#Paladin x rogue

[t-dubber]

“That wasn’t the first time!”

When the Paladin has to explain to her Rogue fiancé that this wasn’t the first time she had to watch the Rogue die.

Melisandre and Astrid, folks. The Doomed Wives of Eberron. 💖

[jordanvildosola]

Hand-Crafted Chaos - Finished fanart of HandJumper! Original Webtoon by SleepAcross! Check out the DND AU Fanfic this piece is based on by QueenXFirefly!

Like my art? Follow me on Twitter! (Now with enough followers to throw a small party! Always room for more ;] )

[spider-droid]

If the x-men played DnD Nightcrawler would get halfway through listing out what all the different classes are called and Rogue, who knows absolutely nothing about dnd, would call being a rogue solely because of the name. Gambit is devastated. As soon as Rogue figures out what a rogue is she hates it, but no matter how much Gambit begs she refuses to give it to him. Gambjt is forced to play as a barbarian and has one of those “Gambit is so sad” internal monologues the entire game.

[deimcs]

CLERIC OF SELÛNE!TAV and SHADOWHEART in BALDUR'S GATE 3 (2023)

[djarincore]

so excited to finish this fighter!price x wizard!reader fic thought I'd share a little piece bc I'm impatient 💕

John leaned his shoulder against the shelves and looked at you with a sly smirk. “Trying to charm me?”

What use was a spell when you already had him in your grasp? Surely he knew that by now.

Your hand moved to caress his jaw, smoothing over the soft, thick hairs of his beard.

“I don't need to,” you hummed. Your fingers clawed up the slope of his neck and into the short strands of damp hair, drawing his face closer. “You're already mine.”

“That so?” His words fluttered along your lips in warm breaths. Strong hands fell to the curves of your waist.

[imperial-topaz2003]

Man, don't ya hate it when your future boyfriend holds a blade at your neck?

[valiantvillain]

It's here. It's done. Chapter 2 of Duty, Diligence, Devotion.

The truth came stalking into Miraz’s tent the very next evening. 

Her suspicions about Astarion’s likely tenuous relationship to life had ascended to their peak. The pale elf had made no mention of the night before, gave no inclination that he had heard a paladin’s poor excuse for stealth creeping out of her tent. Nothing but let himself be caught watching her movements a breath too long, always providing the perfect opportunity to smile at her with more than friendly fascination. Indeed, his attentions seemed to have only grown bolder: taking his time brushing past her, touches lingering upon her arm and shoulder even when she had donned her armor and could scarcely feel his touch through the chainmail, sidling up next to her a little too casually. All too intimately. With every sarcastic retort she issued, the more readily she could expect another instance of flirtation,a thread of strain in his smile and his movements marred by the undercurrent of a sudden nervous energy that had not been there the previous day. 

Then there had been the boar. Or rather the exsanguinated corpse of one. Against Astarion’s dismissive protest, Miraz had knelt to investigate. It had borne no obvious injury, not even a trickle of blood staining the ground. As though death had come to the beast on the wings of natural causes. Perhaps a disease that had worn away the defenses of a young and healthy boar, its bristly coat shining with the luster of youth still. But the edges of bloodless flesh and the two needle-like puncture in its throat told a different story. An icy finger of dread trailed down her spine as she fought the urge to cut an accusing glare towards the elf peering over her shoulder. 

Had he been perturbed, had his voice wavered with the alarm of yet another danger to prey upon them in the night, she might have granted him some benefit of the doubt, however meager. Might have allowed herself yet another shred of it, despite all the misgivings. Instead, his words dripped with annoyance, knowledgeable as though reciting words he had memorized from a well-read book. It was too easy, too nonchalant, too practiced. As if he had rehearsed the lines a thousand times before in preparation for this very moment. Yet all Miraz could see when she got to her feet was the jagged edges of an old wound that bore too many similarities to those of the boar peeking out from beneath the lace of his collar. Instinct and reflexes tightened her grip on her hammer as his airy assurances that he would keep watch from vampires sailed past her ears, his chill touch light as feathers as he reached to place a hand on her shoulder. Practically protective. 

If Astarion had detected anything unusual about her, any stiffening of her limbs, any particular flintiness in her gaze when they returned to camp that evening, he gave no indication. But maybe that too was part of the charade. The pretense of unsuspecting normalcy. 

If she had wanted to play mind games she would have stayed in Baldur’s Gate. Stayed her grandfather’s pet bastard and submitted herself to his endless tests. Years of practice had made them practically second nature, instilled in her an inherent paranoia that saw fit to underscore every interaction, analyzing every word and expression for a whiff of intrigue or insult. It had made her clever, as grandfather had so loved to remind her, made it easy for her to sniff out a lie like a dead body beneath the floorboards. The powers of a paladin had only honed the keenness of her nose to that of a hunting hound. It was exhausting, to always be alert, always rigid and detecting, unable to cease pricking her ears for the merest hint of deception. Only ever able to relax in the presence of her friends, a handful of children once left on the steps of Baldur’s Gate’s temples. 

Astarion, she noted, had elected to seat himself beside her with an air of familiarity. All cheeky grins and fluid flattery as he all but reclined against her side. The smell of rosemary and brandy that came with the elf being too close eked its way past the woodsmoke of the fire and the spices of a potato soup. For all the good the meal did Astarion, for his eyes gleamed hungrier than ever. 

There she lay then in her tent, struggling to succumb to sleep on her bedroll yet again. Victim to a fitful mind and a sense of grim expectation. She lay still, willing her eyes to remain closed, her hands to remain idle and wrapped around her pillow instead of her weapon. Yet behind her eyelids, a sliver of pale light sliced through the shadows, the flutter of canvas sounding in her ears. 

Then the footsteps. Light and cautious with the barest rasp of shifting gravel. Drawing nearer and nearer. Right towards her. Her heart quickened, pounded in her ears as every muscle in her body tensed, bracing for an attack. A moment to strike. Even as she tried not to let on that she was indeed awake. Awake and very much aware of the eyes raking the length of her body like a voyeur’s salacious stare, could feel them like a wandering hand. Revulsion threatened to twist her mouth into a scowl and give her away.

Go away and I won’t have to hurt you, she silently warned, hoping the intruder did not notice her fingers cautiously stir beneath the blankets. Her unwelcome visitor knelt beside her, its breath fanning across her face while a cool hand swept her hair away from her neck. Her eye twitched. She heard a swallow, a deep shuddering breath. The hand wove gracefully through the tangles in her hair to plant itself beside her head. Then it bore down upon her. 

Rosemary and bergamot swarmed her flared nostrils. 

Miraz had known it. She had been right all along. 

[rae-gar-targaryen]

I used the character creator in BG3 to create my Oath of Extinction paladin from my law school bff's campaign, disgraced Drow noble Viero Coborel. And her human love interest, the rogue pirate Francesca.

[drengar]

Out of context things I’ve said while playing Skyrim  {Sentence Starters} | Accepting @pluviacuratio asked: "Aw, shoot, I'm being kidnapped." For enji or keigo bc... it's funny to me if she deals with this often enough that she's just jaded about it

"I'm so locking you up somewhere."

It was a joke but he may actually be debating on it. He just didn't want her to get hurt or worse. But then again, he and Enji did her for her healing skills. There were only so many times Enji could cast a healing spell before he was too drained to do it again. And Keigo was...Quite prone to throwing himself into situations that usually ended up in a fight. He had lost count of how many times Enji had found him surrounded by bodies. He was also pretty sure he had seen Enji's hair get whiter within those moments too.

"Are you alright at least? Enji is making sure those guys are long gone."

[honkbird]

Tbh this is why some people REALLY love deep simulationist systems. I know people who love GURPS specifically because it has rules for literally everything under the sun, and want that framework to build off of and inspire them to other things. D&D certainly inspires me to play ,,, a specific archetype because otherwise I'm worthless if the DM is following CR

im confused about the dnd 5e hatred. yall arent just ignoring rules that are dumb? ur dm actually follows every single thing in the book for real?

if you have to ignore some of the rules for the game to be good then the game is not good

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion Headcanons

Masterlist

Inbox is open for requests.

General Headcanons

Settling Down together after the game events

Bigger Tav x Astarion

Nightmares

Astarion makes a wedding dress for Tav

Astarion having sensitive ears

Dancing Headcanon

Ressurected Astarion Part 1

Ressurected Astarion Part 2

Astarion's twin brother

Widower Astarion

Tav is a cat owner

Astarion Can Purr Headcanons

Astarion x Big-Breasted Tav

Astarion and you are going to the Lliira's Night Festival

Astarion Pre-vampirism HCs

Astariox x Big\Soft tummied Tav

Taking care of their sick partner

Unromanced Astarion

SA victim Tav

M!Tav CSA victim

Dadstarion Headcanons

Boy Dad Astarion

Pregnant Tav

Astarion has a kid with Gnome!Tav

Astarion's half-elf daughter

Batstarion Headcanons

Batstarion

Batstarion is learning how to fly

Giving bath to Batstarion

NSFW Headcanons

Astarion x Big-Breasted Tav NSFW

Astarion x Small-Breasted Tav NSFW

Bigger Tav x Astarion NSFW

Batstarion Naughty Headcanons

Astarion x Tiefling!Tav (NSFW)

Astarion x Wizard!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Rogue!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Drow!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Changeling!Tav NSFW

Astarion x f!Gnome!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Tav With Health Related Conditions

Astarion x Autistic!Tav

Astarion x Blind!Tav

Astarion x Chronic Pain!Tav

Astarion x Mute Tav

Astarion x Tav Who Has to Cover Her Face

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Astarion x Anxiety Disorder!Tav

Astarion x Chronically ill !Tav

Astarion x Deaf!Tav

Tiefling Tav with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome Astarion x Tav with Raunaud Syndrome

Astarion x Tav with Auditory Processing Disorder

Astarion x Custom Race!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Tiefling!Tav

Astarion x Mephistopheles!Tiefling!Tav

Astarion x Dragonborn!Tav

Astarion x High Elf! Tav

Astarion x Gnome!Tav

Astarion x Dhampir!Tav

Astarion x f!Drow!Tav

Astarion x m!Drow!Tav

Astarion x Drider!Tav

Astarion x Half-Orc!Tav

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Astarion x Curvy F!Human Tav

Astarion x Werewolf!Tav

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.1

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.2

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.3

Astarion x Protector Aasimar!Tav

Astarion x Scourge Aasiamar!Tav

Astarion x Fallen Aasimar!Tav

Astarion x Eladrin!Tav

Astarion x Gur!Tav

Astarion x Fire Genasi Tav

Astarion x Custom Class!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Barbarian!Tav

Astarion x Wizard!Tav

Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion x Druid!Tav

Astarion x Spore Circle Druid!Tav

Astarion x Ranger!Tav

Astarion x Drakewarden!Tav (Ranger subclass)

Astarion x Cleric of Selûne! Tav

Astarion x Cleric of Latander!Tav

Astarion x Cleric of Bahamuth!Tav

Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Astarion x Monk!Tav

Astarion x Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer!Tav

Astarion x Shadow Sorcerer!Tav

Astarion x Blood Hunter!Tav

Astarion x Archfey Warlock!Tav (Patron Niitra Siotta)

Astarion x The Great Old One Warlock!Tav (Patron Zargon)

Astarion x Fighter!Tav

Astarion x Paladin of Ilmater!Tav

Astarion x Artificer!Tav

Astarion x Custom Background!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Noble!Tav

Astarion x Noble Elf!Tav

Astarion x Pirate!Tav

Astarion x Feylost!Tav

Astarion x Durge

Astarion x Redeemed Durge

Astarion x Evil Durge

[t-dubber]

Paladin x Rogue Chronicles

The one where Milly almost gets eaten by a mimic bench, and Astrid has to save her ass.

[jordanvildosola]

Hands Down, Worst Quest Ever - (Fanart) WIP #3

So as I was making this, I had a shuddering thought-- Being a Lycan must be expensive, but great for tailoring businesses. Check out the original Webtoon by SleepAcross!

This piece is based on CH03 of HandJester, a Fanfiction of Cell 4 in a D&D Alternate Universe by QueenXFirefly!

Like my art? Follow me on Twitter!

[doraingrid]

Happy pride month 🩷💜💙

Hébée x Niamh having some fun. But just how messy could a rogue and a paladin really get? 🫣

Hébée belongs to lovely @raphaellearp

[avocado-writing]

notes: full version of this. contains mild brat taming, spanking, holy imagery. reader is genderless. special love to @dhampling who read over the start for me, and M for being my beta 💕

pairing: astarion x LG!Paladin!Reader

rating: E

words: 3k

Astarion looks at you, and he wonders. 

He wonders, back when he was a spawn stalking through the streets of Baldur’s Gate, if his sheer proximity to you might have burnt the alabaster skin from his bleached, undead bones. That is the force of your radiance. 

Every part of you is a perfect fragment of your god. Sunshine-brilliant and drenched equally in his glory and wrath, there could be no doubt that you are a child of Pelor. You carry his emblem on your armour and his love in your heart. Your skin has a dreamy pearlescent lustre, soft and hearty, and you seem to glow from the innate light within you.

It makes Astarion sick.

You are so nauseatingly good. When he met you on the road near the crash site it was your first instinct to help. Not to second guess his nature, not to wheedle any masked truth from him, but to draw your sword and offer protection to a stranger.

He got the jump on you, of course - but he recalls how easily you laid him out on his back in return. When he was staring up at you, forcibly unarmed, and the sun framed your face like your god had in that moment blessed you with a halo just to spite him.

And still you had reached out a hand to him in friendship.

You hadn’t withdrawn when the truth of his condition came to light. He figured someone of your vocation would try to run him through without a second thought. But instead of offering him the point of your blade, you offered him your neck. 

“If my blood will strengthen you then I will gladly share it,” had been your words. He wanted to prove you wrong for your kindness, to drain you dry just to spite you - and your taste had been ambrosia. Sweetly blossoming on his tongue he had almost lost himself in the taste of you, until once again your firm hands pushed him away.

No. He would not get to end you that night.

Every day the two of you bickered. You, the stalwart immovable paladin; him, the nefarious rogue always up to something. The two of you were total opposites. It seemed almost cruel that fate had forced you into being travelling companions. And yet…

And yet.

Whenever you finished swapping barbs (well, the threw barbs at you, and you remained unbothered in the face of them, deflecting his venom with the pavise of your cool-headedness) he would see you smile as you turned away. He’d be well aware there was one on his own face, too.

Stupid. Weak. 

How he managed to get you into bed after that party at the Grove, he’ll never know. It was a gamble and the dice were not in his favour. But he gave it a go anyway, drolly mentioning the quality of the wine and the overwhelmingly oppressive atmosphere. When he suggested meeting you later that night he braced himself to be staked.

But that hadn't happened.

You’d been surprised, definitely. Eyebrows raised and smile sudden, but you’d said yes. You’d even giggled at the idea, dizzy like a schoolchild. 

And, admittedly, he felt an erotic thrill as he sauntered to meet you in that clearing. One he thought himself incapable of experiencing any longer. He was never excited about sex any more. He’d tried to convince himself it was due to his stygian soul, that a creature like him lying with someone as pure as you would be a defilement, would be sullying your holiness - something to bring you down a peg or two. Make you not so out of everyone’s reach.

Out of his reach.

Perhaps, though, in the corner of his mind he tried to wall up, he just relished the idea of being close to you.

And close to you he was. Your grip on his cock was warm and sweet as he slid inside you. You bared your neck and he found the bite marks that were becoming a permanent fixture on your skin, the softest place on you - every other inch was hard muscle. A reminder of that shield you carried, the righteous sword you swung. He made love to you in the most passionate way he knew possible.

He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to hear the sound his name made from your lips as you came around him. It burned into his soul.

He expected you to fall asleep quickly, after, but no. You’d actually held him. As if he weren’t some creature of the abyss but…

Well, your equal.

You hand had caressed his back in a way he’d never known before, soft and sweet, reading his scars like braille but not asking for their origin. Instead you’d opened up yourself a little and let him hear some of the chapters of your life.

He wasn’t surprised when you told him you swore your oath as a teenager. You grew up in the church, devoted from youth, and he could picture you: pocked-faced and wide-smiled, knowing exactly how you wanted to live the rest of your life. 

So sure-footed. He was jealous. He was smitten.

“Do you ever regret it?” he’d asked, burying himself into the warmth of your body. You’d shaken your head and looked him dead in the eyes, so utterly sincere that it moved him.

“I rarely regret anything. Not my oath, not the nautiloid… not you,” you’d whispered before kissing him. 

And, true to your word, you never did. 

Nowadays? You make him feel safe. Protected. Watched over both in and out of battle - whenever anyone tries to take advantage of his vampirism, when they act like he is a thing rather than a person, you are the first one to his side to defend him. 

It forces him reevaluate how he feels about himself; question if he is, in fact, a being worthy of love. 

He hates it. 

He is looking at his reflection in the mirror of you. Yes. You do see something worthy in him, something worthwhile and deserving of your nurture. It makes him so damned scared. Because if that’s true, it means maybe there’s more to him than the vicious little cretin he portrays himself as. Maybe he is worthy of it all. Of kindness. Of love. 

Of you. 

His soul begins to itch. He needs to do something to realign his universe, put things back into the way they’re meant to be. He needs to be a rogue, damn it!

Your adventure has called you back out to the Emerald Grove. With Isobel safe after the attack at the Last Light Inn you were comfortable leaving the Shadowlands for a while under the knowledge that before you fought Kethetic things were unlikely to get better, but also unlikely to immediately get worse. Astarion erects his tent on soft grass, relieved to not be surrounded by magical darkness, and waits for you to be distracted. 

It does not take long. You are swept up in good-natured conversation with Wyll, discussing some sort of swordfighting technique he neither knows nor cares about. When he is certain that no eyes are on him he simply melts into the gloom of evening. 

Where he belongs. Pathetic creature.  

As far as he can tell, nobody notices him. The shadows cling to him like a second skin, like his body was made to have them mould around him, and he heads into the Grove. It is easy enough. The druids are all busy, guards down ever since the tieflings left, he just needs to not make too much noise and they are easy to pilfer from. Nothing too big or obvious. Nothing they really need. A healing tincture here, a handful of rare herbs there, a couple of silver pieces left loose on a stone desk. But the more he takes, the less it thrills him. 

It occurs to him that none of this has the same impact that it used to. Once, the idea of robbing good people blind filled him with glee. Now, he can only picture your face every time his hand flits out to snatch something up. How disappointed you’d be with him. He is trying to fill a hole in himself and it is one that you have made. It sounds violent, but truth be told it’s anything but - he has been split open by your kindness, as if you were simply trying to carve away the rot and allow him to properly heal. That healing has barely started, and he's trying to patch over the necessary work with old bad habits which used to bring him joy. Not any longer, though. 

No. His soul isn’t in it today.

He returns to camp with his heart and pockets heavy. He wonders what he should do with his ill-gotten gains. Return them? Perhaps, as quietly as he took them in the first place, making sure no attention is paid to him. Gloss all of this over like an artist sealing a painting, finish this nasty piece of work. 

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that, when he pulls back the fabric door of his tent, your presence there makes him actually jump.

You’re sitting on an old wooden chair, dragged over from your own quarters, legs crossed with one of your pauldrons in your lap. A cloth is grasped in your hand and you’re taking your time shining the metal. He catches you doing this a lot. You like to make sure your armour is in tip-top condition, every day. You once told him cleaning your plate mail is an act of worship for you, and he found that quietly ridiculous; Pelor forbid you get any blood on the thing saving your life every battle.

He freezes when you look up at him. The door falls closed, trapping the two of you in the canvas together.

“You’re up late,” he says, trying to affect nonchalance. He does not think you’d be here if this was a social call, at least not with such a serious countenance. 

He’s been rumbled.

“Mm. I was in bed when I received a missive.” You hold the pauldron up and breathe a stream of warmth onto it, watching it fog before polishing the same spot.

“What sort of missive?”

“Nettie said she saw you skulking around the grove.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Bloody druids and their bloody perception. He’s going to torch that bloody Grove and all of those green-fingered bastards in it.

Except no, he’s not. He’d never. Not now. But he still finds himself going on the offensive, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Oh! ‘Skulking’, was it? Was that the actual word she used?”

“Yes, Astarion.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just harrumphs. 

“You know that I do not lie,” you add on, as if his silence threatens to be damnation of your oath. 

“Mmm, I’m aware of that, and it is incredibly vexing!”

Finally you put the pauldron aside, all attention on him now. Hands clasped in your lap. Serious. 

“Turn out your pockets for me please, Astarion.”

Fuck. Fuck.

“No. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

You sigh.

“Is that because you’re denying you went and robbed our druid friends, or you just don’t want me to see what you took?”

His face burns. He doesn’t answer.

“Please, Astarion. Be a good boy.”

Oh. Oh. His body has an… involuntary response to that, one he wasn’t expecting at all. He feels himself throb as those words settle about him. 

“You’re not in charge of me,” he protests, but there’s little oomph behind it, because slowly his defences are beginning to fall. You need do so little and he is laid bare at your feet. He would lay himself bare at your feet.

He wonders if he can push you further. He wonders if this is all working for you as much as it’s working for him.

“I know I am not, my heart. But when you act like a brat I have little choice but to treat you like one.”

His mouth falls open at your brazenness, a perfect pink ‘o’.

His lips say, “I’m not acting like a brat!”

His cock says, I am and it’s on purpose. 

“Pockets,” you say one more time, and he feels the full force of your gaze upon him. Half-hard and flaming-cheeked, he gives in. Slowly he divests himself of all of the grove’s trinkets and treasures, laying them out on the floor at his feet in a slow display of shame. You remain absolutely neutral through it, face hardly moving an inch. When he unhands the final bunch of herbs you finally speak.

“Come here.”

If his heart needed to beat, it would be racing. He feels himself twitch in his underwear. 

He comes to you.

You reach out, wrapping a strong but sure hand around his wrist, fingers encircling its width perfectly… and then with a single tug, you topple him over into your lap.

He squeaks. Well, really, it is more of a moan, as he lands across your knees, your palm running across the swell of his arse. He’s never been so humiliated. He’s never been so aroused.

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, voice feather-light, as solemnly as if you were swearing a vow. 

Ever since he escaped Cazador, he never lets anyone do anything he doesn’t want to his body. He won’t let them have control over him ever again. But this? You? That is different. He knows if he said a single word to the contrary, you would cease. You would not exploit him or take him for granted. He knows that he is precious to you, a thing to be treasured.

And for that, he trusts you to the ends of the world with him. To take care of him. 

To give him what he needs.

So when you ask him if he wants you to stop, even though he knows what’s coming, he whispers, ‘no.’

The first smack steals the air from his lungs, a breath he did not need but must have taken on his way over to you. It is a firm sting, and his cock goes from half-mast to full embarrassingly quickly.

Your hand goes back.

On the second smack, he finds himself mewling, a desperate little noise beckoned from the back of his throat from your ‘punishment’. It is one of rapture. He begins to try and rut into your thigh for some sort of relief, but you open your legs wider in order to remove his purchase on you. 

He whines. It isn’t fair. You keep going.

On the third, his arse has begun to smart. If he had blood his cheeks would be rosy, he’s sure. And yet each strike is like lightning up his spine. He has begun to leak into his britches just from this, and he feels pathetic and small, but so thoroughly safe and looked after in your embrace.

You ask him if he wants to continue. He nods so violently his neck threatens to break.

If this is the penance Pelor would have you deliver, perhaps he can find it in himself to be a religious man after all.

His head empties as you keep striking, but he hears the way you pause after every slap to listen: take notice of if he wants you to stop. When the only sounds you hear are moans of satisfaction, you keep going. He lies there, bonelessly aroused and limp-bodied, his whole universe centred entirely onto your hand and his cock.

“Do you want to come, Astarion?” you ask, eventually, voice heavy with desire. He nods, and for the first time he realises he has tears of overstimulation trickling down his face, so desperate is he to find release.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” he groans. 

“And you’ll be a good boy if you do?”

Fuck. Anything you want.

“Yes…”

Your hand snakes round to cup him through his trousers. It only takes a couple of strokes over the fabric, and your touch is enough to finish him off. He comes in his underwear like a teenager who cannot control themselves, mewling and sobbing in desperation. It is like a blinding light across his eyelids, he swears for a second he sees your god in the white-hot intensity of his orgasm. The best one he’s ever had. 

You’re an angel, a fucking angel sent to be his salvation. 

As he rides out his climax against the meat of your palm, he feels the other one rubbing across his sore backside. It occurs to him you’re using your Lay on Hands to soothe some of the sting for him, which, if he were more lucid, he’d find utterly ridiculous; however as it is the ache in his arse is still pleasant but now less demanding of his attention. 

You manoeuvre him to sit up, letting his whole body collapse into yours. He is aware, through the cotton-clouds of his thoughts, that you are whispering his praises. Telling him how well he did. Reassuring him how much you care for him. Letting him know how proud you are. He’s never been so pleased in his life, and rubs his face into your neck, like a pampered cat seeking attention.

“Are you alright?” is what you ask eventually, after you’re sure he’s returned to himself properly.

“To be honest, I don’t remember the last time I was better,” he manages, and you laugh in a gravelly little chuckle. 

“Good. Your happiness matters to me.”

He can’t think of anyone who that’s ever been true for. He’s humbled that you have the sincerity to voice it. You are so… you’re so…

Wonderful. 

Even now, you care. He’s never had that before.

“Astarion…”

“Mmm?”

“Tomorrow, you’re returning those things to the Grove.”

He groans and you laugh again.

“Come on, now. You said you’d be good.”

“Fine! Fine. Just… don’t make me think about those nature-loving freaks while I’m bathing in the afterglow, hmm? I just had an orgasm that sent me into the astral plane. I’d like to enjoy it there a little longer.”

You do not argue. He feels your lips curl into a smile against the soft skin of his neck. 

Later, you’ll carry him to the nearest stream and wash him, your hands dancing across his skin like worship. You’ll treat him as if he is a holy relic. Precious. 

It will be then, in the water and softness of your touch, he will realise that he loves you.

The next day he gives back what is stolen. He can’t look at your thighs without his cheeks burning.

taglist & those who seemed interested: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @clairetheflower @foxiecelery @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @useless-contributions @beardedladyqueen @hopeful-n-sad

[howi99]

Sword and sorcery AU omake

Jaune: So, with the fact i can now cast magic, does this mean i'm a wizard?

Ruby: But doesn't your power come from a ghost like patreon? Wouldn't that make you a warlock?

//I am not a demonic entity or a god! I didn't make a contract with you, did i?//

Jaune: He disagrees with your statement since i didn't make a contract.

Pyrrha: Maybe a grave cleric then?

Jaune: Are you my ancestor?

//I lived for thousands of years, you all ARE my descendents!//

Jaune: Doesn't seem to be that. So i guess it would be Wiz-

Ren: No, you aren't a Wizard Jaune. Wizard learns magic, yours comes naturally.

Jaune: A druid?

Nora: can you speak with plant and animal?

//I'm telling you right now, the answer is no//

Jaune: Nope... A sorcerer then?

//That... Kinda work. Though technically you are channeling my power... I'm beginning to think you might be a cleric.//

Jaune: *sigh* Am i freak, that's what i am.

Qrow: *getting dragon and dungeons edition 3.5* Hm... I think you might be a favored soul.

Jaune: What's that?

Qrow: Think paladin x cleric but without the express need of a god or need of study.

//Considering your Semblance seem to be able to "heal" and "boost", that does sound about right//

Ruby: ... So we have a cleric/paladin, a ranger, a rogue, a warrior, a barbarian and Qrow.

Qrow: You don't give me a class?

Ruby: *shrug* We need a dm.

Qrow: *sigh* Just my luck, i'm always the forever Dm