “You may walk in the sun, but your bloodlust is as obvious as an ogre in a banquet hall.”

Astarion swallows. He’s still focused on you. “You offered, didn’t you?” he says. “You said I could.”

Gale’s hands are moving in the incantation for Paralyze, he’s trying to shut Astarion up, Lae’zel snarls at Astarion, you have to say something—

“It was consensual!” you blurt.

Gale’s hands stop short. Karlach blinks at you.

“Consensual?” Wyll asks, and his voice cracks. He clears his throat. When he speaks again, it's in his usual authoritative tone: “What do you mean by 'consensual?'”

All eyes are on you. Astarion has that wide, wondering look again: the very same one from last night.

You straighten up. “He was hungry. He feeds on animals, but animal blood can’t sustain a vampire. I’d say he’s held off for long enough, wouldn't you? Or are we meant to starve him?”

Lae’zel shifts her grip on her sword. Shadowheart narrows her eyes at you, and you stare back. Her gaze wavers, for just the slightest moment.

“And anyway,” you continue, “Isn’t it best if we rotate feeding duty amongst ourselves? Cut back on the effects of—”

“No,” says Shadowheart.

“No,” says Gale.

“Nah,” says Karlach. To Astarion: “I’d probably burn you, anyway.”

“Tavvendish speaks true.” Lae’zel. “We are only as strong as our weakest fighter. If blood is what Astarion needs for battle, then she has made a wise decision.”

Gale shakes his head. “I’d rather not be a meal for a vampire.”

“Then I’ll do it,” you say.

“As will I,” says Wyll, and the group turns in surprise. He sheathes his rapier. “Astarion, should you have need—”

“No,” Astarion says immediately. “I’m not interested.”

Wyll blinks. “Ouch."

“Is this, like…” Karlach’s sword wavers; she looks around the group. “Like a kink thing?”

Astarion snorts and covers his mouth. You wince. You remember wanting to kiss Astarion, and you shake your head hard, like a dog, as if you could will the memory away. “No, Karlach," you say, "It isn’t a kink thing.”

Karlach sighs. “Thank the gods. I don’t want to see that shit.”

“Now, now.” Gale makes a soothing gesture with both hands. “So long as Astarion—" He gestures to you. "And, er, Tav— keep this to themselves, I’m willing to call them my good friends.”

Astarion rolls his eyes. “We’re hardly—”

“—friends, Gale,” you say at the same time.

You and Astarion exchange glances.

Gale coughs, his face scrunching in distaste. “Oh, well. Cheers. Teammates, I suppose.” He walks away, muttering to himself: “Gods, a little courtesy wouldn’t be lost on--”

“Keep your fangs to yourself,” Shadowheart huffs at Astarion. “Else I’ll be washing your clothes in holy water.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion drawls. Shadowheart scans his face, and for one tense second, you’re sure she'll kill him--

But she sniffs and turns on her heel instead. “Whatever.”

Karlach lowers her sword as Shadowheart flounces off. “Guess that’s it, then,” she says, “Party’s over.” She gestures to Astarion. “How are you walking in the sun, anyway?”

Astarion rocks back and forth on his toes while he thinks. “I don’t really know. Since the Nautiloid, I’ve been waiting to burn to cinders. But,” he adds, smirking, “I’m not about to look that gift horse in the mouth.”

Karlach smiles at him. “You can say that again. Would rather not have a freaky illithid worm in my brains, but sunshine feels good. What can you do?”

Astarion nods. “Exactly!”

Karlach snaps her fingers and points at you with a smile. “Hey. No kink stuff."

You sigh. “Noted.”

Lae’zel is last to sheathe her sword. “Chk. Mind your manners, istik, or I’ll have no qualms running you through on my blade.”

Astarion gasps and turns to her. “Oh, won't you? I’m trembling like a virgin at the thought!"

Lae’zel tosses her braids out of her face with a smirk. “I’m sure you are." To you, she nods. “Watch him, Tavvendish. Make sure he doesn’t stray out of line.”

“Noted,” you say. “Again.”

Lae'zel returns to her tent. Wyll puts his hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “I mean it, Astarion,” he says. “Do not be a stranger. Only but ask, and you’ll have your blood. But don’t hurt Tav."

Astarion looks at Wyll’s hand. “I’ll…" He looks up at Wyll. "I'll consider your offer."

This seems to satisfy Wyll, because after glancing at you, he leaves. Now, in the daylight, you see Astarion's still wearing the shirt you bought him. His fists clench and unclench; his jaw works, as if he’s grinding his teeth. You look down at the blood stain on your blouse.

Astarion speaks first. “I suppose I owe you another coffee." He makes this awkward, slight little bow, as if he can’t figure out what to do with himself. “You’ll drink Faerun dry of it, darling, faster than you think."

“It was my pleasure, Astarion." Immediately, you want to slap yourself. What a trusting reply, when Astarion himself couldn’t be trusted: he pickpocketed, he teased you relentlessly, he had a nightmare of a temper. Doubtless, you'll have to fight him off of you, night after night, until this damned tadpole was gone. You think of Astarion hovering over you like that again, and bile rises in your throat.

He laughs, loud and sharp. “That adorable kindness will kill you someday."

“Already has,” you say. “In more ways than one.”

You turn for your tent, but a cold hand seizes your wrist. You look back at him.

“You didn’t like that, did you? How our little meeting began?” Astarion is serious, suspiciously so. “I quite took you by surprise. Next time,” and he does that small, strange bow again, “You’ll have due notice beforehand, sweetheart, I swear. I won’t wake you. You’ll never even know I was there.”

You lips part. His ears are vaguely pink; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before. It’s…attractive.

You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible: “You’d better bite me in a different place, then. I can’t walk around with bruises all over my neck.

Astarion nods eagerly. “Oh, yes-- yes, I will.” He holds his free hand up. “I promise. There will be more sweet rolls and coffee for your trouble.”

“Why, Astarion!" You can't keep the surprise out of your voice. "Are you well? You sound almost...princely.”

Astarion drops your wrist; he even makes a show of wiping his palm on his shirt. "Ugh. Don’t be ghastly.”

This Astarion, at least, was familiar. You shrug. “I wouldn’t dream of thinking highly of you. Not on my life.”

“Darling!" Astarion tosses his hair. "We’ll see how much you hate a nightshade when it's in your coffee."

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate a nightshade,” you sigh. “Nightshade pays the rent. Don’t be a child. I said they were boring.”

“Mm. Give me a discount when we're back home, little woodling." Astarion looks up at you from under his lashes; your stomach does something funny. “We’ll call it even.”

You back away, but there’s a waver in your step. “I’ll remember that." You point at him. "I never forget a face.”

Astarion smirks, and it's too much: you quickly avert your eyes from his, defeated. “Trust me." He draws a circle around his face. "This is a face you’ll never forget."

Your face burns, and you’re not sure if it’s the leftover venom. The other option is far more terrifying.

#pity the mayfly #momofics

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paganwitchisis · 4 months

Text

The Unexpected Adventure Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Learning Experience

Word Count: 5,980

Rated: Explicit

RATED 18 PLUS!!!

Chapter 1 - here

Chapter 2 - you're here

Chapter 3 - here

AO3 link - here

Warnings: Smut, Smut and fluff, body swap, brief snippet of violence (fight), unknown pregnacy, protective and soft Astarion, blood (drinking)

WARNING SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER

Once inside, Astarion locked the door, and as different as it was, he leaned forward and kissed Tav who held her stomach and chest like she was injured. “I’m sorry. I know it’s jarring to wake up a corpse with eternal hunger. You're used to warmth and a heart that beats.”

“It’s certainly quite the adjustment. It’s a good thing I know your body so well, honey.” Tav attempted to find humor in the situation. “At least I’m in one handsome body.” Tav smiled awkwardly due to the fangs she was unused to.

“That you are. I didn’t realize how lucky you were until today. Gods, am I hot!” Astarion commented with a chuckle and light humor “But seriously, can I do anything to help, my dear?”

Tav readied herself to speak when the door was softly knocked upon. Scowling in Tav’s body (Which Tav thought gave her a hilarious face), Astarion got up and answered their door.

Surprisingly, it was Gale on the other side of the door.

“Ta…er…I mean Astarion, we may have a lead and we thought it would be best if you both were there.” Gale rationalized while looking away, unwilling to believe the circumstances the party was thrown into. It was no secret the wizard still desired Tav even with the obvious nature of Astarion and Tav’s relationship.

“How did you get a lead so soon? It isn’t like swapping bodies is a normal occurrence.” Astarion asked, annoyed. He’d much rather be attending to Tav than speaking to the wizard.

“Exactly. It isn’t normal, so when we spoke to the innkeeper downstairs, he pointed us towards another wizard in town. Apparently, they are here temporarily. Something about them attending because of another wizard named Lorroakan. You remember, the brat in the tower we killed who was after the Nightsong?”

“Obviously,” Astarion snapped. “So how can a wizard help us?”

“Astarion… It is only a lead. We won’t know much until we go to see them. They’re at the Rainforest Home when they aren’t at Sorcerous Sundries.” Gale informed Astarion who was frustrated until he felt an arm reach around his waist. Thankfully, Tav made noise as she walked, since she had yet to pick up on his stealth abilities, otherwise it would have startled the ex-vampire.

“This is so weird.” Tav commented on her embrace of her own body “Gale, we’d love to come with, but we are still… Acclimating. Give us a few hours, and we’ll join. It is still fairly early in the day, anyways.” Tav said in Astarion’s body. With that, Astarion closed the door on Gale’s face, not bothering to hear a reply.

“You know, we’ve got to work on your people skills.” Tav joked and made her way back to the bed. “I guess we need to get out of our armor, huh? Probably could do with a bath too, to be honest… I mean… Not saying you need it, honey, but… I mean, if you want to get one since it is your body, and…”

“Tav,” Astarion said as he then kissed himself to stop Tav from rambling. He thought it would be more difficult than this to show physical emotion when switching bodies, but it really wasn’t. Both of them were attractive people, in his opinion, and kissing her still felt right. “While we are…like this, my body is now yours, and I trust you with it. We’re both intimately familiar with each other, so it should be fairly easy for us to get used to certain… Aspects of this. Now, with the vampirism, I will need to help you. I’m sure drinking blood may be a little off-putting if we are like this for long, for example. Unfortunately, the pain will stay, and you will be hungry often, if not always. No matter how much blood you drink,… It… Can be a lot.”

“Is this what you normally feel?” Tav asked as she struggled to get his light armor off until Astarion came over and helped her, Tav repaying the kindness by helping him with her own armor on his new body.

“Do I usually feel hungry? My stomach clenching in pain because there is nothing I can eat or drink that can quell it for long? Yeah.” Astarion began to nervously chuckle “It was worse, actually, before the tadpole. The wriggling friend of ours seems to have diluted that, along with my strength, though. Regarding whether or not I feel cold, I grew numb to that about two or three decades in. It takes getting used to.”

Astarion could tell that Tav wasn’t too happy with his reply, but he merely told her the truth. It was nice for once, to not be in pain and to not feel death’s chilled hand upon your throat. Of course, that second part he wouldn’t tell her. He didn’t want her to act out of guilt, and he knew the cogs were working in her… Well, his head, as they spoke.

“Do I always smell so good? And everything is so loud! Is that my heartbeat?” Tav asked as she struggled with the vampiric condition.

Astarion chuckled. “Yeah, you do smell good, but what you’re smelling is blood. It’s going to take some time to get used to, but the enhanced hearing is something you acclimate to. You hear your heartbeat now, but imagine in the companion room. All those hearts, the blood flow, and I mean everything will be able to be picked up. You’ll know when someone is lying or when they are aroused.” Astarion smirked at the shocked expression Tav responded with.

“How do you do it?”

“Darling, I had two hundred years to get that under control. Don’t expect to be in control of the vampirism in a matter of hours.” Astarion hated that he had to have this conversation with Tav. He hated his condition was causing her pain or grief. He hated that she now knew the full extent of his plight and he worried that could change the dynamic of their relationship.

No.

Not Tav. Never Tav. She would always love and trust him no matter how insane the reason. That was one of the many reasons Astarion fell so completely for her.

“Astarion? You there?” Tav gently prodded with a hand on her body’s cheek. Touch usually guided him back if done the right way, Tav had learned early on. A hug or a gentle touch to a safer area usually helped him focus on the present.

“Huh?… Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, dear, daydreaming for a moment.” Astarion wasn’t ready to show more of his vulnerability at the moment. Instead, he took her lips, or rather kissed his own, and tenderly pressed against her. Astarion had to pull away, considering they only had a few hours to get used to themselves before being thrown into another mission.

“Daydreaming? What about? This must be different for you, too.” Tav asked out of curiosity.

Astarion didn’t have to think long before he came up with a half-truth. He was always curious, and now he could finally act on it.

“Food. Gods, what I wouldn’t give for some strawberries.”

Tav smiled and took Astarion’s hand after grabbing Astarion’s daggers and attaching them back on the body she was borrowing. “let’s go fix that, shall we? Maybe a glass of wine will calm this stomach for a bit, too.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re like a newborn vampire. Any amount of blood, regardless of the source, and you will…”

“How is it different than when we go out to get our situation sorted out? I can’t stay here the entire time, Star.” Tav rebutted as she cut him off. Astarion thought for a moment and shook his head.

“Fine, but only because I’m with you. I know the signs, and with our tadpoles, you can communicate with me if things become too hard without making it obvious.” Astarion sternly stated. He was looking forward to eating, but he would never put her in danger over something like this.

The couple made their way downstairs, and thankfully found the establishment mostly empty. It was still early, so it was possible the lunch crowd had simply not descended on them yet. It was fortuitous since the scant noise in the tavern was already giving Tav a headache. All of the noise was worse than in the room, but Tav wouldn’t let it beat her. The couple sat down at the bar, and Astarion found himself overwhelmed with the options before him. When he couldn’t eat, it was much simpler. Now? He wanted to try everything, but he also wanted to respect Tav and her body. He was sure a stomach ache was not what he had in mind if he overindulged.

Seeing his plight, Tav placed her hand on Astarion’s thigh under the table at the bar and asked; “Do you want some suggestions?”

“Please.” Astarion requested while being oddly shy about the his current state of affairs.

“Innkeeper, can we please have these?” Tav pointed to the roast chicken and stew combo. Tav had a suspicion Astarion would love to have protein but she wasn’t done yet. “Oh! And this!” Tav pulled a napkin out and wrote on it instructions before sliding it to the innkeep. Astarion tried to peek, but his eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. It was more dull than before, but then again his partner wasn’t an elf and the vampirism used to enhance his senses.

“You realize these are out of season?” The man replied to her paper instructions.

“Yeah, but I’ll pay well. Either I pay you a chunk of coin for them or I find someone who will.” Tav replied. The man seemed offended, but wasn’t going to pass up the chance to make more gold. He scoffed and left to get the original order, and when he placed it down, Tav handed him five hundred gold out of her money. She wasn’t about to dig in Astarion’s pockets and have him pay for her surprise. The man seemed pleased to hold the medium filled bag of gold and left them alone as he set on his task.

Meanwhile, Astarion could smell the food, and based off the pain in his stomach, he could guess Tav never ate breakfast. Of course, that isn’t because Astarion didn’t remind her, he was always trying to find ways to take care of his lover, and anything he could do, he would. He didn’t care if it was massaging her shoulders after a hard fight, or doing anything else to bring her comfort. ‘Her job was difficult enough’, he surmised, as she had to bring everyone together and make the hard decisions. At least in privacy, he could be the one to take care of her. Astarion took a tentative bite as Tav watched of his chicken. Astarion felt like there was an explosion of flavor in his mouth, which was of stark contrast to the ash he would taste while still a vampire. Tav, meanwhile, ordered wine from the bartender as the innkeeper was still not back. It made Astarion wonder what she wrote down, however his thoughts and his focus was zeroed in on the food he was consuming. Every bite was something new. Astarion knew he was going to miss this when he returned to his body, but damn, did the reprieve feel great. To be warm, to have a heartbeat, and to live for the first time in centuries was a blessing. It just was unfortunate his lover had to experience the opposite of his situation.

“I..well, technically you, have a full bladder.” Tav whispered as she put the glass of wine down. “Anything I should know before I go take care of this?” Tav was normally very proud and headstrong and yet in this, she was coy. This made Astarion smirk.

“You know my body almost as well as I do, my love.” Astarion chuckled “Just aim and shoot. Well… That, and don’t shake it too much after you’re done. You don’t want an erection… At least not when I can’t help you with it.” Astarion was smiling now at the thought of what they could do with these delicious new bodies, but of course, that thought would have to wait. Maybe if they got the chance later, they could indulge. After all, they were both beautiful people. Right now, however, Tav was fidgeting in her seat, and Astarion couldn’t pull himself away from the food if he tried.

Tav kissed Astarion on the forehead and politely excused herself to use the bathroom, while Astarion ate his fill. After about five minutes or so, Tav returned with a contemplative look on her face. Astarion could feel his smirk grow as he waited for her to sit down.

“So… How did it go?” Astarion teased

“I’m jealous. It is so easy for men to pee compared to being a woman.” Tav huffed out while Astarion couldn’t help his full belly laugh.

“Well, I guess I’ll find out if the day drags too far on, then.” Astarion shook his head hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with more complex natural bodily urges. If Tav got her cycle, or worse, had to use… The facilities, in another regard, he would be lost on what to do since he doesn’t remember being in a body that consumed food, nor was he proficient in what she needed to do during her monthly visitor.

While Astarion ate and Tav drank her wine slowly, Astarion was aware of a small petite woman coming their direction from the open door of the Elfsong. Of course Astarion never met this woman but was taken aback by this determined face she wore. Tav, as per usual, was oblivious. Astarion kept an eye on her as he ate and saw she was staring at his body.

‘Great. Another one of those.’ Astarion thought to himself as he thought of the men and women who he could seduce without moving a muscle. He just didn’t realize until that day how handsome he was to see why he was so sought after in taverns and pubs they visited. Astarion would tell them off, but never really needed to once he and Tav got serious. He would just show some public display of affection and they would look away. Astarion thought that would be enough to protect Tav from this woman, but he soon found he was wrong.

Tav was a little surprised to feel Astarion place a hand on her thigh, and in between eating, he leaned over and kissed her deeply. Of course, Tav wasn’t aware of the woman who watched them, but noticed something was up with her lover.

“You okay?” Tav asked and placed a hand on his cheek as she was a little worried. Instead of a reply from her loverm the sound of someone’s throat being cleared became apparent.

Tav looked away one moment and looked at the person in question. The person was close… Too close. The woman was within Tav’s personal space and caging Tav against the bar even which made Tav frown. Who did they think they were? Tav saw that this woman looked very attractive. She had long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a thin figure. She held curves where she needed them, and larger breasts than Tav normally had. She was slightly tan, a high elf in full makeup and obviously she was aiming to get something out of Tav, but Tav couldn’t figure out what. This was until the woman spoke and Tav remembered that everyone saw her as Astarion.

“Hey handsome, what brings you here?”

Tav was surprised for a moment until Astarion cut in.

“If you don’t mind, this is a private conversation.” Astarion hissed out while not looking too ferocious as he was in Tav’s body. The woman ignored Astarion and turned her back to Astarion, still caging Tav in against the bar.

“It’s a bit noisy here. Why don’t we grab a booth somewhere a little more… Secluded? Leave this tart, and we can see what I have to offer…”

Tav put her hands up in an effort to have something between her and this random woman, but her anger festered under the facade.

“This ‘tart’ as you put it, is more important to me than you’ll ever know. You can’t offer anything that I don’t already have with her,” Tav caught herself to make sure she was using the right pronoun. “Now go fuck off, you hussy.” Tav snapped at the woman. Tav was not in the mood to deal with this situation. She was hungry, she was cold, and she didn’t want to have to kill a woman for coming onto her significant other. Tav felt honored that Astarion trusted her to protect and take care of his body, and she would be damned if she would betray that trust.

Astarion smirked at Tav’s shutdown of the situation and her words. It made him feel warm and seen to be with Tav, and he wasn’t referring to her body heat. When Tav declared her love publicly, it never failed to make him feel safe and cared for with her. Of course, these feelings were all new to him and he only just started accepting them, but he knew he always felt complete with Tav… No matter what body she was currently inhabiting.

“Ass! You don’t have to be a jerk!” The woman snapped but Tav just laughed. Unfortunately, that may have been the wrong thing to do, as it flashed Astarion’s fangs briefly, something the woman noticed.

“I… I’m going to go over there….I….I’m sorry bout the mix up” the woman stuttered and backed up slowly. Astarion noticed immediately why there was the sudden change in demeanor.

“Shit.” Astarion got up to handle the situation when a large red tiefling woman grabbed the scuff of her clothing and hoisted the belligerent woman in the air.

“Oi! I’ve been watching you. You give my friends any grief, and I’ll make sure the Fists can’t find any of your parts left.” The woman was shaking her head ‘no’, and squeaking out how she would tell no one and she was just mistaken.

With that, Karlach tossed the woman aside who ran promptly away. Astarion sighed in relief as Karlach joined them.

“I hope the bimbo wasn’t a problem. Kind of hard to miss, actually. Figured you’d both welcome some help,” Karlach mentioned before adding on “Had to do that bit a lot as a bodyguard in the Hells and even the bastard who sold me. I’d much rather help you both out, though. You both okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Astarion? Are you alright?” Tav answered while eyeing the entrance suspiciously.

“Yeah… It’s just jarring.”

“Thank you, Karlach, for the help.” Tav said in Astarion’s body and voice. It was very off putting to hear Astarion say thank you even if it was technically Tav saying it. Karlach just laughed and replied.

“Anything for you, Soldier...or should I say Fangs?” Karlach continued to laugh as she walked away.

Tav was going to speak to Astarion when the man she spoke to earlier returned.

“Hello, sir. I have what you asked for.” The man sighed and held out in his hand a square box. Tav took the box and thanked the man before grabbing Astarion’s hand and retreating back to their room. Astarion was confused but followed his lover all the same. Astarion smiled as he held her hand...or rather his own, but it was nice to share such a moment with the person he cared for.

Tav locked the door behind them and excitedly smiled at Astarion.

“I have a gift for you!”

“I saw. Five hundred gold, too. What did you buy?” Astarion asked curiously.

Tav grinned more, the smile reaching her eyes as she handed the box over to Astarion. Astarion tentatively took the box and opened it to be hit with a sweet aroma. It was a fruity and sweet smell that Astarion felt like he smelt before. Long ago before he became a vampire. Astarion looked down and saw triangular shaped red fruit with a leaf at the base end.

They were strawberries.

Astarion could feel himself salivate at the thought and the smell of the confection. Astarion wasted no time bringing the red part of the fruit to his lips and taking a bite. It was beyond anything he had ever tasted before. If he thought the stew and chicken were good, then strawberries were divine. Astarion moaned and sat on the bed with his eyes closed. Astarion slowly chewed the food, enticing every drop of liquid to be expelled from the fruit before he swallowed.

“This is better than sex…” Astarion eventually blurted out after eating half the box of fruit.

“Better than sex? I guess I have to remind you how good that feels… If you want to, of course.” Tav attempted to be seductive, but one laugh from Astarion and she knew it wasn’t that great of acting in the new body. Tav began to laugh, too, but Astarion put the box down to the side and kissed her.

“Darling, I am very eager to see what that would be like, but first, you need to eat.” Astarion smirked and crawled on the bed a little to nestle between her legs. Astarion tossed Tav’s hair to the side and bared his neck. Tav couldn’t help her hunger as her mouth seemed to froth and foam at the mouth with saliva. She was already passively in pain due to her hunger, but if it could be abated, she would find that very welcoming.

“I can’t… I don’t know how much to take! I may kill you!”

“It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but I can get your attention. Worst case? I have my dagger on me and can do something superficial. I would like to think you won’t force me to use that option, my dear.”

“How… ow do I…?” Tav was confused but Astarion guided his body and head to the correct place on her neck and lowered her head.

“Open up and just swallow. When I get your attention, you just have to lick the wound to close it. Now, push down, my love, and enjoy.” Astarion mentioned as he braced himself for the pain of being bitten, but the pain was substantially less that what he remembered Cazador’s fangs were like. Tav punctured his flesh with a slight pop, her moan hitting his ears a moment later. Tav was given a moment or two before Astarion tapped on her shoulder and she pulled away, remembering to lick the wound first.

“Gods, you taste so fucking good. That was so sweet, rich, creamy and smooth, like a well aged wine or chocolate.”

“You did good, pulling away when I said to. Most newborns don’t have the strength to do that.” Astarion praised Tav, who seemed proud of that fact. “And about the blood? Do you see why I love drinking from you?” Astarion chuckled.

“I also have a problem. This is… Well… Awkward.” Tav would have blushed if she could as she gazed down and looked at the first hard-on she had in his body. “I feel like I need you. I really need you.”

Astarion smirked. “I suspected this would happen. Normally I’d take care of it on my own… Well, until we killed him. Since my rebirth, we’ve been at it like rabbits, so I never needed to hide my erection from you, not that you would have had an issue before our trip to the graveyard. I just wasn’t ready then, but now?” Astarion referred to Cazador like a vile poison he wanted to spit out of his mouth. “Let me help you get undressed.”

Astarion began unlacing Tav’s trousers, but he didn’t have the dexterity that he was used to and grew more and more frustrated at his inability to unlace her pants. Tav had to help him in the end as he was about to take a dagger to the laces.

“You need to relieve this.” Astarion huskily murmured as he was able to shimmy Tav out of the trousers and her underwear. Her cock jutted proudly at attention, a bead of Tav’s natural lubrication sat on the tip.

“Isn’t this masturbation?” Tav asked sarcastically.

Astarion laughed and replied. “Maybe, darling, but we both need to have clear heads to solve this issue,” Astarion replies “Plus, I’ve been dying to find out what these bodies feel like to have pleasure in. To know what these feel like.” Astarion fondled his own chest earning a low moan. “They’re so sensitive.”

“Let me help, then.” Tav began to undo Astarion’s pants while Astarion pulled at her shirt. Once the laces were free, Tav sat up and tossed her shirt to the side, pulling Astarion’s trousers down to his ankles. Meanwhile, Astarion had stripped his shirt, but was struggling with the bra until Tav came to his rescue yet again.

“I don’t get it. I am dexterous! This shouldn’t happen!”

“Maybe your body is dexterous, but mine is not. My body is built for a fighter build, honey.” Tav mentioned before taking his lips. Astarion kicked his pants and underwear off as they partook in each other. Astarion moaned when he tasted the blood on her lips, the taste was different than he remembered, but that didn’t matter to him. Tav took things a step further and deepened the kiss. They may have their bodies switched, but to Astarion and Tav? They didn’t feel like they changed bodies while they kissed each other. Everything felt normal, natural, and oh so delicious. Tav pulled back, and lightly nudged Astarion, asking him to lay down. Astarion couldn’t help how wet he was getting. Just the thought of what they would be doing made him want to clench his legs in an attempt to find relief for the deep ache inside of him. It was a surreal feeling, but one that Astarion understood well. It was desire. Astarion laid down and watched as Tav, using his body, crawled over him and took his lips again. Astarion could feel the erection against his thigh, as he instinctively thrust his hips towards Tav in an effort to find some kind of relief to the need he had, any kind of relief. Tav chuckled and began to kiss his jaw, his neck and his collarbone. She quickly made her way to his breasts and she took her tongue, giving his nipple a flick with the tip of the appendage. Tav clamped her lips over the nipple and swirled her tongue around the areola and nipple, earning a loud moan from Astarion. Astarion pushed his chest against her to get as close as possible to the pleasure she was giving him.

Tav spent a few more minutes lavishing attention on his rose bud before switching to the other. Astarion was very vocal as Tav massaged the breasts, licked and sucked on them and drove him mad with want.

“Please! Stop teasing me.” Astarion begged. Tav pulled back and smirked, then without kissing her way south, Tav skipped kissing Astarion’s stomach (or rather it was her stomach) and sank to the junction of Astarion’s thighs. Tav spread Astarion’s leg’s further and pulled the labia apart. Astarion swallowed hard, scared and excited in equal measure. Tav took a long lick up the center, from cleft to clit.

Astarion’s stomach clenched, pulling Astarion’s upper half off the bed slightly and momentarily.

“FUCK!” Astarion cursed, lowering his hand to the back of Tav’s head to encourage her to continue. Tav licked her lips and noted how although she tasted different, she was still sweet, and so Tav dove back in. Tav knew her body well so when she began her onslaught, she had to hold his body down on the bed. Tav began to twist her tongue and lap at the hidden pearl at the top of the vagina, sucking and varying the kind of licks and pressure on the clitoris. Astarion was loud, which was unheard of for the vampire. He usually was so well composed and so good at doing so. When Tav thought Astarion was building towards his crest, Tav slipped two fingers inside of Astarion whose legs trembled.

“I’m so close. Gods, this is unreal! This is so. Fucking. Good!” Astarion enunciated the last few words separately as he focused on his breathing. Tav curled her fingers looking for the small patch of flesh that was rougher to the touch and brushed against it several times.

This unraveled Astarion who screamed out Tav’s name in orgasm.

Tav could feel the contracting muscles, the throb and pulling inside where her finger sat. Tav helped Astarion ride out the climax, and when she went to pull away, Astarion grabbed her wrist. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that was inside of him just a moment ago and licked up the contents on her fingers.

“You still taste divine, my sweet. That felt so good. Now it’s your turn, lay on your back.”

Tav was going to argue back, but Astarion had already sat up and was crawling to his prize.

“You’re in for a treat, darling, I know how to suck cock well, and especially my own? This will be different, but I am sure I can make you come faster than you made me.”

“It’s a competition now, is it?” Tav joked.

“Never. I want you to thoroughly enjoy my lips and tongue on your new cock.” Astarion huskily said as his mouth now hovered over her engorged mast. Tav could feel his hot breath hit her new penis and she desperately wanted to thrust. Astarion wasted no time and took her cock into his mouth, his hand holding her hips down just like she did with him, so she couldn’t thrust yet. Astarion ran his tongue up the bottom vein and twirled his tongue over the head of the length. It was Tav’s turn to be vocal as the sensation overwhelmed her. Astarion was right, because he was proficient, she was in nirvana and didn’t doubt she would come sooner than him. Tav tried to thrust and chase the release when Astarion pulled back to mutter.

My love, I want you to enjoy, not just come. Plus, you’re in for a treat.” Astarion took one long lick of her manhood. “The woman I love comes at least twice. We’re going to do a little testing and see how many I can squeeze out of you.”

“By the gods, you feel great. Please, let me come! I’d love to keep feeling this, but I really need release!”

“We just had sex maybe a day or two ago, don’t tell me you need so soon?”

“It’s you. I’ll always need you.”

“Grab my hair and thrust. I can take it.” Astarion said with a grin as he took his lover’s cock into his mouth once again. Astarion hollowed out his cheeks and sucks and moaned as he gave oral to his lover. Tav couldn’t wait anymore and lightly held his hair before she began thrusting into his oral cavity. His mouth was so slick, so hot and divine, that Tav wanted to stay doing this but the coil in her lower belly told her how close she was.

“I’m gonna…”

Tav couldn’t finish her sentence as Astarion used both his hands to pull Tav’s ass closer to his mouth, taking her all in and gave everything he had. She saw stars. She thought it was a myth, but this experience proved otherwise. Tav yelled out Astarion’s name, clenched her stomach as she partly sat up while she unloaded her load down her lover’s throat. Astarion just moaned as he drank his own sperm in. He noted how sour he tasted and wondered why Tav would like drinking his spend so much, however soon enough, Tav pulled away and left Astarion curious.

“You drink me when I taste like that? I mean, it makes sense why you’re so delectable, but why swallow me, my sweet?”

Tav looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I drink you down regardless of taste, because I love you. I want you to feel good, and honestly? You don’t taste that bad.”

Astarion looked at her quizzically, but noted she still sported a hard on. Astarion began to languidly stroke her mast while Tav would moan until Tav stopped him.

“Do you want to continue?”

“My dear, I am giddy from excitement. I want this. We need this, and gods, when will we get another chance to make love while in each other’s bodies?”

Tav crawled above Astarion at this point, as Astarion spread his legs around Tav’s hips and helped Tav line up her new cock.

“Now I should be prepared but you’ll want to slide in slowly. Especially because I haven’t been fucked as a woman before.” Astarion chuckled. Tav began to push in and almost doubled over her lover, the tight hot heat put Astarion’s mouth to shame. As she continued to push in, Astarion kissed Tav so as to muffle her moans. She was struggling not to spill her load so soon, and wondered how Astarion did it. Tav thought her new cock wouldn’t be as sensitive as her clit, but by the gods, was she wrong. Eventually, she was fully sheathed and waited for Astarion’s signal to proceed.

“Darling, this feels incredible. No wonder you ask for my cock so much! You can move. It’s like a deep ache inside me that goes away and feels so good, like burning electricity when you strike those walls.”

Tav began to move but was soon stopped.

“No, no, dear. You don’t simply pull out and shove in. Roll the hips.” Tav followed the instructions. “There you go. Doesn’t that feel better? It saves your back, feels better for both of us, and this way, you won’t fall out when you pull back.” Tav grew embarrassed at the last part as when they began coupling, she did, in fact, fall out for a moment. She didn’t know how far to pull back, as she wasn’t used to the appendage, but Hells, was he right. Everything felt better, tighter and more sensual as she rolled her hips into him. Tav kissed Astarion some more but deepened the kiss. She ran her tongue everywhere she could find. Astarion moaned and began to thrust back, his legs now tight against her hips and circled around her backside. The only sounds in the room were blissful moans, reliving sighs and cries of each other as skin slapped in rhythm of each other.

Tav began to speed the pace up, feeling the desire within her warn her that she wouldn’t last much longer, but she didn’t want to be the only one to come. Tav pulled Astarion's leg off her side and held it up as she rolled her hips. She angled herself deep and to the side slightly, which soon enough, pushed Astarion over the edge with a cry of her name. The contracting muscles and the throb from inside was too much and Tav soon followed afterwards. She emptied herself of her spend inside of Astarion, (or rather her own body). She didn’t care, he was undead, so the chance of pregnancy was astronomically low. Tav slumped forward as she caught her breath (although, as an undead, she didn’t have to) and was held gently by Astarion.

“Want to go again?”

2 notes · View notes

pengychan · 5 months

Text

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 8

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** So, a rogue and a bard walk into an inn... ***

“You know, Durge, I don’t mean to insult Gale - he is the smartest man I know, probably - but coming up with names is probably not his strongest suit. Durge lacks a certain… I don’t know, it lacks a certain…”

“Je ne sais quoi?”

It was rare for Raphael to speak a single word while they made their way towards Baldur’s Gate through the night. As much as Raphael clearly loved the sound of his own voice when he held all the cards, he was much less inclined to speak now that he was markedly at a disadvantage. He usually walked at the back in sullen silence, with Wyll and Durge right in front of him carrying a torch and Astarion and Halsin further ahead, putting their darkvision to use. To be honest, sometimes as they talked among them they almost forgot he was there. His voice made them recoil, and turn back.

“Was that Infernal?” Halsin asked, and got a shrug in reply.

“Something similar.”

“Abyssal, then? The language of demons?” Astarion guessed.

“That does depend on who you ask,” Raphael replied. He didn’t seem inclined to add any further clarification, and the conversation turned to other matters as they walked through much of the night.

However, a few hours later Wyll went back to… well, names. If it were up to him, Durge mused, everyone would have such impressive-sounding names, no name would seem at all impressive anymore.

“I have grown attached to Durge, I’m afraid,” they chuckled. “Odd as it sounds. I think I may just stick with it.”

Wyll made a vague gesture with the hand carrying the torch. “I understand, but you could add something. For a little more flair.”

“I take it you have suggestions?”

“How about… D’urge?”

“... That’s exactly the same?”

“But, with an apostrophe!”

“Why?”

“Ah, a y is indeed a good letter, but not the best for every name. Dyrge doesn’t quite click, does it? Although perhaps--”

“Is this kind of talk how you bested the Netherbrain?” Raphael spoke up. He somehow sounded both weary and genuinely curious. “I for one can feel the contents of my skull shrink with every word you push past your lips.”

“I can take a dagger to your ears if you think that would help,” Astarion suggested without turning, and Raphael had the good sense not to respond. However, Halsin did turn, as did Durge. For Raphael to speak during their nightly marches was rare enough, but what really caught their attention was how weary he sounded - and it probably wasn’t because his brain was truly shrinking.

In the flicker of the torch Durge couldn’t see him as clearly as Halsin surely did, but when he stumbled on a root and barely caught himself before falling, they did notice how it took him a few moments to actually regain his footing.

“... You seem a little tired,” Halsin said, not unkindly. “Perhaps we should have ended that sparring march earlier than we did, after all. Did you not get enough rest before we set off?”

“I am perfectly fine,” Raphael snapped, and staggered again in a way that very much suggested he was not perfectly fine. To be fair he had recently recovered form grievous injuries, they had been walking through the night for nearly a week with heavy backpacks, and he was very much dealing with the limitations of a human body that was, frankly, a few years past its prime.

When Durge instinctively reached out to catch him, he leaned heavily on their arm rather than pulling away like he’d touched-- well, a rat. It made them all pause, and Durge cast Dancing Lights to better illuminate their surroundings. Once they could see clearly, Durge could tell that Halsin’s choice to describe him as ‘a little tired’ had been a kindness in itself: he looked exhausted.

“I think we have covered enough distance to warrant an early stop,” Durge said. After all, they were only hours away from dawn, and the drizzle that had bothered them through most of the night was starting to turn into actual rain. Against their feverishly warm scales, Raphael felt cold even through clothes; that may very well be the reason why he was not pulling away.

“... If we can push ahead just another couple of hours, we should reach a town on this side of the Chionthar,” Wyll spoke, gesturing to the path ahead with the torch and forcing Astarion to duck under it. “It’s called Sunridge. We passed right by it last time, but it has a really nice inn. They make some of the best rabbit in wine-currant sauce I’ve ever tasted. If the day will be as rainy as tonight promises, it would be nice to spend it in a room with actual beds in it.”

“Wyll, that sounds excellent. Not the rabbit, not for me, but a warm room and a real bed would be very much welcome,” Astarion declared, and turned back. “If the old man can bear another short walk, that is. Ah, don’t look at me like that. You are by far the oldest here.”

“Speaking of bear, I could turn into one and carry him,” Halsin offered, gaining himself a laugh from Astarion and a snort from Raphael.

“You really only want an excuse to change form, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not. I can walk,” Raphael snapped, and pulled away from Durge. Before anyone could point out the obvious fact he’d likely collapse within the hour by the looks of it, he pulled out the lyre and played a few notes. The sense of relief was immediate, and Durge looked around to see the others looked perkier, too. Of course, they thought, the Song of Rest. Useful little spell, that.

“Well, that was nice,” Wyll commented, gaining himself a scoff from Raphael. The magic had helped with some of the exhaustion, but clearly not with his mood.

“Glad to be of service,” he muttered, not sounding glad in the slightest. “Let us head to the inn, then. I shall gladly bear the walk as long as you keep quiet.”

They did reach the town and its inn within a couple of hours, as Wyll had said, only to find that the inn had no vacant rooms. The disappointment was somehow mitigated by the fact that, despite the late hour - or early hour, depending on what side of the day one looked at it from - the innkeeper was still able to bring them a hot meal.

“We’re hosting our annual Three-Dragon Ante tournament, from noon through the evening, and we’re full with players who came to sign up from out of town,” she explained, placing hot soup, roast rabbit, candied almonds and mulled wine on the table. “I do have some space available in the attic, if you have nowhere else to go, but I doubt more than two people could squeeze in there. I am very sorry.”

“Ah, I see.” Wyll sighed. “No need to apologize, it was bad timing from our--”

“Actually, the attic sounds good to me,” Astarion cut him off, and smiled at the innkeeper, gesturing to Raphael. From his part, Raphael had finished the soup and bread in a few bites and was staring intently at the candied almonds. Very intently. A little odd, that, really. He must be more tired than they thought, Song of Rest and all. “Our friend here is exhausted, and I expect a few hours of rest on a proper mattress would do him good. If you could accommodate the two of us in the attic, we’d be truly grateful.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that can be arranged. I’ll have mattresses and blankets brought up, give it a quick clean while you finish your meal. What do you think?”

“I think you’re a lifesaver, my friend.” Another bright smile and the innkeeper was off, leaving Astarion to turn to Durge. “You don’t mind, do you, love? Someone has to keep an eye on him, may as well be me. Staying out of the rain for a while might make my hair more manageable, too,” he added with a sigh, running a hand through impossibly well-coffered hair.

Later on, Durge would feel more than a little foolish for not immediately guessing Astarion was planning something: with the shared goal of getting to the Hells, there hadn’t really been any need to keep that close an eye on Raphael in the first place. But they were tired from the walk, and a little distracted by the fact Raphael was proceeding to absolutely demolish the entire dish of candied almonds by himself. They simply assumed Astarion wanted to sleep in a real bed for once, and couldn’t fault him for it.

“Of course, it sounds good. We’ll camp nearby and be back at sundown,” they said. Astarion smiled, and turned to Halsin.

“I know you’re probably looking for an excuse to wander around on four legs again, but would you stay in the tent with them today? Their sleep hasn’t been great lately.”

“That’s not nece--” Durge began, only for Halsin to cut them off.

“Of course, you need not even ask,” he said, with an eagerness that made Durge suspect they may not be getting a lot of sleep, and that settled it. The innkeeper announced the attic was ready just as they finished their meal, and they took their leave just as the sun rose.

Durge did not notice - none of them did - that their backpacks were only slightly lighter, their gold pouches gone.

***

When Israfel first arrived in Cania, all he had to hold onto was a bag of almond sweets.

There were other things he’d wanted to take with him, all his books and his lyre and his clothes, but everything had moved so fast. Duke Barbas - tall as he was wide, with a mane of black hair slicked with oil and flowing red robes - had refused a forced invitation to stay for a meal while Israfel gathered his belongings. Barbas had declined with a politeness that did little to conceal his disdain.

“As much as I’d love to accept, Lord Sunspear,” he’d said, very purposely misremembering the name, “I am in quite a hurry to return to Cania, as I have other duties to tend to and my liege lord is not a patient master. The boy’s belongings can be collected at a later time.”

Israfel had felt Lord Starspire’s hold on his shoulder tighten, pulling him closer to his side, but there was nothing he could do to keep him there and they both knew it. “His lordship can allow us a few minutes, I hope,” Lord Starspire had spoken, gaze low despite the furious tremor in his limbs, “for Israfel to--”

“Raphael,” Duke Barbas had cut him off, and dropped his gaze on Israfel. He’d smiled with no warmth. “Lord Mephistopheles is keen to choose the names of every spawn he welcomes home. Your name is Raphael.”

Israfel may have protested at being renamed like a dog changing master, if not for his surprise. He’d blinked, taken aback. “Mephistopheles? The archdevil?”

Barbas’ jet black eyebrows had gone up almost to his hairline. He glanced over at Lord Starspire, whose grip on Israfel's shoulder had turned heavy as stone. He looked surprised and oddly delighted. “You mean to tell me you never told the boy who sired?”

The man had swallowed, and looked down at Israfel, whose mind still reeled at the notion that his sire wasn’t just a devil, but the Lord of the Eighth. He had read stories about Lord Mephistopheles, his might and his fury, the power second only to that of Asmodeus himself. And he’d been reading about his father, all along? Israfel had stared at Lord Starspire, eyes wide, and the man’s own eyes seemed to veil with tears.

“Forgive me, boy. I’d planned to tell you, but I’d grown to hope this day would never--”

“Well!” Duke Barbas exclaimed, clapping his hands once and causing both to recoil. “Now that that has been cleared up, I think it would be proper for Raphael to discard that disguise. He won’t be needing it anymore,” he added, gesturing vaguely at him.

Israfel had wanted to tell him it was no disguise, that this body was real and his own just as much as the one with horns and wings, but the devil before him had raised an impatient eyebrow and he’d suddenly felt very, very small. He’d breathed out and willed his form to change back, from human to fiend. It gained him that smile devoid of warmth again, and the weight of his stepfather’s hand on his shoulder was gone.

A satisfied click of his tongue, and Barbas had nodded. “Much better. Your Lord father summons you, little duke. You may say your goodbyes, but be quick.”

The goodbyes had been quick indeed and most of it had been a blur, too fast for his usually nimble mind to catch up. He’d remember Nan holding him tight, whispering something-- You’re loved here, promise your Nan you’ll remember that, come back see us -- and he’d remember a few people crying, and the cook pushing something in his hand, a small bag of his favorite almond sweets.

Last had been Lord Starspire, who’d crouched and pulled him close in an embrace that Israfel-- not anymore, he had a new name now, didn’t he-- was too overwhelmed to return. He couldn’t make himself say anything, his tongue heavy as lead. “Be careful,” was all Lord Starspire managed to whisper in his ear, then he’d pulled back and stood.

As the boy nodded and stepped back as well, Duke Barbas had cleared his throat. “Come, boy. It’s time to join your kind,” he’d called, holding out a hand.

Raphael had taken it, and that-- love-- was that.

***

Astarion was not, usually, a details kind of guy.

He saw little point in planning and plotting when, more often than not, some absolutely insane shit would inevitably happen and make all the aforementioned planning and plotting entirely useless. He’d rather just keep his knives sharp and close at hand, and his eyes peeled.

This time, however, the situation did require some strategic planning and so plan he did. Quite brilliantly, if he said so himself, paragon of humbleness that he was. A perfect plan that would see them leave a couple dozen thousand pieces of gold richer, allowing them to get Helsik to open that portal to Avernus for them… and have enough left over to buy the best supplies available to give them a better chance at surviving the Hells than a literal snowball. It would all work out perfectly.

If the devil did indeed know how to play Three-Dragon Ante, of course. If not, Astarion hoped he was a very quick learner, or they would be utterly screwed. The others just might be a little cross to learn all their collective gold was gone.

Ah well. The die was cast, and it was time to find out how it landed.

“Hey, old man, wake up,” Astarion called out, shaking Raphael by the shoulder. He made a noise, trying to shake his hand off, to no avail. “Come now, you’re fine. I’ve let you sleep almost six hours.”

“What do you want, spawn?” Raphael muttered, voice thick with sleep. He sat up, blinking, but of course he could see next to nothing in the dark. Not anymore. “What time is it?”

“It’s time you get up and play your part to win us some gold, that’s what.”

“Wha--”

“Because we do need gold. Badly. You can play Three-Dragon Ante, yes?”

Raphael grunted, running a hand over his face. “I can play any game you mortals ever dreamed up and several you never did, obviously. But what--”

“And are you any good?”

“I am not going to deign that with an answer.”

“I’ll take it as a yes. Great. Come downstairs, the tournament is about to start.”

Raphael’s hand stilled midway through brushing back his hair. Astarion could see him frown while putting two and two together. “... The tournament the innkeeper kept going on about - you signed me up?”

“I did, so you can win that nice prize of ten thousand gold pieces. And I bet all of our money on you, so if we’re to pay our way into Hells, you know what to do.”

“And you didn’t think of asking me--”

Astarion laughed. “Don’t be absurd, of course I did! But you would have said no. Plus the others would have said no, and we really don’t need all that nonsense. It’s a nice simple plan, really. You go downstairs, sit your ass on a chair, and don’t get up until you’ve won every single game and claimed the prize. That should be easy for you. Unless, of course, you think you may lose to mortals.”

“If that’s an attempt at goading me into doing your bidding, it’s amateurishly transparent and--”

“By the way, if anyone asks, your name is Wulbren Bongle.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, darling. Up now, they won’t wait for you. And stop frowning, I’m sure beating scores of people at something will make you feel good.”

Raphael scoffed. “Would stepping on insects make you feel good?” he muttered, and Astarion smiled in the dark.

“Yes, actually.”

“... Of course it would,” Raphael muttered, but he did start feeling around for his boots, and Astarion considered the argument won.

***

“So, you found him well.”

“I’d say well is somewhat of an overstatement. He’s doing acceptably, for someone who was only recently turned into a mere mortal. Certainly an improvement from the state he was in when I took him to the Material Plane, though I regret to inform you his skill in bed has not likewise improved.”

“... That was not among my most pressing queries. Or anywhere among my queries.”

“Ah, I suppose that is not something that’s usually shared with one’s mother, hmm? Apologies.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“Don’t take it personally, dear. I’m never sorry for anything.”

Dalah held back a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I am no one’s mother,” she muttered. In the back of her mind, she remembered being terrified as months passed and her belly swelled. She’d heard enough stories to know what fate befell any mortal mother of a half-fiend, but ending the pregnancy would gain her an archdevil’s ire, and her husband’s certain death on the battlefield. In the end, it had been for Rahirek. It had always been for him.

She remembered locking herself in her rooms when flowing robes could no longer hide her state, and she remembered spending nights awake praying to any gods she knew of. She remembered what she promised, too.

Let me live, and I’ll learn to love the child.

But she had not lived, and that promise no longer mattered.

“... I was but the means to bring a spawn of Mephistopheles into the world,” she muttered in the end, her voice bitter as bile. Haarlep tilted their head.

“Well, you were rather successful. Half-fiends seldom live all that long. The least impressive ones are meat for the Blood War, and the more impressive ones tend to bite off more than they can chew sooner or later, and pay the price. Raphael lasted more than most. I am pretty sure he is Mephistopheles’ oldest living son, really.”

“It seems to me he did bite off more than he could chew.”

A shrug. “Eventually, yes. But it was always going to happen. That’s how cambions are.”

“That’s how all devils are.”

“Cambions most of all. Nearly all of them think they have something to prove, the silly things.” A shrug, and they grabbed an orange from a silver tray next to the bed. “And how’s the other half of him faring?”

“It’s hard to tell. It-- he seems restless. But he hasn’t attacked anyone without provocation. He has some form of control over himself, at least.”

“And the little trick with the name still works?”

“Yes. He stills whenever I speak it. He almost let me-- I think he may have let me touch him.”

“Good thing you didn’t, or you’d have to make do without hands. Still, interesting. It wasn’t a fluke, then.” Haarlep smiled, seemingly delighted, and finished peeling the orange to eat a slice. “That may be very useful.”

“Useful for what? What is it she’s planning?”

“My lips are sealed. You know that.” A pause, and they shrugged before eating another slice. “As in for talking, not for--”

Dalah held back a groan. “Yes, I know what you mean,” she muttered, already regretting trying to get an answer out of the incubus. They were far from the worst company to keep in Mephistar - not that it was a high bar to step over - but the longer any conversation went, the more she found herself thinking that being torn from the inside out while birthing a devil was perhaps not the most excruciating thing she had ever gone through after all.

“It’s not personal of course. She clearly trusts you to a degree - why else task you to give him the ring?”

Because it’s on me, Dalah thought. He’s my doing as much as Mephistopheles’.

Still, she chose to ignore the question. “Have you spoken with her at all since last time?” she asked instead. Duke Baalphegor could change her appearance just as easily as Haarlep could change theirs; it made sense that any communication would take place between the two of them, who knew in what disguises. It was the most sensible way to go about it, and Duke Baalphegor was nothing if not sensible. She had to be, to keep her loyalty to both Asmodeus and Mephistopheles for so many centuries. Until recently, that was.

In an official capacity at least, no one really knew the reason why Mephistopheles’ long-time consort had left Mephistar quite so suddenly. However, for the many qualities even his victims could begrudgingly recognize Mephistopheles possessed, subtlety was not among them. His bursts of temper were not all that rare, but few recalled seeing one quite as terrible as the one that had followed the disappearance of the Crown of Karsus from his vault.

… That may be partly due to the fact that most close witnesses to his tantrums rarely lived to tell the tale, truth be told, but that day his fury had been felt throughout the citadel, and probably through the entire glacier it was perched upon. And while there were many accusations one may move against the devils who formed the upper crust of Mephistar’s hierarchy, no one could accuse them of being stupid. They had immediately noticed that Duke Baalphegor had seemingly disappeared immediately afterwards, and put two and two together. More or less.

Among them, some whispered that Mephistopheles had destroyed her because he thought she’d played a role in the theft of the Crown; others said he had taken her prisoner. Others yet, more shrewd, knew that even in anger Mephistopheles would not risk Asmodeus’ ire quite so brazenly, killing such a close ally of his.

“Think of it, our Lord of Hellfire has always coveted Asmodeus’ throne--”

“Nearly every archdevil does, Quagrem, except perhaps Zariel with her obsession for battle. Or do I need to remind you what became of Levistus?”

“Ah, but none was ever brave enough to say as much in Asmodeus’ face. Why then would he sit on that crown and its power for so long, without using it for his highest goal?”

“It was the work of a mere mortal, who tried and failed to be something more. Perhaps it was not powerful enough to take on the Lord Below, even on his brow.”

“Or perhaps, Duke Baalphegor convinced him not to use it. Perhaps she even used your same arguments. Everyone with sense knows that Baalphegor’s diplomacy was all that’s kept the Lord of Nessus from removing Mephistopheles--”

“Do you truly think Duke Baalphegor had a hand in taking the Crown?”

“Oh, don’t be absurd, Nexroth. She certainly did not sneak in the vault like a common thief, and may not even know who did, but think of it - she convinces him not to use a powerful artifact against Asmodei, he listens to her as he always does… and when the Crown goes missing, he’s lost the chance to ever use it. To her great credit, Baalphegor balanced her role as Mephistopheles’ consort and close ally of Asmodeus for millennia, but even she couldn’t keep it going forever.”

“And you believe the Crown incident is what upset that balance?”

“Can you think of anything else that might have?”

A pause, a hum. “... Perhaps there is truth to your words. But if that is so, the Lord of the Eighth is in a more precarious position than ever before. As you said, without Baalphegor here, Asmodeus’ tolerance may run thin.”

“Indeed it might,” was the reply, and that had been the end of the conversation, because neither was foolish enough to push it further, to even voice thoughts of a possible demise of Mephistopheles. Neither of them had paid the slightest attention to Dalah, and why should they? She was one of hundreds of thousands debtors doing menial tasks in the citadel, the vast majority of them uttering to themselves whatever gibberish crossed their broken minds. No one’s sanity lasted long, with few exceptions.

Namely, Baalphegor’s personal attendants, all of them mortals who had been tricked or terrified into bearing children for her consort. As far as masters went, she was not unkind as long as instructions were followed… and she had extended some sort of protection over them, for none of them had lost their mind as other debtors eventually did. Not out of charity, clearly - it paid to have eyes and ears everywhere, those of debtors no one paid attention to - but Dalah cared little for her reasons as long as it kept her mind intact.

Except that now, suddenly, she could think of nothing but her reasons.

Saving Raphael, or at least part of him, had been a clear move against Mephistopheles - but to what end she couldn't begin to imagine. What game was she playing? Was it even just her game, or was it Asmodeus’? What role was Raphael supposed to play? What role could he play now that he was split into two beings, one enslaved and one a mere mortal?

Is he to be yet another lanceboard piece to sacrifice? Did I only delay his demise?

Not knowing ate at her, but one thing was clear: she may be on shaky ground but, very suddenly, even Mephistopheles’ position in the Hells didn’t seem all that secure anymore.

***

As it turned out, stepping on insects was making Raphael feel a great deal better indeed.

That was not something he planned on admitting to the spawn, of course. Not that he could have even if he wanted to, as players were not allowed to speak to anybody other than their opponents and the judges.

That, and Astarion was currently busy: it seemed that betting all the gold he had on him was not enough, and he had started his own little gambling ring. He was collecting small bets for each round from spectators whose chosen winner had clearly already lost, but who still had gold left to lose.

And lose it they would, unless they did the clever thing and bet on him.

Raphael smiled and leaned back on his chair, looking at the other five players in his group as they put down their cards. The only truly decent player, a half-orc with a sound strategic mind, had the highest strength flight by far; a quick calculation told her that Raphael could not possibly have a stronger one. Raphael allowed her a handful of seconds to celebrate her victory before putting down his own cards. The weakest flights by far, and yet…

“Unfortunately, my friend, I must claim this round.”

“What! Your flight is nowhere near--” she began, only to trail off when she properly paused to look at the cards.

Raphael smiled. “I have the Druid. The lowest strength flight wins,” he said, and smiled again - admittedly, only a touch smug - before leaning back to let the judge look over all flights and declare his victory, letting him pass the turn to the next game.

The announcement was not particularly well-received by the half-orc, who made her displeasure known by grabbing the judge and flinging him against a table where another game had just concluded. An impressive throw, considering that the judge was roughly the size of a particularly burly gnoll.

A brief bout of chaos unfolded, several of the judges banding together to throw out the sore loser. Raphael ducked under a thrown stool, took a moment to drink a mouthful of wine, and looked over to his left. Astarion was distributing wins and pocketing his fees, but he paused a moment to look back and grin.

Raphael didn’t quite smile back, but the corners of his mouth curled up just a fraction, and he raised the goblet in a silent toast. Another sip of wine, and he looked around again.

Several hours and many games in, the pool of players had significantly been narrowed down. They were now down to twelve tables and, in the last rounds, only one player would advance from each; two more games, then, and that entire travesty would be over with. Until then, he supposed he had no choice but to keep winning.

Not the worst task in the world, he had to admit. Compared to the dismal experiences he’d had in the past half a year, this was almost… acceptable.

As some semblance of order returned and the winners from their respective games were seated in groups of six, Raphael briefly considered losing on purpose right at the grand finale. Watching the spawn trying to explain to the rest of their companions where most of their gold went would be amusing, he had to admit… but they did need that gold to open up a portal to the Hells, so losing it would be too great an inconvenience to be worth it.

Perhaps the vampling’s little plan hadn’t been all that foolish after all. That, too, was something Raphael would definitely not admit aloud.

He turned his attention back to the game instead, and went ahead to stomp on a few more insects on his way to his first victory in a long time. A laughably small victory, in the greater scale of things, but a victory nonetheless.

May it be the first of many, he thought, and emptied his fourth goblet of wine just as finished his winning hand.

***

“I still maintain you should have told us what you were planning--”

“Thirty thousand gold.”

“That’s not the point I’m trying to--”

“Sorry, love. I can’t hear your point over the jingling of thirty thousand gold.” Half drunk on the bottle of blood he was drinking from, Astarion sat more comfortably on the tree branch he was perched on along with Wyll. He turned to Raphael, who was precariously sitting on another branch, and grinned, lifting the bottle. “Sharee!”

“... What?”

“Isn’t it Infernal for ‘cheers’?”

“It means turnip.”

“Ah. Well-- cheers for the Three-Dragon Ante champion of Sunridge, who just made us rich. We’ll very much enjoy carrying this money to Baldur’s Gate, where we’ll promptly spend it all to go, literally, to Hell.”

As Astarion set to work to empty the bottle, Durge shifted a little on the fork in the tree trunk they were sitting on, with Halsin in his cat shape sitting across their shoulders. They glanced over at Raphael. “... Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

A shrug. “It was a childishly simple endeavor. Bragging would be poor form on my part.”

“He said, bragging,” Wyll muttered, but he seemed amused and even Raphael’s scoff sounded almost like a barely held-back chuckle. Durge suspected he’d had more than a couple of goblets of wine during the game, but said nothing of it and let their gaze wander back to the ground below, where they had set up two tents and started a fire, as visible as a beacon into the night.

If anyone had set out after them with the intent of robbing them of the winnings - more a certainty than a probability, to be quite honest - they couldn’t miss it. What they would hopefully miss was the fact that the several barrels near the tents contained smokepowder.

“... Well. How much longer are we supposed to wait?” Raphael asked, and Durge shrugged, holding back a yawn. Sharing a tent with Halsin was rarely conducive to a sound, long rest.

“I’d give it another hour at most,” they said, and they were not too far off: in the end, it took only about forty minutes before Halsin, still perched on Durge’s shoulder, hissed. They looked down to see shadows creeping at the edges of the small camp, a group of at least ten people. One dragonborn, from what Durge could tell, and a couple of dwarves, along with what was probably an half-orc and others who may have been human or elves - hard to tell.

In the flickering light of the campfire, they watched them split in two groups, each surrounding a tent; weapons were brought up, swords and axes, and they fell on each tent, the silence of night broken by cries and hollers as they proceeded to hack at the tents and… well, at the people they assumed to be inside.

“Not precisely professionals, these ones,” Wyll murmured. “Who wants to do the honors?”

“Oh,” Astarion whispered back, the grin almost audible in his voice. “I bet the devil wants to have a go. Don’t you, Raphael?”

“I’m surprised, spawn. I thought you’d be eager to end them yourself.”

“I’m just generous like that,” Astarion replied, his voice making clear he was also a little tipsy. Wyll reached to grab him by the shoulder, just to make sure he wouldn’t fall off the tree while he gestured widely at the scene below them. “Go on, old man. This shot’s all yours.”

“It will be my pleasure,” was the response, just as someone below spoke up.

“Wait a minute, there is no one he--”

“Ignis!”

The firebolt shot through the air, a streak of bright light in the dark. For a moment it illuminated the faces of the bandits below - one of them saw them, a dragonborn with blood-red scales, but it was too late to do anything - and then the barrels of smokepowder blew up in a deafening explosion that covered any screams, and left their would-be killers no hope for survival. Bit of a shame to lose two tents like that but, Durge figured, better those than their skins.

The shockwave of the explosion was powerful enough to make Astarion entirely lose his balance, but Wyll caught his leg on time and he just dangled for a few moments upside down, laughing at the carnage below. He glanced up with a grin, the flames beneath turning his hair into a bright halo.

“Admit it, devil,” he said, holding up the hand that wasn’t clutching the now empty bottle. “You had fun today.”

Raphael scoffed, of course; he seemed to spend half his time doing that lately, so it wasn’t surprising. What did surprise Durge was the fact he actually leaned over to grab Astarion’s hand and help him back up on the tree while Halsin dismissed his wildshape and cast an ice storm at the fire below, to keep it from spreading to the forest. That particular task covered, Durge’s attention stayed on Astarion and Raphael.

“I suppose that your antics do provide a sort of childish entertainment,” Raphael was muttering. “For those who care for it.”

“Sounds to me like you care for it.”

“Sounds to me like you’re drunk.”

“Sounds to me like you both had enough to drink,” Wyll laughed, only to recoil when both turned on him as one.

“Look who’s talking!”

“That’s a bold stand from someone who guzzles wine like water at all times of the day.”

“Hey, that’s not--”

“Amazed the Blade still recalls what end of the blade he’s supposed to hold, really.”

“Granted, your passable taste in wine makes it marginally more tolerable--”

“I only sample a little wine every once in a--”

“Oh, that’s sampling now? If I sampled necks the way you sample wine, I’d be leaving a trail of dead bodies in my wake.”

“I-- well--” Wyll groaned, clearly realizing he’d bitten off more than he cared to chew at the moment. “Oh gods, I did not sign up for this. Can you two go back to hating each other’s guts?”

“We still absolutely do,” Raphael pointed out, and Astarion grinned.

“The feeling is mutual,” he declared, and patted Raphael's shoulder hard enough to make him fall off the branch with a cry. Later he’d deny doing it on purpose, but as Durge nearly fell themself to cast Feather Fall and spare Raphael a very painful landing on icy ground, Astarion looked at them with a lopsided smile.

“You know, love,” he said, “I still think he likes us.”

***

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #astarion ancunin #halsin bg3 #wyll ravengard #haarlep bg3 #hell to pay #bg3 raphael #bg3 astarion

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