#abdirak x oc

[circledemptiness]

Red Petals

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Abdirak x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: Wounds & Blood, Praise Kink, Abdirak is the Consent King, Masochism

✦ Part 1 of Red Petals ✦ Read on AO3

When you hear of a Priest of Loviatar performing rituals near your village, curiosity takes hold. But your experience with him unveils an aspect of your being you never knew existed.

Crack!

Body glistening under a crimson veil, twisting inhumanly as muscles roll and tense beneath the cruel bite of the leather. A scream shatters the silence, raw and ragged, filled with the beautiful emotions of their torment. The sound steals the breath from your lungs, your eyes wide and shining, twin moons transfixed as you sit reverently in the corner of the room.

Crack!

The leather tendrils of the whip fan out with each strike, slicing the air in a practiced dance before recoiling gracefully, leaving torn flesh in their wake. Beads of blood bloom like stars in the dim, sweat-drenched place, the rancid scent of salt and tears soaking the air. Your nostrils flare as anticipation coils through you, every muscle tightening just before the next blow lands on this lucky soul.

Crack!

Abdirak’s body beams, the thin layer of sweat turning his muscles into something divinely alluring. Crimson splatters against his taut skin, the contrast stark against the marble pallor of his flesh. Tendons roll and ripple tantalizingly beneath his toned arms and strong wrists, the whip rising high over his shoulder before slicing down in one swift, practiced and elegant arc. Securely caught between your teeth, your lower lip trembles in adoration and excitement, as your eyes cling to his beautifully scarred face, his giant eyes that you are so fond of, the inspired curve of his smile.

The Priest of Loviatar understands the limits of the human soul like no other, can easily discern the subtle signs of the mind breaking free from the chains of pain, the threshold where suffering transforms into divine enlightenment. He revels in the raw, primal screams that accompany his sacred rituals, knowing they will eventually give way to a true, organic offering, a song worthy of his –and your– Goddess Loviatar.

With a sudden motion, Abdirak throws his head back, his hair slicing through the heavy air with a graceful sweep as beads of sweat float in the atmosphere. He turns briefly, his fervent eyes seeking yours. When your gazes meet, his smile broadens, making your heart swell with pride and tenderness, bringing you back to the day that reshaped your entire being.

✦ ✦ ✦

You first heard the news like a whisper threading its way through town. An itinerant priest of Loviatar had arrived, temporarily sojourning to perform rituals and spread the teachings of his faith in a secluded spot, hidden from prying eyes and sensitive ears. Of the Goddess of Pain and Endurance, you knew little, and even less about her followers. Yet, the allure of the unknown had always been irresistible to you, fueled by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

What began innocently enough, asking a few casual questions about the priest and his Goddess, soon turned into an obsession. You inquired if anyone had seen visitors approaching his cabin in the forest or heard strange sounds from that direction. To those around you, your questions must have seemed like idle curiosity, perhaps even a touch morbid. And perhaps they were. Deep down, you knew you couldn’t resist the temptation to witness, firsthand, the rites performed by the mysterious Painbringer whose name was still unknown to you. In your quiet, monotonous village, such a presence was a rare diversion that only piqued your most ardent interest.

One night, tinged with a mixture of shame and barely contained excitement, you resolved to meet the priest. His arrival was undoubtedly the most thrilling event in your otherwise orderly, calm and, dare you say, boring life; and to your knowledge, he posed no danger or threat. With your cloak hood drawn up to conceal your identity, you left your home, hands shaking and heart racing almost giddily, curiosity overwhelming any hesitation.

Finding the place people were whispering about was no trouble for you; you knew the forest paths better than anyone else in your village. It stood secluded, deep among the trees, far from the village's watchful eyes and comfortably sheltered in the secrecy of the woods. 

As you drew closer, faint sounds began to puncture the stillness of the night; screams that sent a shiver racing down your spine. They grew louder, twisting your stomach with dread and filling your mind with morbid questions and gnawing doubt. You gripped your cloak tightly, remaining immobile for a moment, listening as more shrieks echoed in the thick and dark forest, each followed by the distinct crack of something striking flesh.

Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a cacophony of horror, fear, and mounting anxiety. For a fleeting moment, you considered turning back. What madness had driven you here? Swallowing the lump in your throat, you felt curiosity overpower your fear, compelling you forward. Your trembling hand rose to knock, weakly tapping the thick wooden door. The screaming halted for a beat, replaced by a voice, soft, elegant, and unexpectedly warm.

“Please, do come in.”

The gentleness of the invitation shouldn’t have made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but you most definitely hadn’t expected such tenderness from behind these walls. Summoning a final surge of courage, you pushed open the door, your whole body quivering. The sight that met you left you frozen in the doorway, breath caught in your chest, teetering on the edge of collapse.

A man knelt on the floor, his upper body exposed and marked by ferocious crimson welts, his torn flesh glistening under a thick veil of blood that pooled onto the ground beneath him. His body trembled, and he panted heavily, each breath ragged and desperate, like a wounded animal. Beside him stood a tall figure, exuding an air of humble pride, one hand resting immobile on the man's shoulder. The imposing figure wore a shoulder piece of rough, leathery material, adorned with a symbol that stretched across his chest. Sharp, metallic arrows pressed against his skin, not piercing it, but appearing uncomfortably close. His attire was completed by a leather skirt, stained and mottled with dark patches that unmistakably resembled old blood splatters.

His bare torso gleamed with a thin layer of sweat, accentuating the defined contours of his muscles, which were adorned with vicious scars extending up to his face. Despite these gnarly marks, his features held an unexpected softness and beauty that you found strangely endearing, you had to admit. He stood as a portrait of reverence, exuding a magnetic charisma that filled the room. Slowly, his hand curled around the tormented man's trembling fingers, guiding him to stand. You watched, half horrified and half captivated by the spectacle, realizing you were witnessing the end of a ritual.

The silence was finally broken by the Priest’s voice, soft and almost tender; the same voice you had heard through the door earlier. 

“In pain, one finds clarity. You did well tonight; the Maiden smiles upon you. Can you feel her embrace? Do you sense her gift?”

The question, aimed at the nearly sobbing man, sent a shiver down your spine. The hair at the back of your neck bristled, though you couldn’t quite say why. The Priest’s warm tone seemed to stir something uncomfortable deep inside you, a sense of unease twisting your stomach even as you found yourself transfixed by him, his words, and the unsettling devotion they implied. The man nodded, weakly whispering his thanks, and the Priest's smile deepened in response.

“It is I who thank you. Now go, my child. Embrace your new strength and wisdom.”

The Priest squeezed the man’s shoulder gently before gesturing with a subtle wave. The man gathered his scattered belongings, dressed himself, and, without a glance in your direction, walked past as you stepped aside, your eyes following him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

When your gaze returned to the Priest, his clear eyes locked onto yours, and a pleased smile illuminated his face. An inexplicable warmth spread through you, pooling in your core and stirring your insides. Your mouth went dry as you stood frozen, and when he extended his hand towards you, the inviting gesture shattered whatever spell held you. Without fully understanding why, you found yourself moving towards him, your own hand, cold and trembling, reaching out. His skin was warm, you noticed, his grip firm yet not suffocating. Safe.

“Good evening, and welcome, dear. Have you come to bask in the glory of Loviatar?”

Words failed you as a surge of apprehension and fear coursed through your veins. Your heart raced, thundering in your chest as you struggled to remember why you had come. What had brought you here, truly?

“I’m… unsure,” you stuttered after clearing your throat, eyes shifting away as his hand withdrew from yours. The Priest tilted his head, studying you with a gentle expression. His smile lingered, unwavering, as he hummed in quiet thought.

“Fear not, sweet lamb. Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain, offers the gifts of clarity and wisdom. She teaches that true strength lies in endurance. Here, you are safely seen and heard.”

Your heart thrummed in your chest, drawn inexplicably to every word he spoke. Despite the horrors you had just witnessed, an intense curiosity flickered within you. Was it truly possible to find such a state of mind at the hands of this man? 

Even though you were immensely intrigued by the experience he promised, you questioned whether you truly wanted to undergo such extreme treatment for the sake of… what, exactly? Discovering something new? Answering the faint call of something small and unknown until then within you? The idea alone left you teetering on the edge of intrigue and dread.

“And how… What would I need to…?” The question tumbled out clumsily, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

“Through pain, your heart and mind will feel divine enlightenment; stripping away the comfort of your flesh, you will see what lies beneath. Pain is a teacher of those who dare to listen, a blessing; to feel it is to know the touch of the Goddess herself.”

You instinctively frowned at the notion of suffering, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you grappled with your thoughts. The erratic beat of your heart was uncomfortable, and the strange warmth coiling in your stomach unsettled you, wondering what was truly causing it. Were you seriously considering this invitation?

The brush of his knuckles against your flushed cheek jolted you from your reverie. A surge of heat rose to your face, as though already under his spell. His voice softened, as if reading the unspoken conflict and growing worries in your mind.

“Pain is not suffering; it has no malice, no cruelty. It is pure, cleansing and tempering. It demands honesty, and those who endure it, embracing it in their core, will feel blessed by insight few will ever know.”

Your mouth opened and closed before you managed a nod, acknowledging and attempting to understand his words –or at least, convincing yourself that you did. His hand remained cradling your face, thumb tracing soft circles along your cheekbone. You gazed at the man before you, contemplating the symbol he represented, your eyes sinking into his, shining like two precious diamonds. His words resonated deep within, nurturing a blossoming seed of curiosity that yearned to experience what he offered. For reasons beyond explanation, this felt right.

“Would you like to feel the Maiden’s embrace, to taste her kiss?”

Slowly, you nodded again, the weight of his words thrumming through your chest. A warm, almost shameful heat unfurled in your stomach, as if his voice had stirred something primal, awakening an ancient part of you that had always been there. The sheer force of his presence was overwhelming; you found yourself unable to look away, taking in the details of his scarred face and the faint metallic scent of blood that lingered around him. Trust, unbidden and complete, bloomed within you. The Priest’s blue eyes brightened with approval as he smiled, his hand settling gently on your shoulder.

“I shall be gentle, or I shall be harsh. The choice is yours. How much can you endure?”

“I… I’m afraid this is all new to me,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“Gentle, then? Do not worry, I will take good care of you, sweet lamb. Would you like to undress and take your place?” His hand gestured toward the wall where, just moments ago, a man had knelt in tortured devotion. You swallowed hard, fingers trembling as they found the clasp of your cloak and slid it from your shoulders.

Next to you, a table displayed an array of torture devices: whips, daggers, a mace… tools laid upon a cloth to keep blood from staining the furniture. A shiver ran through you as you imagined how he must have wielded them, the limits to which devotees pushed themselves, and whether you could bear the same. You folded your cloak carefully in an empty corner of the table, fingers moving with nervous precision, before grasping the collar of your tunic. The Priest’s expression remained unchanged; calm, soft, unjudging.

What am I doing? The question rang out in your mind as you removed your wool tunic, baring your torso to this man you barely knew. Next came your boots and slacks, leaving you standing in your undergarments, exposed to the chill of the cabin. The heat in your face flared at the Priest’s steady, gentle gaze. You took a deep breath, stepping toward the wall, the rough logs pressing against your skin as you faced them, body quivering with the fear of the unknown.

The Priest approached, inspecting you briefly, eyes assessing something indiscernible. He hummed behind you, the low sound vibrating in the air before the metallic clatter of a tool being lifted reached your ears. Your blood turned cold, a surge of instinct urging you to flee, yet you stood, breath caught in your throat, awaiting whatever came next.

His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and grounding, soothing your frayed nerves. His breath was close enough to brush your cheek, like a caress.

“Are you ready, lamb?” His voice, a soft murmur, carried an inexplicable reassurance. Despite being almost naked, vulnerable, and bracing for pain of an unknown intensity, you felt inexplicably safe with this stranger. You dared not turn your head to see the device he’d chosen, trusting him implicitly with your suffering; or perhaps it was fear that kept your gaze fixed resolutely ahead. A thick knot tightened in your throat, and before you could respond with a nod, your voice trembled more than you anticipated.

“May I… ask for your name?”

You felt his smile more than saw it.

“Abdirak.”

With a final nod of consent, you took a deep breath, straightened your back, and pressed your hands against the wall for support.

The first blow landed without warning, and you shrieked, the sound escaping before the pain fully registered, the leather straps striking the soft flesh of the back of your thigh with the ferocious intensity unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. The sensation seared through you, sharp and biting, and tears threatened to well up immediately. Another blow fell on the opposite thigh, more intense now that the shock was fading and reality was sinking in. This time, you screamed in earnest as the foreign, brutal pain devoured your senses, breaking and already devastating.

The strikes continued, relentless and rhythmic. Each impact on your assaulted thighs sent new waves of heat coursing through your body, nerves set ablaze as tears streaked down your cheeks. You squirmed and writhed under the onslaught, every fiber of your being alight with anguish. Even through the haze, part of you wondered if this was what he meant by "gentle," and a strange, thankful thought came by; that he chose a part of your body that could endure the punishment, more fleshy than bone.

His gasps between each strike were barely audible, your own cries and the fierce crack of leather dominating the room. The cacophony enclosed you, yet through it, his voice broke through, husky and strained.

“Beautiful. You scream beautifully. You’re doing so well, lamb.”

The words sent an inexplicable chaos spiraling within you, resonating in a place deeper than pain. His praise anchored you, giving you something to cling to as your mind teetered on the brink of collapse. Your heart pounded more fiercely at his encouragement than at the agony itself, a confusing heat pooling and spreading behind your navel. What is wrong with me? you thought, as your mind fractured under the weight of emotions that defied logic.

Abdirak’s ritual continued without pause, each cry wrung from your throat, each strike on your thighs making you wince anew. Pain and praise melded into one, leaving you raw, disoriented, and strangely alive.

Pain consumed you, searing through your mind and clawing its way down your throat, while tears carved jagged paths across your face. Your legs trembled, and your fingers dug into the wood with desperate ferocity. But then, something happened, something shifted deep within your being. As your vision blurred, and thoughts of death seemed almost merciful, a flicker of light emerged –a glimmer at the edge of your awareness. Your synapses opened like the petals of a flower, slow and delicate, revealing an abstract fruit nestled in the confines of your fractured mind. For a fleeting moment, you could almost taste it: warm, soothing, transcendent. The pain dissolved into nothingness, even as the leather continued to strike.

But then, a particularly fierce blow darkened your vision. The fragile petals closed in on themselves, and the only sensation left was pain once again; agonizing, all-consuming. With a final, wrenching scream, you cried out.

“Please, please stop!”

The strikes ceased instantly, without a single question. Abdirak’s eyes followed you as you collapsed to the floor, your body a shuddering mess of sobs and tears. The searing burn in your thighs made you feel as though they would simply give out beneath you. He knelt beside you, his hand smoothing over your hair tenderly, his touch soft and grounding. The contrast of his gentleness, so different from the pain that had just ended, made you long for this moment to stretch into eternity. His tender presence calmed the storm within you, dispelling the terror with each stroke.

And then the thought struck you: had he been cruel at all? Or was he, as he said, merely generous with the gifts of Loviatar? You wondered if you had shown ingratitude by begging him to stop, if you were unworthy of the offering he had bestowed. The notion twisted in your stomach, a strange mix of shame and anguish, as you tried to understand your tangled emotions. When you turned your gaze to him, there was an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place.

“You were close, weren’t you, lamb? You’ve seen her gift for you,” he whispered, voice soft as silk. You stared at him, wide-eyed, startled that he could read you so deeply, see into the recesses of your mind. But, of course, he was a Priest of Loviatar. He understood you, saw into your soul. Slowly, you nodded, tears streaming anew as a crushing guilt and disappointment washed over you like a tide.

“I’m sorry, Abdirak…” you managed to say. He hushed you gently, his hand cupping your face, thumb sweeping away your tears. How you wished that touch would never leave, that it could remain, whether through tenderness or pain. With him touching you, you felt like you could only feel safe. And this realization made your head dizzy, wondering once more what was truly happening to you.

“You didn’t… continue, even though you knew I was close?” you asked, voice barely more than a quivering breath. He inhaled, eyes gleaming with the kind of insight that both frightened and soothed you.

“Only you can surrender yourself to pain, letting your mind peel beyond what your flesh feels.”

You nodded slowly, a frown still etched on your brow. As he extended his hands, you reached out, and he pulled you to your feet. A sharp wince escaped you as the pain flared again. But when your eyes met his, you saw more than just a man. The scars lining his face did not mar his beauty; instead, they framed it, emphasizing the warmth and safety radiating from him. He was a beacon in the storm of your emotions, a guiding presence through the chaos of your mind.

“I saw the petals opening, I saw her fruit. It was… beautiful,” you murmured, voice soft and reverent. At this, Abdirak’s smile widened, a rare show of emotion that sent a new shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps one day you will taste it, lamb. Do not give up, she is here, waiting patiently for you, until you are ready. Your desire is… magnificent.”

The weight he placed on that last word sent your heart racing. Something smoldered in his gaze, and you felt a deep crimson flush rise to your cheeks. Your eyes lingered on his split lip, and you caught yourself– what were you thinking? You blinked, forcing those thoughts away, trying to steady the whirlwind in your mind. This man had unraveled and rebuilt you in the course of a single night, and yet your pulse quickened at the mere praise and his gentleness…

His words echoed in your mind as you dressed, each movement eliciting a hiss as the fabric of your slacks rubbed against your tender skin. Abdirak moved to the far side of the cabin, rummaging through a bag. It was only then that you noticed the room’s details: a neatly made bed, a few books resting on a nightstand. The idea of the Painbringer quietly reading during his free moments made you smile. It shouldn’t have warmed your cheeks, but it did. You wondered what he read, what he was like when not performing his sacred duties. Improper thoughts nipped at the edges of your mind, but you pushed them aside.

Fully dressed, you glanced up as Abdirak approached, a small vial in hand.

“It’s a healing potion,” he said, eyes kind yet intense.

You took the vial, confusion flickering across your face. “Do you use them yourself?” you asked. He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your chest tighten.

“No, I haven’t needed one in a long time. But you are still delicate, my lamb. Your path may be longer, and I would not have you discouraged. You hold so much potential, so much light.”

His caring words and gentle praise made your heart flutter wildly. You looked at the vial, considering it for a moment, before meeting his gaze once more.

“I won’t be discouraged. May I visit you again tomorrow?”

The weight of your words barely registered. They felt true, as if a secret part of you had awakened and refused to be silenced. Abdirak’s head tilted slightly, his fingers closing around the vial as a smile spread across his face, eyes gleaming with happiness, intensity, and something deeper, more passionate.

“I will be waiting for you, my sweet lamb.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Back home, you winced as you peeled the sweat-drenched fabric from your body, each movement pulling at the sensitive skin beneath. A sharp hiss escaped you when your clothes finally gave way, and you stood for a moment, catching your breath. The tall mirror in your bathroom reflected the evidence of the night; dark, vivid stripes crisscrossing your thighs like jagged echoes of Abdirak’s touch. You twisted, craning your neck to get a better view. No blood; only bruises blooming like wildflowers. The thought settled heavily in your mind; Abdirak had been gentle, far more so than the man you’d first witnessed enduring this ritual.

Dipping the sponge into the basin of cool water beside you, you squeezed it over your heated skin, letting rivulets cascade down your back and thighs, soothing some of the burn. You never imagined you would willingly subject yourself to such torment, yet here you were, craving more than just the physical pain. There was something deeper, a promise hidden behind the agony, whispered by Loviatar herself. And then, there was Abdirak…

The thought of him made you pause mid-swipe, sponge hovering near your shoulder. His steady eyes, the unwavering conviction in his voice, the way he had cradled your face with such tenderness when you felt disappointed in yourself… An unexpected shiver raced through you, leaving behind a tingling warmth that unfurled slowly, winding its way through your chest and behind your navel.

You climbed into bed, carefully laying on your stomach to avoid further torment to your thighs, but no position offered relief. The sting and ache pulsed through your muscles, an incessant reminder of each strike and the strange, euphoric threshold you had crossed. As you shifted and writhed, memories of his voice, rich with praise, deep with assurance, played in your mind.

The heat rose in your cheeks, blooming into a full, insistent flush. You lifted your hips slightly, the sheets cool against your feverish skin, and let one trembling hand slip between your legs, your touch only confirming what you already knew.

You were wet.

The pain hadn’t dulled your desire; it had sharpened it. The sensations blended in your mind: the promise of Loviatar’s revelation, the raw thrill of surrendering, and Abdirak himself. His voice murmuring encouragements, his face a blend of serenity and fervor as he wielded his holy instrument, marking you with devotion. The intensity of his eyes as he looked at you, as if you were the only being in the world, sacred and complete.

Your fingers moved in rhythm with the memory, coaxing a pleasure that built and crested, accompanied by his imagined whispers. When release finally claimed you, it brought a shuddering wave that echoed the tension and relief of the night, leaving you breathless and spent. As you lay there, heart pounding and eyes unfocused, you realized that tonight had irremediably changed something within you. And tomorrow, you would seek him out again, drawn by the pull of a Goddess and the man who served her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Waking the next morning, you almost regretted declining the healing potion. Your body throbbed with soreness; muscles tensed, and your thighs screamed in protest with every movement. With a groan, you dragged yourself out of bed and caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. The marks Abdirak had left were cruel and vivid, dark purple and red streaks blooming over the backs of your thighs; yet, an overwhelming, almost prideful sensation coursed through you. However, the thought that, in time, these marks would fade brought an unexpected pang of sadness. What a peculiar thought…

You replayed the events of the previous night over and over, now with a rested mind and clearer perspective. To your own surprise, your feelings had not shifted. If anything, your determination was stronger, resolute in seeking him out again. That evening, when the milky moon hung high in the sky, you wore clean clothes and hastily ate a small meal, preparing your body and mind for the ritual you intended to complete this time.

A shiver ran down your spine as you stood before the cabin, fist raised to knock. But as soon as Abdirak’s voice called out from within, inviting you inside, a strange calm settled over your nerves. It was as if just the sound of him alone could soothe the turbulence within you, taming your heart with ease.

The room was empty of others this time, just him, looking as striking and otherworldly as you remembered. He stood by the large table, tending to his array of tools with practiced care. When his eyes met yours, a smile broke across his face, warm and bright.

“You did come back, my lamb.” His voice was soft, tinged with a note of excitement. A part of you wondered if he, too, was looking for this moment, to guide you toward an awakening. Your own smile surfaced, more confident this time, as you moved closer.

“I did… I would like to try again, Abdirak.” Your voice was steady, the tremble of uncertainty from the night before gone as you laid your hand on the table, seeking his approval. His eyes lit up with unmistakable delight as his fingers found their way to your hair, tracing gentle circles at the back of your head. The touch made your heart race, an electrifying thrum begging for more, more, more…

“Beautiful. You are simply beautiful… You may undress, my sweet lamb, and I will take care of you.” His voice had dropped to a deep, velvety purr, and the world around you receded until all that remained was the pounding of your blood and the warmth in his gaze.

As you contemplated the moments to come and the form of your ritual, you slowly untied the laces of your shirt. The memory of the previous night, that fleeting connection to Loviatar, resonated within you. This time, you were determined to grasp the gift she offered. Instead of removing your pants, you took off your brassiere, exposing the length of your back. Kneeling in front of the wall where you had stood last night, you settled into position, vulnerable and prepared.

Abdirak circled you like a shadow, his eyes contemplative, a hum reverberating deep in his chest. His fingertips grazed your bare skin, sending tremors down your spine, igniting a warm, molten sensation that pooled deep within you. Almost shamefully, you felt your sensitive parts throbbing deliciously, as the soft tracing of his fingers was almost worshipful, shapes drawn like sacred symbols on your skin.

“The pain will be fierce here,” he warned, his voice thick with intensity. You turned your head, catching the weighted look in his eyes, his breath slightly uneven as his palm rested over your shoulder blades. The submissive position you held sent a rush of heat through you, each touch anchoring your breath. He was waiting for your consent, you realized, offering you a final moment to reconsider.

“I can handle it,” you whispered, though you most certainly was not certain of it. Yet, his approving nod and the tender curve of his lips held you steady. As he moved to select his tool, you felt a pang of longing when his touch left you, your eyes tracking him as he deliberated. Then, panic hit your entire being and made your heart stutter at the sight of him choosing a devilish looking cat o’ nine tails. His grip on it was reverent, practiced, his movements nearly hypnotic as your gaze couldn’t leave the way his taut muscles rolled under his skin as he prepared himself. The controlled motion of his shoulders, the measured, almost sensual way the tendons of his arm worked as his hand wrapped tightly around the tool of your undoing, was mesmerizing.

Before his gaze could find yours, you turned away, facing the wall, body trembling. You closed your eyes, forcing a steady breath, hands clenching into fists on your lap, waiting for the sharp embrace of pain.

The first lash struck, and the agony tore through you like fire. A scream ripped from your throat, immediate and raw. This was beyond what you had endured the night before. The thin skin of your back screamed in protest with each cruel strike, the ropes licking at your bones in their wake. Tears flowed freely, painting your face in tracks of pain, your voice hoarse from crying out.

Every strike built on the last, like a symphony of torment reaching its crescendo. Your back arched involuntarily, your body seeking any way to escape the relentless onslaught, nails digging into the ground. Each stroke seemed to dig deeper, wearing down the walls of your resolve.

“You are magnificent, my lamb! Let Loviatar hear you!” Abdirak encouraged you through the pain, his words acting like a beacon in the storm of your panic, a light to trust and follow. You felt something wet pooling on your skin, and it took your nearly delirious state an instant to realize that it was most probably your own blood, dripping down your back. 

When the pain peaked into an unbearable, searing heat, you almost yielded, almost begged for mercy. But you clenched your eyes shut, pushing against the barrier within your mind, sobbing uncontrollably. Just as the pain threatened to splinter your will, you felt it –the tension in your fractured mind breaking open.

A light appeared, faint but unwavering, and your perception shifted. The petals of your consciousness opened delicately, revealing a glowing core, a luminescent globe, a warmth so profound it blanketed the torment. The sensation of the blows dulled, now merely an echo in the distance. Your cries persisted, but they sounded detached, as though belonging to someone else. Wrapped in this new, transcendent state, you felt light, unburdened, your mind purged of every doubt and worry.

A strange serenity filled you, comfort blooming in the core of your being, and you realized: this was her touch, her embrace.

With one final blow, Abdirak stilled, his gaze shifting to your face. Your eyes were wide, staring blankly into the distance, lips parted as if in shock. The chill in the room gnawed at your exposed skin, and your wounds throbbed with a sharp sting, but none of it registered. What brought you back was the warmth of Abdirak’s hand, his fingers threading gently through your hair, grounding you as you released a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

A triumphant smile spread across his face, eyes bright with the understanding that you had ascended, that Loviatar had touched your soul. Tears, unbidden and silent, slipped down your cheeks.

“You have tasted her kiss, and you have endured. The Maiden smiles upon you,” he whispered, leaning close. His words sent a rush of emotion through you, your heart nearly bursting from the weight of it all, an overwhelming wave of sensations unlike anything you’d ever known.

Your hand reached out on impulse, fingers finding the firm muscle of his thigh as you pushed yourself up on shaky knees. Before you could second-guess the urge, you wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed your face into the warmth of his stomach, nuzzling against the taut skin. Abdirak tensed, a barely restrained gasp escaping him as his body stiffened for a heartbeat. Then, his hand returned to your hair, this time with hesitant, deliberate gentleness.

A strange possession overtook you, basking in a mix of joy, fulfillment, and something deeper that simmered low in your core; a warm, insistent flame flaring behind your navel. “Thank you,” you whispered, words muffled against his skin as you looked up to meet his perplexed gaze.

“My lamb,” he murmured, a firmness underlying his soft tone, “I did nothing. This is your doing. What you feel is divine, and belongs to Loviatar.” There was caution in his voice, a subtle reminder to guard your reverence and not misplace it. His eyes held a quiet warning, tempered by understanding.

Heat rose to your cheeks, a flush of embarrassment washing over you as you released him, stepping back with a mixture of reluctance and shame. Yet, Abdirak’s hands remained open, steady, inviting you to take them as he helped you stand. Once upright, you searched his face for words, an echo of all the unnameable emotions crowding your chest.

“This was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before,” you said softly, your voice edged with awe. A tender light softened his expression as he squeezed your hands, the hint of a smile touching his lips.

“I am delighted to count you among Loviatar’s faithful. Your resolve, your reactions… you were perfect.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper, eyes narrowing slightly as if hiding a shadow of his own conflict. There was a glimmer in his gaze, an ember that caught in the dim light, and you noticed his hand trembled in yours, just barely.

“I want to remember this moment forever,” you confessed, the words spilling out with a shy candor under his intent gaze. He hummed, eyes opening wider, a decision seeming to settle over him. Without another word, he guided you by the hand toward the large table.

As he sat down, Abdirak guided you onto his lap. Confused, you didn’t dare move, feeling the blood on your back begin to coagulate, your chest still exposed to the cool air. You watched as he rummaged in a leather pouch near his sacred instruments. His gaze was intent and knowing, while his hands trembled with a mixture of excitement and something less divine, more human.

“I can give you a gift to commemorate the day you welcomed Loviatar into your life,” he said with a gentle smile, finally revealing a glass cylinder. He opened the cap, drawing out long, thin needles. You shivered, biting your lip with an unfamiliar anticipation as you eyed the sharp instrument, then sought his face. A faint blush crept from his cheeks to his ears, and you imagined you were in an even worse state, almost panting as you squirmed in his lap, not knowing exactly what he intended but trusting him completely anyway.

His gaze flickered to your bare chest, and you felt heat rush to your face. Setting the needle on the table, he cupped your breasts with deliberate care, drawing a whimper from your lips. Your raw, honest reaction made him smile, and his hands caressed your soft flesh as he gazed at you through half-lidded eyes. His touch was warm and tender, and you couldn’t stifle the moans and sighs that escaped, your hips rocking against his lap, a rising heat flooding your veins. Abdirak exhaled as his thumbs circled your nipples, making you arch your back in a mewl to chase more of his delicious touch.

When he pinched your flushed nubs until they hardened, realization dawned on you, and a moan tore from your lips as he prepared your sensitive fruits for what was to come. His eyes, heavy with restrained hunger, lingered on you, movements languid as if savoring every one of your alluring sounds.

Holding one nipple still, he picked up the needle, positioning it at the base of your bud. His eyes met yours, seeking consent, as always, and when you nodded, the sharp point pierced your flesh. A cry of pain and surprise escaped you, quickly mingled with a heady pleasure that made you clutch his leather skirt. He worked slowly, letting you really feel each moment of burning pain until the needle pushed through the other side. A bead of blood trickled down, and Abdirak stifled a shaky moan at the sight, the boundary between ritual and desire slowly dissolving.

Breathless and trembling, you felt the needle still in place, each rise and fall of your chest sending a jolt through you, igniting a sizzling pain. The unexpected pleasure left you surprisingly wet and needy, your hips rocking harder, more insistently against his, delighted to feel him harden beneath your quivering form.

He reached for another needle, glancing at you once more for your consent. Your eager, urgent nod and needy whimper drew a sigh from him, almost a low purr of desire. When he pierced your other frigid nub, you moaned loudly, the sharp pleasure almost unbearable and yet more exquisite than anticipated. And to your utmost delight, his arousal became clear as his length twitched against you, visibly enticed by your pleasured pain. With both nipples pierced, your sweat-soaked body shivered, mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations. Abdirak’s eyes glowed darkly as he roughly cupped your assaulted breasts, moving the needles just enough to draw a pained cry from your throat.

“Maiden, you are perfect,” he murmured, his tongue tracing the pearls of blood trickling down, the heat of his mouth driving you wild as you cried out in painful pleasure. The point of his tongue traced the curve of your breast until it poked and nudged at the needles, more low moans bubbling from his throat as he felt you squirm and groan on his lap. His cock strained against his skirt, pressing against your core as the two of you reveled in this sadomasochistic desire, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

He then looked in his bag briefly, retrieving two shorter bars adorned by beads on each extremity, which could be unscrewed. With firm hands, he roughly removed the needles one by one from your flesh, the sharp pain making you scream, before sliding the bars into place. Each insertion left you a quivering mess, your body slick with sweat and tears, the blood on your back getting sticky. Abdirak's expression was enraptured as he met your desperate rocking with a grunt, his name a ragged sound in your throat as your core kept thrusting against his angry erection.

He found your ruined expression immensely alluring, grabbing your waist tightly as he met your thrusts with a low grunt. His name sounded beautifully desperate in your throat, stirring a passion in him that made him suck harshly on your freshly pierced nipple and roughly tugging at it, while his hand pinched your free nub just as viciously, the pain almost unbearable. The sensation was driving you nearly insane, and you screamed and cried out as your body entered a confused state, unable to understand if what you were feeling was pain or pleasure. So it decided both, making your cunt throb and setting all your nerves ablaze while Abdirak continued his delicious torture, sinking his teeth in your flushed buds before lapping at them greedily.

“You are anew tonight; Loviatar is embracing you,” his voice was nearly unrecognizable, low and throaty, as he panted next to your ear, rutting against your core like a mad man.

“Please, Abdirak, I need more!” you cried out, your plea driving him to pull you closer, lips brushing your ear. 

“My perfect lamb,” he groaned, his breath hot on your skin. He gripped your waist and met your movements with fierce precision, the friction bordering on painful. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, a dangerous and acrid blend of tears, sweat and blood floating all around you, his tongue lapping at your sensitive flesh.

“I will give you everything,” he promised, sinking his teeth into your neck, nearly breaking the skin, making you scream as pleasure and pain blended into one. You found your body reacting in the most exquisite ways as heat flooded your stomach and your neglected cunt drooled through your undergarments. Your hand found his half-shaved hair, pulling ferociously until he snarled and met your gaze, his expression as ruined and unrestrained as yours, both of you lost in the delirium of sensations. You thought to yourself that you were done for, irremediably broken and rebuilt by this man, as you crashed your lips against his.

Your kiss mirrored the ardent urgency between you both, all teeth and tongue, passionate and hurried; as you moaned in each other’s mouth, he sucked harshly on your soft tongue, and you bit his bottom lip until it bled. 

The next moment, he shifted, lifting you with ease and sitting you on the table. Your pants were gone in a swift motion, the fabric dragging against your sensitive, still painful and marked thighs, burning with the unwanted friction. 

He bit down your neck, trailing along your collarbone as he discarded his leather skirt and freed his cock from his undergarments, pumping it quickly in his fist. You barely had the time to glance at it; the length generously pierced on both sides, his cockhead adorned with a mean metal ring that glistened in the low light. The shock of his appearance barely registered before you felt the tip nudging against your soaked folds, the metal jewelry feeling foreign and yet so exquisite. 

A flush of fear and terror washed over you as he all but forced his entire shaft inside of your unprepared hole in one devastatingly painful thrust through your clenching, tight walls. You shrieked at the sudden brutal intrusion, and he groaned, immediately setting a punishing pace that sent your mind spiraling.

You could feel his piercings rubbing against your walls, the thick ring smashing repeatedly against your cervix; and it shouldn’t have felt good, shouldn’t have felt merely pleasurable, but still you yelled and mewled, feeling your cunt throb and drool over his entire length, fluttering against his delicious, perfect, tortured cock. 

It felt overwhelming really, the foreign and extreme sensations, the way his hands were holding your thighs, slapping the cruel bruises he inflicted you yesterday, while your back was still raw and sizzling, your tormented nipples bouncing with each brutal thrusts.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth sinking in with ferocious intent, drawing a raw, guttural moan from him as your nails raked across his back, leaving stinging red trails in their wake. The need to share pain and pleasure intertwined, a language only the two of you spoke. Through the haze of euphoria and contrasting sensations, your fingers found your throbbing clit, circling it with swift, practiced precision as your body trembled and writhed against his heated, sweat-slicked frame.

“Maiden! Perfect— my perfect lamb... enduring so beautifully... Oh, I am close…” Abdirak's voice was strained, each word punctuated by deep, relentless thrusts. His cock moved more smoothly now, having carved its way into the depths of your pulsing hole, your wetness welcoming him within your velvety walls. You clenched around him, drawing a shudder from both of you as your lips met again, sealing the moment with a fervent, breathless kiss.

“Don’t stop, Abdirak, please –I need to feel you,” you gasped, voice breaking into sobs. A low, guttural groan escaped him in response as he pressed surprisingly tender kisses to your lips, only to resume his thrusts with a near-feral intensity. His hands clutched your waist for leverage, the boundary between pain and pleasure dissolving into an indistinguishable blur. Your own hand worked frantically to stimulate your pearl, nurturing the almost unnatural build of an impending orgasm deep behind your navel.

With a final, shuddering thrust, Abdirak's grip tightened like a vice around your waist as he cried out, his climax consuming him and sending waves of heat through your body as he flooded your creamy cunt with thick ropes of cum. The sensation was your undoing; a scream tore from your throat as your muscles tensed, your body thrashing against his while your walls spasmed and fluttered around his still-stuttering length.

He nearly collapsed against your sweat-drenched body, chest heaving as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his breath ragged and shallow. The fierce hold he had on you softened, his fingers tracing gentle paths along the curves of your body. His mouth found the delicate line of your collarbone, pressing light, reverent kisses against your damp skin. Your hands drifted to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair and caressing the nape of his neck tenderly. The moans that once echoed in the cabin subsided into soft, contented purrs as you both basked in the shared afterglow.

As Abdirak withdrew his softening length from your abused hole, you winced, muscles sore and spent. He cradled your face gently, drawing you into a deep, tender kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes swept over your body with an expression that bordered on reverence, a soft sigh escaping him. With a deliberate motion, he unclasped his shoulder piece, leaving himself in just his undergarments before moving to the corner of the cabin to retrieve a basin of water and a sponge.

Returning to your side, he set the basin on the table and knelt before you, beginning to wash your feet with care. The cool touch of the water was a balm, soothing the ache as he moved up to your calves and thighs, pausing to inspect the bruises with a look of near adoration. His lips brushed the unmarred areas of your legs, planting soft kisses that made you gasp.

The room was filled with the quiet symphony of your breaths and the gentle splash of water as he worked, tenderly washing the sweat and strain from your body. Each caress of the damp sponge over your skin brought a sense of relief, easing the fatigue in your arms and across your stomach.

When he reached your freshly pierced nipples, his touch grew even more careful, eyes focused as he cleaned the sensitive area. From his bag, he retrieved a jar of ointment, applying it to the wounds on your back with meticulous attention. The initial burn of the cream gave way to a soothing warmth, easing the tension in your muscles. He pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck before continuing to tend to you, massaging away the remnants of pain.

You knew that he didn’t have to do this; to him, pain was never cruel or unsightly, but a form of communion. Yet, the way he attended to you, the tenderness in his every motion, made his care feel as essential as the ritual itself. His attention was something you welcomed, even craved, after such an intense and raw connection.

When Abdirak finally stepped back, he looked at you with a fondness that softened the edges of the room’s dim light.

“Though I feel I should apologize for getting carried away, I cannot find the strength to do so. This felt... glorious.” His voice was gentle again, a tender murmur that warmed you from within. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and drew him into another kiss, savoring the moment.

“You’ve shown me an entirely new world, and I long to explore more of it… with you, if you’ll have me.”

He exhaled softly, his hand tracing gentle patterns along your waist. 

“But I will leave your village soon, my lamb. I cannot stay –Loviatar calls to me.”

“Then take me with you?” you said, the words spilling out without hesitation, as if they’d always been there, waiting to surface. Abdirak’s eyes widened in surprise, brows lifting as he searched your face for sincerity.

“An itinerant life, with no place to call home?” he asked, tilting his head thoughtfully. You took a moment to absorb the weight of his question but realized there was little anchoring you here; only a life that had once been monotonous and hollow. The last two days had unveiled something deep within you, and there was no going back.

“For Loviatar,” you finally whispered.

A smile curved his lips, one filled with affection and understanding. He leaned in and pressed another kiss to your mouth, sealing your fate and marking the beginning of a new life at his side.

[ilya-thewarlock]

Pain with a purpose.

AbdirakxNamed!Tav

Smut || NSFW || BDSM || Kinda PWP || Mention of blood and wounds || Very kinky || Knife play || Chains and shackles || Everything Abdirak did multiplied || Inappropriate use of the hilt of a dagger || MLM || Anal || Handjob || I mean it's... It's a lot || 3.7k words

(I said it once and I'll say it again, English is not my first language)

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

The heels of his boots slightly echoed as he walked into the chamber. Everything was made out of stone, from the walls to the floor, a couple of pillars close to the entrance and two more on the other side, right where a small altar stood. Beyond that an alcove in the wall, just like the one back in the Shattered Sanctum.  The only difference where two chains, one on each side, with shackles at the end.

He swallowed a gulp.

The monk was standing right in front of him, his back turned like the first time they met. As the door behind them closed on itself, the noise of rusty hinges echoed lowdly then his steps, making the priest aware of his presence. He smiled.

<< I knew you’d be back, dear one... >>

Abdirak turned around to face him, still smiling, his eyes fixing on his more casual form, different from the first time they’ve met, in that dirty, dusty goblin camp, a defiled and abandoned Selune’s temple. This chamber, on the other hand, was rather modest, with some benches, a slightly worn burgundy carpet going from the main door to the altar. There were torches all around the walls, a couple standing on each side of the altar, some located on the pillars, but the back of the room was darker. The symbol of Loviatar was displaced in a couple of banners, as well as on a cloth adorning the altar.

Orion didn’t spoke, just smiled at the priest, slightly fidgeting with his fingers, still too embarrassed, too... Shy. He was exploring the hidden parts of the lower city with the rest of the companions, searching for clues about Orin and the temple of Bhaal, when a mislead and a poor sense of direction in a city he barely knew, led the young warlock to the sacred temple of Loviatar. They met again, him and Abdirak, where he asked to come and visit him again.

And that’s what he did.

It was the middle of the night, the rest of the party was sleeping in their camp, when he left to see him again. Something was drawing Orion to Abdirak once more, the same, hidden connection that made him turn his head that day, getting to meet him.

<< Still shy, I see... Dear one there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your presence here is pleasing our dear Goddess Loviatar. She just wants to help, and so am I. >>

Abdirak moved forward, stepping slowly to get closer to him, and Orion caught himself staring, mesmerised, watching his figure with his mouth slightly agape. He was fascinating...

The man’s hand gently reached the young warlock’s face, tilting his chin just to see him better, as the hood of his cape fell from his raven hair.

<< We both know why you’re here... >>

He kept talking in the smoothest voice, dark, vibrating in his ears, like a purring cat, as his thumb slightly caressed his chin, before withdrawing once more.

<< You already know what to do... >>

He said, as he gestured to the alcove in the back with one hand, and to his form with the other, looking at him from head to toe, back to his eyes.

Again, without a word, Orion moved, unlacing the knot of his cape, letting it fall to the ground, exposing him in his modest camp clothes: a simple pair of trousers and a violet shirt, unbuttoned on his chest, revealing some dark chest hair. The more his hand moved to undress him, the more the embarrassment left his body, leaving him with needs, with trepidation.

His shirt was gone, falling right on top of the dark cloak he used to hide his form on his way from the camp to the temple. With a small kick, each of his shoes where discarded, as he started to open the laces of his trousers.

Abdirak’s breath caught in his throat.

Orion let his trousers down his long, toned legs, a slightly swing of hips and knees to help him, before moving them out of his feet with another kick to the side. His underwear following soon after.

He raised his head, naked, his pallid skin adorned with some scars, the dark red tattoo on his neck even more prominent.

<< Beautiful... >>

Abdirak whispered and Orion couldn't contain a proud smile, before walking to where the priest instructed. From the main part of the temple, that area was unlit, darker and not much visible, hidden from the stone altar. He could now see two small wooden tables: one with potions, oils and vials of all kinds, mostly for healing; the other one had a dagger, a mace, a whip and an axe. More detailed, beautiful version of the ritual weapons Abdirak brought with him to meet the goblins.

The man came behind him, a hand gently caressing his left arm, slightly tilting his head closer to his hair and shoulder. Orion slowly closed his eyes, feeling the sensation of his cold, rugged hands on his delicate skin, letting the man do anything he wanted and needed.

<< Don’t worry, dear one. Me and Loviatar will take great care of you... >>

He spoke softly, as he raised his left arm first, reaching the chain and adjusting them to his height, before closing the shackle around his wrist, tight. Orion hissed and winched, a reaction Abdirak appreciated.

Pain.

The priest shifted, moving to his right side, raising his arm and locking in the same way with the other, hearing another hiss from the warlock. He then stepped back, admiring his work, as the young man in front of him stood completely naked, his own shadow projecting on the white skin of his bare back.

<< Oh, dear one... You look simply divine... >>

His hand was on him again, a feathered touch on three new scars he recognised a bit too well; he made them, when he entered the room driven by curiosity, when his eyes flickered with interest, when he expressed his desire to learn...

He could still see clearly that moment, the smell of his sweet, dark blood as his dagger flashed on his pale skin. The way he took each strike, the way he winched but tested him, taunting him, tempting him to do more, using that slightly intimidating tone no one would think could come out from such an angelic face. Oh, what a challenge he was! He laughed as he almost insulted him, saying a child would’ve done better. It was driving him crazy.

<< Would you like the usual, dear one? I promise this time I’ll be better. >>

He wanted him to pick up the dagger so bad, he wanted to see if he could actually break him, hear him cry, now that they were alone. No filthy goblins on sight, no sarcastic comments from his noisy companions, making fun of him for choosing to pursue such experience. How dare they...

<< Yes... >>

He simply said, his first word spoken since the moment he entered his temple, and it was nothing but a whisper, a tremble betraying him.

Abdirak smiled, almost greedy. He was not as bold...

<< A perfect choice, dear one... >>

He talked again like he was purring as he moved to take the dagger. The metal glistened in the dark, the silver blade adorned with darker incisions, as nine ramifications decorated the hilt, resuming the symbol of Loviatar. A dark ruby was sitting right on top, creating a small curve.

Abdirak smiled again, moving to stand right behind his back.

<< Now close your eyes, dear one, and let Loviatar’s love flows through you... >>

In the complete silence around them, Orion could almost hear the vibrations coming from the blade being lifted in the hair, as he closed the eyes with trepidation, waiting for the moment the man would strike. He was expecting a strong, steady slash, but that never came. Instead, the sharp point of the blade was on his skin, tracing intricated design, starting from the base of his neck, down his shoulder blades. Rivets of blood started to form on his pale skin, as a burning sensation followed the cold silver. He stiffened, hissed and gritted his teeth, before a choked moans left his mouth. But Abdirak didn’t stopped, the blade was notw back to his shoulders, before moving to one arm, up to the elbow, as the blood kept staining him and the dagger, a couple of rivets falling on Abdirak’s fingers.

Orion moaned, as the burning sensation grew from his wounded skin to his entire body, pain and pleasure starting to mix together.

<< Do not resist, my dear... Let me hear your pretty voice. Let Loviatar hear your call. >>

He pressed the dagger oh so slightly, causing the skin to open more. Orion raised his head, his eyes closed shut, his whimpers growing louder into mewls and moans. The priest smiled again, proud, satisfied, as he descended with the blade down his spine. The shackles rattled as a small spam went through the half-elf's body, his moans now echoing in the chamber.

Abdirak chuckled, his noise pure music to his ears.

<< Thats, it, dear one... >>

They were alone, no one in sight, no one close to hear them. He could’ve screamed, encouraging him like he did the first time. Yet he stayed terribly closed to his ear, moving occasionally, just to admire his own work of art, and he kept whispering, kept his voice so low, so intimate.

Orion shivered, he was feeling warm, too warm, as the man stood so close he could feel the leather details of his collar touching the back of his neck, his hot breath fanning over his shoulder.

And that’s where it striked, the first slash on his side, caught him totally by surprise. He yelped, screamed, his eyes wide open, his breath now short and quick, his heart beating fast.

Pain.

The man behind him laughed, pure bliss in his face, as he pressed his free hand on his new wound, coating his fingers with some of his warm blood.

<< More, give me more. >>

He almost growled, as the blade was back to draw random designs, this time on his lower back, going down his rear, before coming up again to slice the skin on his left shoulder blade in a flash movement.

Orion contorted, arched his back as he gripped the chains. The scream louder than the others, as the pain was quickly followed by the pleasure. His own body was reacting in ways he didn’t knew it was possible, as he felt a warm sensation at his lower abdomen. He looked down, trying to catch his breath, still moaning, as his cock slightly twitched between his legs.

He was hard.

Abdirak stepped back, giving some time to the warlock, letting him catch his breath, while devouring his naked, bloodied form with his own eyes, tasting the blood on his hand. It was absolutely delicious, sweet, tainted.

<< You’re a sight to behold, dear one. How lucky I get to witness this. To create this. >>

He growled once again, getting closer to the man, who was now a whimpering mess. His nose slightly touched his shoulder, as the free hand gently caressed his skin, smudging blood all over his back. He inhaled his scent, blood and sweat mixing together with a touch of musk, the smell of a dark, eerie forest. He could’ve gone high on that.

And when he opened his eyes, the sight in front of him was so damn tempting.

A chuckled left his mouth, stifled by the man’s shoulder where his lips involuntarily laid on. His eyes darkening in desire.

<< Dear one, you’re doing so good for Loviatar. And me. >>

He whispered, as the dagger moved down his body, reaching his rear once more, his eyes now fixating on the stiffed member of the man still shivering.

<< You want more, dear one? Tell me, and I will provide. >>

Another whimper left Orion’s mouth, his head dripping low, his body turned mush, barely hold by the chains and tight shackles around his wrists.

<< Yes. >> He breathed out. << Give me more >>

The priest was too eager, too excited to waste time. That’s all he needed to hear. He smiled, wicked, dark, and he flipped his dagger into his hand with an expertly move, the hilt now tracing the bottom of his partner.

<< You're amazing, dear one. >>

The next thing Orion felt was the ruby adorning the hilt of the dagger pressed between his buttocks. His own brain started to fight with his body, as panic started to grow in his stomach, but his legs instantly slid on the concrete, spreading more in front of Abdirak, who couldn’t help but smile again. He moved the hilt from left to right, enough to help the warlock, before pressing the cold gem right on his tight hole.

Orion gripped the chains once again, looking at the man with the corner of his eyes, then back to the wall and down to his cock desperately twitching. That sight alone should've embarrassed him, but his brain went shut as the man urged the hilt inside.

Pain.

He felt the first inches stretched him roughly, burning, tearing his delicate skin, bruising it. He yelled, head tilted to the ceiling, Abdirak’s free hand still caressing his back, fingers now dirty with blood.

The man behind also moaned, as he pressed the hilt again.

There was pain, and there was pleasure. Orion’s head started to spin, his eyes watering, as he couldn’t control himself anymore. The hilt wasn’t as big as a normal dagger, but it was rock hard, and the ridges of the decoration around it were scraping his walls. He definitely wasn’t used to this, but he couldn't care less. He was there to feel that. The pain with a purpose.

<< Yes, dear one. Yes! >>

Abdirak started moving the object inside of him, guided by the divine noises coming from Orion’s mouth, in and out, watching the man squirm, scream, shiver. His own cock twitched, forming a tent on his robe.

Orion’s mind was clouded as well as his own sight, screaming in pain and pleasure, his legs wobbling and his mouth open, noises coming out uncontrollably, his cock painfully twitching in desperation. He was a mess.

<< Do you like it, my dear? >>

Oh, how he liked being called his.

He couldn't even breath properly, so he nodded in response. The man behind smiled satisfied, as his free, dirty hand sneaked from behind, gently touching his hips, the opposite of what the other hand was doing. It was now on his abdomen, getting lower, caressing his body hair, before reaching further down, taking his aching cock in his hand.

Orion yelped, his eyes widened, and a different noise came out of his throat as a shock shot through his body.

Abdirak started pumping his hand, coating his length with his own blood, moving faster, oh so swiftly. He never stopped with the hilt, as it was now fully stretching him, only the hand of the man stopping it, as he was holding two fingers on each side of the hilt, while the rest of the hand was around his blade, cutting through the skin. Orion could hear the slap his own bare back was doing against his hand, around the object as he instinctively moved his hips with it

The warlock’s throat burned, as well as the rest of his body, as he screamed uncontrollably, abandoning himself to the attention of the priest, feeling his head spin, his legs wobble. It was too much and he was close, so dangerously close.

<< Ab-.. Ah!... >>

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, so he let his body do anything it wanted, as he came undone, white cum falling on the wall in front of him and on the ground. His own knees started to buck, the sensation of his high rushing through like a storm, while the man behind him didn’t stop, letting him come on his hand, making sure every single drop was out. A breathed laugh left Abdirak’s mouth, looking at the mess, his cock tinted now in red.

Once satisfied, the priest slowed down and then stopped, freeing his cock from his grasp and slowly removing the hilt from his hole, resulting in another, delicious moan.

Abdirak threw the dagger on the table, not even caring to see if it landed correctly, too busy admiring his own work, both catching their breath. Tears where now drying on Orion’s cheeks, his head dropped low, only the shackles keeping him in place, as the priest’s hand gently touched his hips, sweetly and caring holding them. He lowered his forehead, letting it rest on the young man’s shoulder, still catching his breath. They stayed there for a moment; the silence broken by their huffed pants.

Abdirak moved closely, his hips pressed against Orion’s back, his eyes closed.

He could still feel it, behind the only piece of fabric creating a barrier between them; his own cock was now stiff, hard, begging for a release.

Orion was still coming down his high, head still clouded and spinning; the state he was in let him move without even thinking, as he bent slightly back, feeling the shape of his length pressing against his still aching rear.

The priest moaned, tilting his heads up before laughing.

<< Oh, dear one. You really are Loviatar’s favourite... >>

He whispered, gently pressing a skin on his shoulder, letting him move closer, guiding him with his hands sill on his hips.

For the first time since being inside that chamber, Orion felt proud of himself and smiled, turning his head as much as we could, to see him. He was red, his hair messy, some locks attached to his forehead and sides due to the sweat. And Abdirak loved him that way.

<< Do it, please... >>

For a moment, the priest of Loviatar was gone, only a man, terribly attracted to this creature, was looking back at him, in need of release, wanting to give up on the temptation.

And he smiled, hungrily.

He didn’t need to hear it twice, as he moved away the skirt of his robe, his cock popping out from the slit of it.

Of course he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

<< My dear, you’ll be the death of me. >>

The man growled, moving his hips back as he guided his length to his entrance. With a swift, fluid movement, he could feel his cock stretching him. He winched in pain, still sore from the previous activity, but the sensation brought by his cock was divine as he moaned deeply.

The hand on his hips were gently yet rough, as he started to move, slowly raising the speed, being guided by those delicious noise once again, this time only because of him, of his cock. He was so warm around him, clenching oh so sweetly, sending him into an orbit of pleasure as the pace quickened. Orion moaned loudly each time the man pressed the head in the deepest part of him, bottoming him out. Despite everything, the pain was now almost gone, and pure pleasure cursed through his body, moving now with the man, his hips meeting his.

One of Abdirak’s hand reached up, taking a handful of hair into his fingers and pulling roughly, tilting his head back, earning another blissfully moan. He other hand squeezed his cheek, grabbing it until red was tinting the delicate skin, together with all the cuts. Orion could feel the skin of his hips slapping against is bare, sore back, his movement rough and desperate, rhythmic.

Pure bliss, pure pleasure, after the pain he inflicted on the man, and the one of himself, for having resisted for so long. He wanted him, desperately. Like a starving man in front of a feast.

He moved closer to his shoulder, biting and kissing the skin, moaning against it.

<< You’re mine, dear one. >>

Orion moaned in response, letting the man do everything he wanted, claiming him as his. Yes, he was his. His dear one.

Abdirak’s movement became erratic, irregular, feeling his own high coming. His hand left his hair, just to sneak in front and grab his chin, tilting the man’s head closer to his, breathing and moaning into his pointed ear, while the other circled his hips, holding him closer as much as he could, grabbing his cock again, pumping it quickly. Orion almost shouted, his hips still coming to meet his.

<< Dear one, dear one... >>

The priest chanted as he released himself inside the warlock, white hot shot filling him and coating his hot, stretched and bruised walls. Orion came soon after, screaming his name loudly, letting it echo in that chamber.

It was perfect. He was perfect.

Abdirak slowly stopped, resting his head on his shoulder once again as he tried to catch his breath.

He was now holding Orion, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his abdomen, his hot skin against his.

The young man was trembling, his legs threatening to give up in any moment. The hot semen now dripping down his deliciously abused hole.

The priest raised his head, looking at him for a moment, before helping him out with the shackles, opening one, then the other. The warlock almost fell on him, but he was quick to hold him, slowly getting to sit on the ground on his knees, bringing him down, close to his chest. His lips gently pressed a kiss on his forehead.

<< You’re simply amazing, dear one... >>

He whispered holding that dearly mess in his arms, blood and sweat covering his perfect skin, now scarred and marked by his own work.

His.

Orion moved his head to the side, resting peacefully and tired on his chest, as his eyes slowly closed, catching his breath.

He needed to go back, but he wouldn’t mind staying there, just for a little while.

[m-u-n-c-h-y]

"I want your quiet, your screaming and thrashing The salt on your lips and the hands that God gave you And I want your violence, your silent sedation Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation"

[shewhowas39]

sneak peek of chapter 31: "S&M"

chapter 31 of Juniper & Starlight should be up later today! but here's a sneak peek.

***

“Greetings, children,’ the heavily scarred man says. “I’ve met few aside from goblins here.” He pauses, gray eyes scanning the small group. “Ah! Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” June asks.

“The gentleman next door,” he explains. “My…acquaintance is working on him, I believe.” He grimaces, clearly disgusted. “While I was thrilled to be invited here, I must confess I find the goblins and their methods crude and, ugh, primitive. Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before June can say something absurdly saccharine about all pain being bad or something along those lines, Astarion cuts in with an emphatic nod. “Oh, yes. I certainly agree. And these goblins have no concept of true, proper torture.”

When he looks to the half elves, he can see that June is glancing toward the other door, beyond which the sounds of a man’s cries and goblin jeers can now be heard. Dread and exasperation fill him. Yet another stranger June is likely going to insist on saving. 

But Shadowheart is on top of it. “I’ll go handle the prisoner,” she says. “I’ll show the goblins the most effective way to get answers.”

“Best of luck to you, my child,” the man says. “I do hope they listen to you more than they did to me.” As Shadowheart leaves the room to go next door, he turns back to June and Astarion. “The one administering the torture next door claims to be a master of pain, but…No. No, pain should be intimate and loving.”

Astarion feels the grin stretching across his face. Oh, this man is an absolute freak. How delightful! He leans into it, both because they are meant to be blending in, but also - and mostly - because it’s funny.

“Absolutely,” Astarion says, lowering his voice to a growl as he tries to match this man’s rather horny energy. “Pain should be passionate.”

“Yes! Yes!” the man shouts. “You must be a true believer!”

Astarion has no idea what he’s meant to truly believe in, but that doesn’t stop him from giving this man an enthusiastic nod. “Of course.”

“What a relief, to find fellow devotees among these uncivilized creatures,” he says. “My apologies. I have not introduced myself. I am Abdirak, and you…” He trails off as his eyes come to rest on June, who has - perhaps wisely - remained quiet throughout this exchange. “Forgive me, child, but that look in your eyes… Something terrible has happened to you.” 

“Oh, um, no. I’m fine,” June says, and as usual, it’s not at all a convincing lie.

“There is no need to disguise your suffering, child,” Abdirak says. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I ain’t so sure that’s true,” June murmurs. 

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

To Bear Witness

Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav(Sabine) Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Angst Word Count: 14k Summary: Astarion spends more time protecting Sabine from herself, than from others. When the pair crosses paths with a priest of Loviatar, they find he's as eager to scourge the little sorceress, as she is to prove herself. An experience that may be just what they need to diffuse their mounting tension, it leaves them both in ways they least expect. Act 1.

Sequel to The Cost Of Devotion.

~

Rain fall, gentle and light, began to trickle down from an overcast sky. Rumblings of a distant storm drawing nearer, the brooding gray of the clouds turned black the further along the horizon they reached. Astarion could taste it on the damp air as sure as he could smell it; the aroma of petrichor, rivaled only by the stench of blood. And smoke.

As threatening as the storm promised, he knew that even once it rolled in, it would pale in comparison to the one they had all just witnessed. The one that was Sabine herself.

"Well that got the blood pumpin', that's for sure." Karlach placed a foot on the auburn goblin beneath her, wrenching the edge of her axe from his skull. Cracked and sunken in at the sight of impact like a rotten pumpkin, the bit dislodged from the pulpy flesh with a sickening crunch.

Face twisted in a grimace, Astarion wiped the flat of his dagger against the last goblin he had felled. The corpses of his brethren littered around them, wallowing in the blood and mire that saturated the dirt, just as they had in life.

He granted that particular goblin an un-due mercy by ending him with a single, clean cut to the jugular. Before Sabine got to him first. Dropping to his knees, he was dead before he hit the ground. Spared from the fate that befell many of the others.

The fate of blistering electrocution from the inside out.

Patches of burnt grass and scorched earth streaked through the muck where she had called down her tempestuous wrath. She was in rare form, and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a sight to behold.

Her petite frame buzzed with the energy of an unbridled storm. The roar of thunder reverberated throughout the trees, and shook the ground beneath their feet with her every cry. Lightning coursed through her veins. She commanded gale force gusts, and wielded the crackling bolts like whips.

The little sorceress exuded turbulence, and they all gave her a wide berth. None in their group had seen her angry before. A sword they were all keen not to fall on, each looked to the other for proper procedure. Her rage recognized.

Astarion hazarded a glance in her direction. She was preoccupied with studying her palms, and pointedly avoiding his scarlet gaze.

He surmised he may have been the culprit behind her mood.

Sparking filament still coiled around her dainty wrists, and arced between her fingertips. Karlach aimed a sidelong look at the intimidating discharge that had yet failed to dissipate.

"You uh, alright, Sab?" She tossed her chin towards the weeping slice across her exposed bicep. A convenience that afforded her the opportunity to ask, without prodding what they were all taking great care to dance around.

Sabine looked down at her bleeding arm with a lifted brow. It was clear she had only noticed the injury once it was pointed out. Clenching her fists, the lightning fizzled. She forced her pout into a tight smile. "Never better."

Astarion cringed. He knew a great liar, she was not. She could be as persuasive as the best of them, but the art of deception was his alone.

It could have been convincing, had she not just unleashed hellacious fury in the form of fulmination moments prior. And on some meager underlings, no less.

Karlach's suspicion persisted as the little sorceress politely excused herself.

Shadowheart was tending Wyll behind him, to whom he suspected she was en route. He intercepted all the same. Her stride brisk but her eyes lowered, he side-stepped in time for her to connect with his chest.

The small collision startled her out of her thoughts. Seeing who it was she walked into, with a noncommittal eye-roll, she grumbled an apology that he ignored. He instead regarded her with a suave smirk.

"You poor thing, that must sting something awful." He cooed, the heady scent of her blood now overwhelmed him with her proximity. He licked his lips none too eagerly. "Shall I have a look?"

She stared up at him for what felt like an eternity. As was typical, the heterochromatic orbs would flit across his face, seeking the hidden meaning she believed to be buried beneath his careful facade. But not this time. Her expression was blank. Sabine just looked at him, instead of directly into him.

It stirred an odd sense of disappointment in him. One that was further stoked when she broke the silence with a tired; "no, thank you."

His charm faltered, as if struck.

No?

"No."

Astarion blinked. Only with her reiteration was he then aware he had breathed that aloud. She doubled down, merciless.

"I don't think I can state it more clearly than that." She sighed, un-amused even with her own snapping wit. "Shall I try?"

Hm. Still sore, I see.

A shame. He was quite confident he could weaken her knees by gathering her in his arms by her middle, and tracing the split skin with the tip of his tongue. A perfect combination of both compassion and perversion, the high success rate of which he now had first hand experience.

Nonetheless, he was tickled by her attempted sass. Clicking his tongue, he couldn't help but retort in kind. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, little sorceress."

Anger veined like lightning throughout her caramelized irises. "You should be thanking me, then. Seeing as how that makes your job all the easier." Her words blunt, her tone reliably direct. But scorned all the same.

It had only been a few days since that fateful evening in the Underdark. When he had struck first blood, and left her in what he thought was an advantageous position. Primed for his ultimate possession.

Every night since he had been back to feed, of course. Both of his appetites, as well as indulge in her own.

Astarion had seemingly roused her sexuality from dormancy. Upon each visit to her tent, her desires were as rampant as her curiosity. The little sorceress was an eager study to the intimidating breadth of his experience.

And every night he came for her, the look of hope alight in her lustful gaze was enough to break his heart. Hope that he might finally have her, fully and completely, all while he continued to dangle it before her nose.

Still, he refrained from crossing that line.

All by his design. Each time he gave her only a taste. Just enough to ensure her cooperation for the next night, to see her even more starved for him than the last. A gamble to be certain, but one he risked only because of his confidence.

Confidence, it now seemed, she was intent to challenge.

Their previous evenings' rendezvous proved to be the tipping point. Her patience, and generosity, lost to the imbalance. The subsequent source of her temper.

He let himself inside her tent before the sun finished setting, in hopes of catching her off guard. Their camp enveloped in a golden, dreamlike haze.

"There you are, my little darling." He purred, stalking forward to close the distance between them. "I was hoping you'd be ready for me. I'm itching for a taste of you, and I don't just mean your blood."

Her freckled cheeks blossomed with color.

Not long after Astarion found himself between her legs, forcing her thighs still with bruising strength as he descended. All lips and tongue, and playful scrapes of his fangs.

A keening groan bubbled from her throat in frustration. Her fingers pulling at his lustrous white locks like reigns. "Weren't you ever taught not to play with your food?"

"I just can't seem to help myself." He grinned, nuzzling into her slick folds. His hot breath misting against her.

"Then what are you waiting for?" She pushed from deep in her chest. Fighting to speak, struggling to breath. Wound so tightly by his limber tongue, she felt one more flick would cause her to burst.

Irrefutable proof of your devotion, he thought.

"Patience, little love." He said instead, eye lids heavy. "It wouldn't serve either of us to be hasty. Lest you do something you'll soon grow to regret."

Irrefutable proof he knew was so close, he could almost taste it.

Timidness, sensitivity, her submission. All behaviors Astarion expected.

Raw anger he did not.

And here I thought the anticipation made for more romance.

She put on a brave face, and had done well in keeping it steady up until that point. She hadn't spurned his presence, though she was certainly not dazzled by it either. His interactions with Sabine were not without the politeness and refinement he had grown accustomed to receiving, their freshly budding intimacy aside. But she had withdrawn some, the full extent of which only just becoming clear to him.

Held together by a thread, their encounter with the goblins at the main gates to the temple saw it snapped. Slight as their provocation was, it was enough.

The dam burst. Her rage materialized in a thundering bolt that she struck down in the middle of a trio of goblins. The three who had been the most brutal in their heckling, she ended them all in less time then it took for her to produce the searing flash.

Unwilling to allow him the opportunity for another antagonistic remark, she skirted passed him and walked on in wordless dismissal. A faint whiff of jasmine and violet lingered in the space she had occupied.

Astarion sheathed his dagger, his strong brows furrowed. A hiccup to be sure, but nothing he couldn't smooth over. His expertise in seduction unparalleled, he'd woo her once more, in time.

Seems as though I've struck quite the nerve. I can make better use of it, now that I know it's there.

He realized his continued thoughts of manipulation, and her learned exploits, were a distraction from his genuine displeasure. And a weak one, at that.

Displeasure from how cold she had become to him. And how that displeased him so.

A mere triviality. He reaffirmed to himself. A hindrance so minor it's not even worth noting.

Sabine's disillusionment was something he could fix. She'd be subdued, and fawning again. Soon enough.

Once everyone regrouped, their injuries seen to and bearings collected, they headed onward. Though they moved as a group, all six were not without their reservations.

The heart of the hordes operations were just a short trek ahead of them, in the formerly abandoned Temple of Selûne. It stood erect and foreboding in the distance, despite decades of elemental decay, if not longer. And it's destructive new loiterers.

"I maintain my stance that Halsin seems the likeliest to be of use, however variable." Shadowheart declared to no one in particular as they approached. "At least the likeliest of all our leads thus far. We'll go in, and get him out. Everything else is inconsequential."

"We should be so lucky for it to play out that smooth." Gale volunteered, and none too grimly. "These goblins are as quarrelsome as they are slovenly."

Astarion had his own unease about their presence at the goblin camp. He didn't feel at all inclined to smite them on the groves behalf, a sentiment he was most assuredly alone in.

Their lack of a structured plan, and venturing forth blindly, had him bristling with restlessness. It wasn't their affair to meddle in. On top of it all, he now had Sabine's insolence to contend with. The threat of a migraine loomed at the base of his skull.

A far cry from how I had hoped I would spend this day.

Wyll and Shadowheart lead, while he and Gale brought up the rear. Sabine stayed close to Karlach, never once looking back over her shoulder at him, no matter how insistent his penetrative gaze.

Gale observed to the best of his discretion. Looking first at Astarion, and then to an uncharacteristically disinterested Sabine. Curious, but he refrained from commenting all the same.

They covered the remaining distance in short-lived silence.

The cacophony of hollering and chanting from the goblin hive was second in disorientation only to their odor. Each an offense to the senses that struck well before even a single one of them came into view.

He didn't find himself in agreement with Gale often, but when he did, it was absolute. He could never resist the allure of debauchery, but the bombardment of their utter filth was most unwelcome.

Disgust furrowing his brow and wrinkling his nose, he did a quick sweep of the scene before him. So raucous he could barely hear his own thoughts.

He then looked for Sabine, as was his habit whenever they found themselves anywhere outside of camp. Necessitated by her knack for disappearing without a word. To his relief, however faint, she was still among them. And with her back still up at him.

Perhaps this is one place where I won't have to keep such a close eye on her after all. The small victories will have to suffice.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Volo. Doing his best to serenade the crowd whilst fearing for his life. Astarion shook his head.

He almost wished he could get drunk, if he didn't disapprove so strongly of the company.

"There must be someone here who knows something." Shadowheart spoke low, taking care where she stepped. "And I caution we all mind our presence here. Draw as little attention to ourselves, and our line of questioning, as possible."

The lot of them maneuvered the throng of goblins and bugbears alike. Most all were too intoxicated, or too enthralled with their revelry to take notice of the group. Or to care.

"Back at the grove, Sazza spoke of their Priestess Gut in high enough regard." Wyll's hand, while lax in it's grip, had yet to lift from the hilt of his blade. "It might behoove us to seek her out."

"I'm disinclined to rely on her cooperation," Gale almost tripped over a goblin passed out in the middle of the walk, phlegmy snores ripping from his throat. Catching himself, he stepped over him. "I suspect any engagement with her might turn messy, given how fanatical these Absolute-fearing types, especially in high positions, have proven."

Astarion did he best to focus on the task at hand, to voice his opinion on the matter. However he couldn't help but find himself distracted by the little sorceress, and her unbearable silence.

All of them continued their charade of ignorance about her outward contempt. Save for Karlach, of course, who couldn't seem to let it lay.

She joked and jabbed, and each time saw Astarion bracing himself for fear that it would eventually set her off. And that eruption, in turn, would ignite the hostility of the entire camp.

Yet after failing to elicit even a small smile, she ceased, opting to at long last give her some space.

Falling alongside him, both he and Karlach watched as Sabine moved amongst the crowd with deliberate, and guarded movement. Her signature doe-eyed approachability stripped in favor of a stoic edge that didn't at all suit her.

"She seems right foul." Karlach remarked, before she then shifted her attention to him. After a moment, as if the answer was right in front of her all along, she groaned loudly in accusation. "Oh, what'd'you do?"

Astarion scoffed, weak and without mirth. At the ready to defend himself dishonestly, he was interrupted by the yapping of a cocky goblin that Sabine caught the attention of.

They all, Sabine included, halted. Paying more mind to the little cretin than what was owed.

"Yeah, that's right half-breed, I mean you!" Puffing out his chest with a cluster of others goading him on, he sneered. "Yer no more than dirt under my feet, is what you are."

Everyone remained quiet, but braced. Astarion's hackles raised.

Without missing a beat, the tiny half-elf smoothed her hands over the front of her skirts, and sniffed.

"Charming." She summoned a tight-lipped smile, ready to take her leave. "I'll just be on my way, then."

"Not so fast!" He growled. "Y'think you and yer lot can waltz on through 'ere as you please? You need to learn yer place."

Everyone poised at the ready to intervene, to deescalate the situation. Sabine piped up before any were given the chance to so much as step between them.

"And what place is that?"

"On yer hands'n'knees." He flashed a lascivious grin. Full of himself, even for a goblin. "Kissin' my foot."

Astarion stiffened. His rational side urged him to step forward, grab her by the arm, and pull her away. But the side of him that knew how to have a good time delighted in the idea of her lighting up the worm, the rest of the camp be damned.

A little chaos goes a long way, and we're all in dire need of that change of pace.

"Come, Sabine." Shadowheart cut in with the initiative to diffuse, taking half a step towards her. "We've more pressing matters to attend to."

The little sorceress didn't budge. Staring down the goblin with her arms crossed and her weight shifted to one hip, when she addressed him her tone was equal parts bored, and irritated.

"I beg your pardon." More akin to a demand than it was a request, Astarion's smirk grew.

He had never seen her so short-tempered with another being, save for now himself.

Skeptical, of course. At times distrusting. But this was an entirely unique experience. He was certain he was the only one among them that was excited to watch the scene unfold.

"Kiss my foot, swine." He barked, pointing down to the appendage, as if she needed the visual aid. "Or I'll carve yer pretty little face."

Rocking to his toes, Astarion was unable to wipe the grin from his face, even if he tried. He could read her well, and from the firm set to her posture, he knew she was toeing the precipice of her patience. She just needed a little nudge. His silence might implicate him, after all.

"Well, go on, give him a nibble."

The words slipped through his lips before he could help it. Karlach's glare bore into him, fiery and incredulous.

Sabine's head snapped around to lock eyes with him, at last, her ponytail whipping violently. He could hardly contain his amusement, spurred on by the irresistible temptation of prodding her. To incite more of her thunderous hell.

The impish glimmer in his gaze was encouraging. Insistent. The blaze in hers just shy of murderous. The warm and gooey splotches of honey she had for eyes boiled. Daring him to continue. To dip in for a taste of scalding sugar.

He relished it.

That's it, darling. Give me more.

"Gods you're worse than a child! Must you instigate everything?" Karlach whispered furiously at him from out of the corner of her mouth.

"Yes." He whispered back, acquiescent. "I must."

Neither of them able to tear their eyes away for even a moment.

Before the look Sabine aimed his way could turn truly grave, the goblin grabbed her ear again. He nearly spit at her in his impatience. "I'm not gonna tell ya again, runt."

He couldn't see her face, but he could almost hear her gaze narrow in tandem with her sharpening tongue.

"Why don't you kneel, and kiss my foot."

Though she was barely double his height, and the only thing frightful about her was just how adorable she was, her intimidation in that moment was palpable. Not to mention surreal.

He felt the collective, withheld breath of all four of their other companions. Astarion was giddy.

Full of surprises, this one.

The goblin spluttered, taking a step back from her in mounting cowardice. She pursued him, stalking forward and closing the distance he scrambled to put between them. "That shouldn't be too difficult for you, being you find me so pretty."

Astarion felt his chest tighten in a flush of heat, overflowing with approval. The little sorceress was exacting dominance, and he was captivated by the display.

How pleasantly unexpected. I shall have to stir this delicious temper of hers more often.

He would have egged her on further, if he didn't know when to quit when he was barely scraping by. And more importantly still, when he didn't find himself within Karlach's swing radius.

In a stab at retaliation, the goblin began to snarl back at her until she cut him off.

"I. Said. Kneel." Her command stern, not a hint of leniency or room for negotiation. Sabine didn't so much as raise her voice. She didn't have to. She gave life to the phrase eyes like daggers. Always so endearing and sweet, they were now the fiercest he had even see them.

Like the calm before a storm, she was eerily still, and quiet, while she waited. His obedience expected. Astarion practically purred.

Though she be but little, she is fierce.

The goblin's eyes darted from side to side, seeking the support of his allies, but none were willing to step forward. They merely stood and observed. Knowing he could stall no longer, his grimy maw rippled over jagged teeth in protest. A last act of defiance. He then dropped to his knee, and planted his palms at either side of her boot.

As hasty as it was non-committal, the goblin bowed to the petite, assertive half-elf's demands.

Sabine stepped away before he made it back to his feet. Spinning on her heel, dismissing him without a word as he slunk back among his cohorts, glowering all the while. A sneer of disgust twisted her lips, finding just that hint of power to be unpalatable.

How unfortunate, that. Seeing her behave with such superiority was absolutely divine.

His body reacted in turn. It was so unlike her to hold herself so assured with authority, to put someone in their place.

After taking a few deep breaths to ground herself, she at last faced him. A brief flicker of that innocent half-elf he knew so well, when their eyes locked she was quick to snuff it out. He felt his lips curve into a grin of satisfaction.

"Well, well, that certainly got my blood pumping." Thoroughly amused, he cocked his head down at her. "I don't suppose you could be persuaded for an encore?"

"How did I know you'd approve." She scoffed, but it was not without some genuine amusement. "You're becoming rather predictable, Astarion. I'm almost disappointed."

She meant to insult him. How precious. Astarion merely smiled. That nerve is still tender.

Still unwilling to meet his eyes, he was unperturbed from dropping his own. They fixed on her during the height of her confrontation, and on her they remained.

"The same cannot be said for you, little sorceress. You're coming along quite nicely." Reaching forward to pinch her cheek, his grasp was evaded by a well-timed jerk of her head. He chuckled, cutting his losses gracefully. "I never expected you had it within you to be so... domineering." He rolled the compliment around his tongue, savoring its taste. "It was nothing short of breathtaking."

She gave him a flat look. "Is your arrogance so monstrous that you truly believe this was done so that I might please you?"

His grin was as saccharine as it was wide. "My dear girl, if not for me, then who?"

Laying it on as thick as honey, it only served to reignite the molten blaze within her. If smoke burst from her pointed ears, he wouldn't have been the least bit surprised, able to the her gears squealing behind her narrowed eyes. Certain she had something particularly biting to launch back at him, she was forced into a cease fire as Karlach bounded over to them.

"That was wicked!" The tiefling seemed as gleeful as Astarion. "Imagine if you let a little of your lightning spark, eh? Could've had him clucking like a chicken, I reckon."

Sabine waved, grateful for her interruption. "He was all bark, nothing more to it than that."

A weary sigh escaped him.

Of course she up and spoils it with her modesty. How typical.

"And a distraction. A needless one." Shadowheart added, ever the reliable pragmatic. "Need I remind you we’re not here to squabble with the likes of him. Our time is precious, and I advise against wasting any more of it. Let us press on."

The Sharran didn't wait for any of them before she spun on her heel towards the sanctum. The rest were quick to follow, leaving Sabine and Astarion alone once more.

With an exaggerated flourish, he bowed, motioning for her to go ahead of him. Rolling her eyes with a heavily nauseated sigh, her stride carried by energetic clicks of her heels.

Watching her retreating figure in a moment of shameless appreciation, he then trailed after her, his signature haughtiness reinvigorated.

Perhaps this day is not lost after all.

-

The sanctum pulled them in with nefarious greed. The atmosphere inside was decidedly different than out on the grounds; the sloppiness and merriment replaced with tension, and urgency.

Astarion eyed the dank and decrepit structure with disdain. The humidity already settled against his exposed skin in a greasy film, carrying with it the groans and cries of far off torment. The bleakness and impending dread made for an uncomfortable familiarity he did his best to ignore.

A wail of agony echoed off the masonry into his twitching ear, prickling the skin at the back of his neck. Someone was being tortured not far from where they stood. His nostrils flared in a tentative inhale, and with it came the musk of blood tainted by fear, and fatigue.

Better them than me. He stole a deep breath, careful to do so when there weren't any eyes on him. Drawing reinforcement, he summoned his mantra: That life is behind me now.

Every morning that he awoke free of Cazador's grasp was a triumph. A triumph that saw those marionette strings weakened, a little more each day.

Weakened, but not severed. At least not yet.

"I suggest we split up, more ground will be covered that way." Shadowheart shared in his discomfort, eyeing the statues of Selûne wearily. "The sooner we put this place behind us, the better. I've no desire to linger."

And so their little group dispersed. Their even number making for tidy pairs, it was not the first time that the six had splintered for the sake of efficiency. Karlach and Wyll remained inseparable, one always opting for the other's company when given the chance. Gale's aptly timed banter served to complement Shadowheart's severity well enough.

And then there were two.

He naturally kept close to Sabine's side, her presence ever pleasing to his eye, and ego alike. Yet when he looked to her, he found empty space where she used to be. Slipping away without a sound, in the second he allowed her to stray from his peripheral. The vein in his temple spasmed, the threat of his migraine rearing.

"Ugh, Gods." His hands fell to his hips. Foolish of him to think he could loosen his grip on her leash, even a little. He swiped at the air, dismissing the knowing and expectant looks he received from his companions. "I know, I know. I'm already gone." He sighed, stalking off in her surmised direction.

She left a faint trail of night-blooming jasmine and blue violet behind. Following her fragrance, it lead him a short enough distance away, down the middle of three corridors. Upon hearing her voice, the force of his exhaled relief surprised him.

At least she had the decency to stay relatively close by.

Rounding the corner in her direction, though he doubted she'd be able to hear, he couldn't help but muse aloud to her.

"Darling, I think it's high time we revisit our conversation about fastening that little bell around your neck-,"

He found her at the opposite end of the short hall, and in the company of another man. Astarion squinted. A man, whose morbid garb he recognized.

The nearer to them he drew, did the pungency of sweat and stale blood strengthen. His eye then caught sight of the restraints that dangled from the wall opposite them.

All the pieces clicked into place, his suspicions confirmed.

Oh good Gods. Of all the wolf dens for her to wander into.

Sabine said something he strained, and failed, to hear. The man smiled. Amiable, and welcoming. Astarion reached them just in time for his reply.

"Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn't you agree?"

Astarion had completed his once over of Sabine's company well before he reached them. The man's face was mapped by craggy fissures and scars, their path continuing to branch down across what was exposed of his torso. Some glistened fresh, whereas most were puckered and discolored from time. Adorned with the proud history of his contrition. One half of his leer covered by a limp swathe of greasy, ashen hair, the rapacity with which he sized up the little half-elf had Astarion lengthening his stride.

He conducted his read with just as much haste, recognizing the smug demeanor of one who knew they had prosperously happened upon their prey. An attitude Astarion knew well. The pale frost of his eyes glimmered, bright and approachable. Stark in contrast to his wicked smile, and the subject at hand.

Two silver wolves, each with their jaws bared and wet with hunger. Each circling the same little lamb.

Sabine stood before him perfectly demure. Hands clasped behind her back, she tilted her head to the side, inquisitiveness assuming control. With an adorable furrow of her brow, she remained quiet for a while, thoughtful in crafting her query.

"Then... why inflict pain on yourself? For what cause?" The trance of her anger lifting to make way for the version of herself he was infinitely better acquainted. "What purpose is there in it for you?"

It's a wonder how that naivety of hers persists, even before the likes of him.

"He's a priest of Loviatar, darling." His presence announced with his clarification, he swept in to take his place over her shoulder. "To them, willing participance of mutilation, self or otherwise, is an intimate practice."

Her posture tensed upon hearing his croon. Customarily, it saw her spinning to face him with a smile, a barrage of questions, or both. But not this time.

Astarion expected no less, yet he found himself frowning all the same. Failing still to shake the unwelcome disappointment that shadowed him that whole day, in the wake of her reticence.

The priest bowed in introduction. "I am Abdirak, a humbly devoted servant to our divine Mistress. Here and now, at your disposal to relieve you of your burdens." He cocked his head at her, a knowing gleam to his roaming eye. "And you are quite burdened, my child, are you not?"

She felt her mouth open, but Astarion's voice sounded. "You needn't worry yourself over her burdens. I see to it they're eased, of that I can assure you."

All touted with his theatrical embellishment, as was typical, Sabine's lip twitched. Uttered low enough that it might go unheard, "you are my burden." seethed from between her teeth.

It did not go unheard. Stinging like a clap to the cheek, and equally as startling, Astarion recoiled some in offense.

The kitten's not yet finished flexing her claws, it seems.

Abdirak's attention was at last drawn to Astarion, properly taking note of him for the first time since his interruption.

Surmising him to be her beau, the pallid high-elf posted behind her, his gaze sharp and attentive from over the top of her head. Beneath the nonchalance of his posture, Abdirak sensed vigilance. Wound tightly and at the the ready to lash forth, like a viper coiled in the brush. Guarding her.

His chapped lips pulled into a small smile of recognition.

"Burdened by a festering, and perhaps, carnal pang," his eye still fixed to Astarion, he chose his words with care, his observation condoling, "left there by a lover?"

The inference tamed her curiosity into skittishness. Sabine blinked. "We're not lovers."

While the correction was spoken softly, she felt compelled to make it all the same.

It was Astarion's turn to stiffen. Hardly the appropriate time, or company, to divulge our personal affairs.

"Well-what she means is that the nature of our relationship is... unconventional." Catching himself conceding, Astarion then snapped, "and private."

Indulging them both with a placative nod, he honed back in on Sabine before lamenting; "These goblins, while willing, have proven... futile. But you," his muted leer was unrelenting as it seized her, "I feel you will be most... receptive to what I might bestow at our Maidens behest."

Astarion's skin prickled in irritation. A piqued groan lodged in his throat.

Her nubility notwithstanding, I'm sure.

"If what you seek is a new addition to your flock, I feel compelled to inform you that you'll find this little lamb particularly indisposed."

"Do you often find yourself this eager to speak on her behalf?" Purely rhetorical, he had dismissed Astarion in favor of Sabine before the words finished dripping from his tongue. "Please, allow me to alleviate your pain. If I may, I can guarantee the experience will be most... absolving."

"And how, exactly, would you go about doing that?" Sabine joined in disregarding Astarion, and it saw him bristling under his collar. "Alleviating my pain, that is."

The priest's expression infuriatingly patient, he contemplated the petite half-elf with the confidence of one well assured of their own success.

Astarion inserted himself between them, his agitated titter bordering on nervous.

"Excuse us for one moment, if you could." Pinching her elbow, he lead her away, far away, from Abdirak's prying. His eyes still trained on the priest, his velvet whisper was strained, and thick with exasperation. "What is it you think that you are doing?"

A flicker of her innocence shone through, however feigned. "Familiarize myself with Loviatar's doctrine," she shrugged, as if obvious, "receive her blessing."

A snort of laughter rippled through his bared fangs, fast and acerbic. It tore through her in a flash of lurid heat, before clotting to a cold, hard knot that yanked at the pit of her stomach. "You needn't try so hard to impress me, darling."

"And you needn't give yourself so much credit." She all but spat. "It might appall you then to learn I seldom act in the interest of earning your approval."

"Oh, love." In a flourish of his lips curling over his fangs, he dipped lower, cerise stare then level with her own. "You'll need to try harder than that."

He saw to impose the little sorceress through his condescension, but she refused to bow to it. She tossed her chin up at him, as if she stood a full foot taller. "Is this not the encore you requested?"

"No, it is not." He almost laughed, either losing his patience to her sarcasm, or having missed it entirely. "Reducing a goblin to pathetic sniveling was a sight. Witnessing you whipped until you're begging for mercy is hardly a comparable performance."

Each held the other's stare, both defiant for entirely different reasons.

Without warning, her clenched jaw softened. She was then looking into him, instead of just at him.

Though Astarion was more than accustomed to her peering at him in that way, the timing was curious. He found more unsettling familiarity in how exposed it made him feel, to which his lack of consent had him all the more resistant to linger. For fear that his discretion had begun to slip, he pivoted.

"All that aside, the only one you should be crying out for, and begging, is me." His hand lifted to twist a lock loosened from her ponytail between his fingers, sickly reminiscent. "Something you did with enthusiasm only a short while ago, if memory serves."

Her palm slid across the sinews in the top of his hand, only to untangle his grasp from her hair, and pluck it away. "A lapse in judgement I intend to rectify."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and ripped away from him. A foreshadow of what was to come. He watched as she marched back to the priest, his upper-lip curling in a glimpse of appreciation. Her insolence aroused him.

That bitter-sweet indulgence was cut short, as Abdirak's voice slithered between them once more.

"It would appear the little lamb has opted to leave your fold in favor of mine." The way he smiled at Sabine suggested graciousness, but Astarion knew better. He ushered the the tiny half-elf towards a full table to his left. "Right this way, dear one."

Astarion's gait was measured as he came forward to join her, just in time to hear the breath catch in her throat. It wasn't until he found himself hovering above her shoulder did he then understand why.

While he eyed the instruments laid before them with disinterest, it felt as though the blood in his veins turned to an icy sludge.

An array of flails lined the surface of the table, all with varying degrees of intimidation. Some single-tail whips, the most prevalent were floggers with full tresses. Leather bound, inlaid with bone, or metal. Astarion spied a crop or two amidst the aggregation. Each and every of his tools faintly stained with blood, Abdirak gestured to them with veneration.

"You'll find all options to be suitable, however, given the baptismal nature of this your first time, I invite you to make the selection."

While she peered at the spread before her, deeply contemplative, Astarion could hear her heart-rate spike. The rapid, thrumming swell within her small chest, steady but insistent. Looming over her shoulder as he was, the decibel was almost maddening.

"I believe my ignorance on the matter inhibits that privilege." Fingers twisting at her middle, Astarion couldn't discern if her sheepishness was due to the sinking reality, or that she had him for an audience. She cleared the hesitation from her throat, and spoke firm and clear. "I defer to you."

Abdirak nodded in understanding, and flashed her such ardent approval it almost had Astarion stepping in between them again. Almost.

Chivalry was still foreign, and no match against his deviance. That internal war raging to exhaustion; the version of himself she at times inspired, and the truth of his nature. Both sides ever opposed, and in that moment, each vied for dominance.

He could have sneered at himself for even just the dalliance with that notion. This isn't chivalry. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat. This is damage control.

Still, he watched the priest like a hawk as he perused his arsenal, splayed hand waving over his collection before halting at his preferred implement. A long black flail with an intricate, braided handle. Buried within the soft leather tails were twin chains. Their heft jingled insidiously as he lifted it, reacquainting himself with the weight of it molding to his palm.

Dangling from the end of each chain were what could only be categorized as charms, and ones that very much resembled flanged mace heads. The edges blunt and nicked from use, their points dulled, it would serve to bruise more than lacerate. But if kept up long enough, if whipped just so, her skin would pull apart as easily as a spiders web' beneath finger-tips.

All Astarion could think of at that moment was her strangled whimpers whenever he bit down on her neck, and the subsequent locking of her body from the pinpricks of pain.

He wasn't sure why. He'd seen her waltz through enough skirmishes at his side, and witnessed first hand how well her dainty frame could absorb moderate blows, only to bounce back just as fast. While it remained true she couldn't withstand as much punishment as Karlach, or Shadowheart, her resilience was nothing to scoff at.

But when he looked at her now, in the wake of the priests flail, he couldn't help but picture her shattering like an icicle the moment it so much as tapped her back. So fragile, and delicate.

A thing to be broken.

She was then instructed to shed her belts, cincher and corset, lest the padding of all those unnecessary layers deprive her of the fullest extent of Loviatars scourge. Abdirak left her to lower the manacles from the wall, adjusting them to her height.

Hands at her waist, her fingers trailed from one set of buckles to the next, moving with the unhurried grace of someone who by his estimations, had not a clue what they were in for. All the while with Astarion breathing down her neck.

His hands hovered above her, but went no further. As if touching her would suddenly see her strung up by her wrists.

A boundary he had felt himself privy to cross so freely so many times prior, it never occurred to him to think before he did it. Cradling the small of her back, cupping her by the elbow. Tracing her cupids bow with his thumb. All things he did so readily. Touching her felt as natural, and earned, as breathing. Yet as he observed the priest and his thinly veiled lechery, he felt frantic.

One silver wolf paced, while the other laid in wait.

"I know to suggest such a thing opposes your very nature, but let's not be rash, darling."

Bundling her cincher and belts with care, she set them down on the table. "Why are you so adverse to this? I expected you to be encouraging most of all."

If anyone is going to defile you, it is to be me, and me alone. And I shall do so for no other higher purpose realized than my own selfish whims.

"Yes, well, pardon the deviation from my character. I suspect it might have something to do with the all too recent accusation of predictability, if you recall?" A quick burst of amusement bubbled through her lips, though it lacked the necessary mirth. Astarion continued, stressing; "I know that I least of all should be calling anyone's piety into question, but he seems a tad too eager for my liking."

"Careful, Astarion. You're quickly surpassing mere predictability, and are well on your way to gallantry."

So dry and biting was her remark that he could scarely believe it came from her lips instead of his own, had he not just heard it in her voice, with his own ears.

"I know you have this insatiability for worldly experience, and it's all rather tedious, but this priest means to thrash you within an inch of your life and hear how prettily you yelp for it, all for the explicit purpose of appeasing Loviatar. Do you understand?" The soliloquy streamed from his tongue in such a fluid, seamless delivery it had the air of being rehersed.

"I do." However unconvincing, Astarion noted she now oozed just as much frustration as he felt. "Now, are you quite finished playing mother hen, or would you like to continue your lecture?"

She was trying to get a rise out of him. And he was astounded to recognize that it was working.

In a last ditch effort, he snatched her by the upper arm and yanked her in closer to him, like a parent corralling an unruly child. At first resistant to his hold, the more she struggled, the more he tightened it.

"I'm feeling unusually noble just now," she stumbled over her toes, but he didn't care. He didn't stop. "And in light of this, I'm inclined to see you spared of the trouble you're so very anxious to jump into. So, hear me when I say;" he surprised them both with how low he growled his warning, leaning his face in closer to hers, "If this infuriating little act of yours is done just to spite me, it will not work."

Her mismatched glare narrowed, before she hushed; "It seems to me it already has."

Their faces not an inch apart from one another's, his hot breath misted against the freckled bridge of her nose. The little sorceress was unflinching, refusing to back down. The tension between them strained to it's limit, as inescapable as the reek of dried blood and pheromones on the stagnant air. Equalled to the bitter potency against the back of his tongue, should he breathe deeply enough.

But Sabine wasn't finished yet.

"What are you so afraid of? That I'll enjoy him more than I have you? That I'll prefer his ministrations to yours?" She sought to challenge him now. "Are you worried, Astarion, that after an experience like this, I'll no longer crave you in the dead of night? That I'll have outgrown you?"

Her adrenaline spluttered over, uncontained, threatening to drag her under. She could have continued. But his crimson eyes were as scathing as she suspected her own might be.

So she left it there. Hanging heavy in the air between them, tender and exposed. The gauntlet was thrown. In his failure to deter her, he now sought to match her, blow for blow.

Astarion hissed through a wicked grin. "Oh little sorceress, I'd love to see you try."

Releasing her arm, she stumbled back to land against her heels with a click that echoed throughout the chamber. It wasn't until he let go did she realize the strength he used to keep her still, her bicep throbbing with the absence of his grip.

When he cut, it was purposeful. Expert. He knew where to press, and to what end.

Sabine cut just to cut. And she cut deep. Her claws had drawn blood, and even that proved unsatisfactory.

Turning her back to him, she tossed her head over her shoulder with an expectant look. Gesturing to the clasps at the small of her back, the words melted from her tongue like honey from the comb. "Would you mind?"

Astarions jaw clenched, the muscle rippling beneath his smooth skin. The final tide of his anger. He snapped his hooded glower to Abdirak, who patiently stood in wait with his hands clasped.

If he had learned anything about the little sorceress in the time he had known her, it was that once her heels dug in, there wasn't much room for persuasion. His silver tongue aside.

She wants to play defiant? She wants to act out? Be my guest.

He'd be there to lick her wounds, and dry her tears at the end.

And she'll be eating out of the palm of my hand for it.

Astarion softened his brow, the corner of his lips drawing back into a simper. Clearing his throat, his hands lifted to undo her buckles with practiced ease. He spoke low, so as to keep his words between them. "There's nothing I can say to dissuade you, then?"

His ear perked to the faint thudding of her quickened heartbeat. She fought to quell her nerves, and forcefully cast away her doubt.

"No." Rolling back her slender shoulders, she gave her best sigh of contentment. Whether it was for his benefit, or her own, that remained unclear.

His agile fingers swept from one buckle to the next, taking his time with each, before the corset then sprang apart in his hands. Deliberate in his ploy to tease her with as much contact as possible, he allowed his hands to languidly graze over her waist and along her back. Dragging the corset, and his roving palms, around her middle as he stripped it from her.

She did her best not to shiver under his touch, but she couldn't hide that from him. She never could. Her abdomen was a sensitivity he exploited without mercy. His scarlet gaze twinkled.

Releasing her, he neatly folded her corset to join her other belongings, his hands colder than usual from the loss of her body heat. Bending to purr against the shell of her ear, she shuddered against the finality of his words. "Don't let him see you flinch, darling."

The Priest beckoned her to the wall, ready to begin.

Sabine said not another word. Nor did she look at him before she parted.

Determination held her head high and her shoulders back, sending the little sorceress heel and toe into the abyss of Abdirak's domain with the utmost elegance.

Taking a step back and resting against his heels, Astarion crossed his arms over his chest. All he could do was watch.

The priest guided her dainty hands through the cuffs, before then tensioning the restraints around her wrists, having to push her bracelets aside as he did so. Arms hoisted up well above her head, the shackles forced her to face the wall.

He was thankful at the very least that she couldn't see the fire alight in his eyes.

The twisted handle of the flogger was soon slotted back into Abdirak's hand, and he gazed at it, like he had been reunited with an old friend. Wasting no more time on formalities, he strode wide around Sabine's vulnerable body, sizing up her posture.

Once in position, he began.

The first few blows were exploratory in nature. Finesse over force, he sought to ease her in, rather than maim.

She lurched forward each time, straining at the cuffs for stabilization, bracing herself for the next. She hissed against the caress of the leather, and the bite of the chains, but offered no more than that.

Abdirak seemed most displeased by her resistance, his insufferable patience nearing it's end.

"To deny the Mistress your humility is to deny yourself the generosity of her grace!" His admonition fervent, he spun his wrist and brought down the flail diagonally against her back. One of the charms, or both, snagged the cotton of her blouse, and upon withdrawal, tore it in a jagged streak from shoulder to hip.

Her bare skin now exposed, and more than a little red from what she had endured thus far, his next strike drew a loud, shrill whine to unspool itself from her throat.

"Yes, yes that's it, child! Let us hear you, let Her hear your sincerity!"

Abdirak's arm was a blur, driving forward and back, casting the brunt of the barbed cat-o-nine tails to her supple flesh, again and again. She writhed, harsh gasps choking out past her lips. Still, she wasn't giving him what he wanted; she was being too reserved.

Abdirak either became sloppy, or vindictive. The tresses of his flogger wailed against the same spot, and did so repeatedly. Seeking to split her open.

She howled up into the high, vaulted ceiling until her throat sounded as raw as she looked. But through it all, she kept erect. Heels planted squarely beneath her. She forbid herself from slumping, even as his vigor increased. Making up in endurance for where she lacked physical strength.

Abdirak demanded her submission, and she refused it.

Astarion felt his brows reach toward his hairline. His features nonplussed, his tongue uncharacteristically still. He was sure once they began he'd have a slew of remarks at the ready to goad her through. Instead, her tenacity rendered him speechless.

The look in Abdirak's eye as he whipped her was hidden from him, but not the adoration that was heavy in his tone. His enthusiasm. He noted the sweat built up at the nape of his neck and matting down his coarse hair, before breaking away to roll down the flexing musculature of his back.

More of that dreaded, uncomfortable familiarity. Only this sensation was posing more of a challenge to ignore.

He had yet to face such conflict within himself. Her fierceness didn't shrink under the punishment, but rather it flourished. Her sounds were melodic. The way her body responded, and by extension, rebounded, left him greatly impressed, despite his warning to the contrary.

And through it all, did weeds of envy sprout in the cracks of his admiration.

Sabine continued to hold on. Just a little bit longer, and then longer still, after every time he thought she might yet crack. But her stamina couldn't shield her from the agony. Loviatar's scourge chipped away at her with every whack, her skin beginning to splinter.

The blunt aches turning to brilliant stings, the shift left her susceptible to the weakness of her flesh. And in that weakness, she sang the most deliciously.

Spiced and aromatic, the headiness of her blood gradually overwhelmed the rancid air. His nostril twitched. He had broken skin.

The next few strikes saw her gasping with more desperation at the end of each. Her body quivering, her back throbbed, warm and slick. Buzzing with sensitivity, she lifted to her tiptoes as strangled cries, each new one louder than the last, were tugged out of her.

The leather began to stick to her. The charms wrenched the gashes wider, and sought to burrow within them. A tingling sensation trickled from the burning at her traps down to her aching hips, followed by a blissful numbness, her body granting her that meager charity. But it wasn't happening fast enough.

The priest rewarded her with proper lacerations, before soothing it over with ravings of her fortitude. Her prowess. Her performance.

Just as Astarion had done with her.

To witness another man in a position he felt was reserved solely for him, and therefore sacrosanct, saw his pupils blown in ferality.

He withheld the right to her submission, as he did the praise thereafter.

He should have been getting a rise out of this, to see her writhe and whimper. And he was. But the rot of possessiveness plagued him still.

He was foolish for not putting his foot down.

A stampede of heels screeched to a halt behind him, pulling him out of his own mind. Interrupting the beginnings of a spiral in which he was ever grateful to evade.

"What in the Nine Hells-!"

He immediately recognized the shrill accusatory chirp belonging to Shadowheart. He jerked his head around to see her front and center, the other's falling in behind her.

Karlach's mouth hung open, and he doubted very much she could shut it if she tried. An embarrassed; "O-oh." stuttered from Wyll. Gale merely blinked in rapid succession, eyes wide. Otherwise stoic, yet aghast all the same. It wasn't often he was at a loss for comments, or criticism.

They alternated between looking at Sabine, and then to Astarion.

A well timed yelp of hers pierced the preceding silence. He lifted his hands in innocence, and for one of the first times in his life, it was deserved.

"Don't look at me. I even tried to stop her." He grimaced at hearing those words on his tongue. However unlikely that sentiment presented, considering the source to be none other than himself, they were true all the same. "She insisted."

Knees beginning to buckle, Sabine snapped her head back to release a throaty groan of defiance. One of the pointed charms snagged into the wavy ends of her ponytail, and ripped out a few hairs as Abdirak yanked the flogger back to his side. Ready to wind up his next strike.

"Let me hear you, dear one!" His voice was ragged with sheer exhilaration. "Only when you release your pride will there be room enough for your penance to be received."

Switching the flogger to his non-dominant hand, the priest demonstrated it was no less proficient. Angling his wrist, he struck out at her in a sideways motion, landing the tails, chains and all, to whip against her rear. So hard, it whistled through the air before it made contact.

It cracked against her. Like a strike of lightning. Sabine jolted as far forward as the bindings would allow, as a loud, listless moan tumbled from her.

Astarion snickered to himself. Cheeky little thing, she did that on purpose.

Coming to join him at his side, the Sharran peered at the scene before her. After a brief beat of observation, she gave voice to the very thought he dared not utter; "I'm... impressed."

He nodded.

One no more taken aback than the other, the two of them continued to behold her, as she harmonized Abdirak's degenerate corner of the sanctum with her suffering.

Astarion's envy of the priest began to recede at long last. In it's stead blossomed pride for the little sorceress. And he was awash with it.

"You're doing magnificently, darling." He at last called out to her, knowing if he was in her place, he'd thrive off of praise. Hearing his voice with his own ears, he sounded no more than an appropriately enthralled spectator, though his admiration was obvious. "The good priest would be remiss not to hold all future acolytes to your standard."

Abdirak gulped air into his burning lungs, combing the mop of hair from his face in a brief reprieve between blows. He seemed to get just as much out of all of this as he claimed Sabine would receive for her willingness.

"Yes indeed. The purity of your cries, how you embrace your agony; an exhibition most worthy of our Maiden's reverence."

The delicate tremors at the start were now replaced by violent shakes that undulated throughout her little body. The priest would draw back with a fervent sneer before then seeing the whip through, increasingly more vicious.

She was beginning to come under the pain, having firmly stayed mounted atop all this time.

Yet even when she allowed herself to be pulled under, she only resurfaced that much more graceful in her determination to prevail.

The moment it promised to nullify her, with a deep grounding breath, she rallied. Time and time again, stilling her body and quieting her mind, before the force of the next blow demanded her attention.

Whenever it did, she was sure to respond with believable theatrics. From delicate whimpers to downright, obscene moans, he couldn't tell if they were for the priest, or if she was trying to put on a show for him.

Occasionally, little broken "p-please"s, would slip out, and Abdirak seemed to like those best of all.

It earned her a lashing so firm it lifted her to her tip-toes. She clawed at the manacles, scrambling to get enough footing to arch up and away from the chains, and tresses. All to no avail.

Once Abdirak stepped to the side to dole his next round, Astarion was given a clearer view. Gore marbled down the length of her body from multiple grooves. He could hardly tell where the bloodied tatters of her blouse ended, and chewed flesh began.

He winched. His own back throbbed in tender empathy.

It was becoming more and more apparent she was beginning to succumb. Her cries growing in their infrequence, and sounding just as tenuous. She slumped forward on weakened ankles, her head lolling forward. The cuffs at her wrists the only thing to suspended her upright, she hung there like a broken toy.

The flail crashed down upon her body like waves to a shoreline. His every strike threatening to pull her under deeper, and for longer. To drag her to the depths of exaltation, the type that could only be conceived through one of Loviatar's most adept.

The priest whipped her once more for good measure, which had Astarion moments from stepping in, despite himself. A strained whimper escaped her, and then nothing.

She had succumbed.

Soon after Abdirak was wound down, as that final strike proved to be the last.

Sabine was still, and silent. Her shallow breaths barely audible. Astarion swallowed hard, the copper sweetness of her blood all he could smell.

Abdirak set down the flogger with care, before returning his attention to her. Approaching her as his own panting had yet to subside, he loosened the bindings of one wrist, and then the other. The moment she was released, she collapsed.

To his credit, he was quick to catch her. Hoisting her limp frame up against his body, her heels shuffled beneath her in search of her footing. His forbearing smile turned nefarious at catching sight of Astarion's watchful stare, hardened with obvious concern.

Abdirk locked eyes with him as he pet her hair. "That was most devout a display, dear one."

Allowing her a moment more to catch her breath, he then slipped his calloused palms around her flushed cheeks, cupping her face. Closing his eyes, he bowed, gently resting his perspiring forehead to hers.

The dulcet murmur of his prayer was hushed, meant for her ears only, as he wove the blessing with his tongue. The blessing she had earned.

Her shredded back still to him, Astarions impatience swelled in a nagging ache from within the seat of his chest. He had allowed the little sorceress her fun. Her disobedience. But the longer the priest held her, the more anxious he grew to pry her away.

As Abdirak's prayer concluded, he carefully spun her around to face her companions, all while coaxing her away from the precipice of unconsciousness.

His hands still around her shoulders, the muscle there seized by spasmodic cramps, she felt herself swaying in place. In an attempt to blink away the murkiness from her bleary vision, the darkness encroaching with every flutter of her lashes, only half of her party was visible. Blurred to distortion, she could make out Gale, Karlach and Wyll only.

She squinted, looking around. Surmising Shadowheart to be close by, she knew Astarion must still be there. But she couldn't see him. The vision in her right eye had been snuffed out completely. It could see only pitch black nothingness.

Her mouth opened to call out for him, but no more than a dry croak was produced, as if she had a mouthful of ash. It was then she felt Abdirak's hands lift from her, casting her forward on two wobbling, unreliable legs.

Her steps criss-crossing in delirium, even the clicks of her heels against the stone echoed her drowsiness. She soldiered through, until she could no longer. Wavering with the threat of unconsciousness, her legs gave out from under her. Though she did not travel far.

Stumbling square into someones chest; it was sturdy and cool to the touch. Her cheek met buttery leather and fine silk, sharply fragrant with bergamot and brandy as she breathed. A familiar chest.

Astarion was most surprised of all that he was there to catch her. Having lunged forward with the first sign of her faltering, he had been at the ready the moment Abdirak let her go, if not sooner.

Holding her to him and careful not to aggravate her wounds, he breathed into her hairline; "that was quite the performance, little sorceress. I rescind my assertion about the legitimacy of this encore."

Sabine's back shrieked. What was left of her blouse caught against her wounds, and pulled, whenever she took too deep a breath. Yet upon hearing his silken crooning, she felt at ease. As much as she tried to fight it, as diligent as she had been in trying to curve it, her body reacted to him. It yearned for him. As if trained by him to do so from just the handful of nights they spent together.

Had she any energy left, she would have resisted it still. Instead, she melted into his embrace. Gulping his lavish musk with labored breaths, as the adrenaline siphoned from her.

Her clothes had cushioned the blows some, but not much. The stinging of her back and hindquarters were now more of a consistent, yet burning, ache. Still trembling, her arms draped across his upper body for purchase, but not a whisper of strength remained in her hands to grab ahold of him properly.

As he cradled her to him, Astarion couldn't help but taunt the priest one final time. "Do you always get such satisfaction out of granting atonement on behalf of your goddess, or are you just especially zealous with the pretty ones?"

Shadowheart remained next to him, gathering the length of Sabine's ponytail off of her back to better assess the severity of the tissue damage. She arched a brow in his direction, but remained silent otherwise.

Having discarded Sabine, Abdirak busied by cleaning her blood from his flogger. He merely chuckled. Enraptured in euphoria as he was, it saw him immune to provocation. The little sorceress well surpassed his expectations, and brought him all the closer to Loviatar for it. His divinity satiated by her performative repentance.

"Lets get her back to camp, shall we?" Shadowheart brushed an errant lock of Sabine's hair off of her sweat-dampened forehead. Ever sororal to the younger half-elf, the smile she cast down on her was as warm as it was patronizing. "Our business here can wait until morning. I'd say she's had enough fun for today."

"My Gods, that was fuckin' brilliant!" Karlach cackled, volunteering herself to collect Sabine's belongings. "You're somethin' else, kid."

Sabine mumbled something unintelligible into Astarion's chest.

His surface level inspection revealed a handful of gashes striping over his shoulder blades, and trailing along the grooves of her ribs. Throbbing and angry, they were all largely superficial.

"Looks as though you'll be left with more than a few bruises." He sighed, the tip of his fang glimpsed through the warmth of his smile. "Never the matter, if you're no good on your back, you'll just have to make do on top."

Though her tone slurred, her words remained clear. "Coming at me with your lines... now of all times," even with unconsciousness nipping at her heels, she was slowly returning to him, "your irreverence is beyond reproach."

His chuckle rumbled the freckled cheek still stuck to his chest. She sagged into it with a small smile of her own, her first of the day. Sincere, but weak. She was fast fading.

Astarion thought to keep going, to further stimulate her responsiveness. To keep her with him.

"And my beauty?" He teased. "What of that?"

A soft groan was her only reply. He smiled.

He couldn't very well carry her in his arms, eyeing her back in its condition. "Bear with me, darling." He announced, before scooping her up to fold over his shoulder. Strewn over him like dead weight, limbs and ponytail dangling, she answered with no more than deep, slumbering breaths.

-

Their campsite was quiet that evening. Nothing but the sound of wind rustling gently through the trees, the distant murmurs from around the fire, and the crickets.

As he spied Shadowheart exiting Sabine's tent, he supposed that time was as good as any. A vial of salve in hand, her head snapped to his direction as he shifted into view, the light of the fire dappling across his chest and face through the shadows.

The stoic half-elf eyed him ruminatively for a moment, looking as though she had something she wanted to say, or perhaps ask. Opting to abandon that course altogether, she instead offered; "she's improving."

Astarion's smile of acknowledgment was tight, and wordless.

Nodding, she took her leave of him, and headed towards the fire. He lingered before the entrance of her tent, first looking over his shoulder to Shadowheart's retreating back, and then to the ornate crystal vial in hand.

He thought she was a thing to be broken. He was proven wrong.

And grateful for it.

Brows drawn, his eye caught sight of her tattered, bloodied clothes crumbled in the dirt, just outside the entrance.

The howl of the flail cutting the air still echoed against the shell of his ear. As did her gasping bleats that answered.

Astarion's chest tightened once more, the heaviness there persisting. Sighing to himself in the humid night air, he saw himself in.

He was invited by a pocket of flickering amber candle light, luring him with it's pleasant, sensual glow. A bouquet of cloves and mint filled her tent, almost strong enough to mask the spice of her blood that lingered beneath.

He was unable to rid his nostrils of her smell ever since the sanctum. Just as the sight of her strung up and whipped greeted him every time he shut his eyes. His palms, and arms alike, throbbed with a decided chill from the absence of her heat, of her body molding into his touch. His every sense invaded by the memory.

Laying prone on a bed of her pillows, turned away from him, her head rested against crossed arms. Her bare body was covered by no more than a diaphanous slip of fabric, nothing too heavy or textured, so as to avoid further irritation to her wounds.

Her breaths soft, she spoke before he had the chance. The battle with unconsciousness a distant memory, her words were sluggish all the same. "Are you still feeling unusually noble?"

He took pause, the corner of his mouth pulling in a wry grin. "Perhaps. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like to be spared whatever snide remarks you might have saved about hasty decisions, and regrets, and how often you warn me of both."

"And here I thought they fell on deaf ears, given you've yet to listen even just once." He clicked his tongue through a cocky smile. "I suppose it’s beyond your control. Your naivety renders you vulnerable, but your curiosity sees you hungry. Rest assured, little love, I have not come to gloat."

Propping her chin up on her forearms, she stared straight ahead with a quiet sigh. "Then why have you come?"

Though she wasn't looking at his face, he suspected she could feel his simper.

"To dote on you, of course." Punctuated with a pop, as he freed the cork from the tight neck of the vial. He heard her breath catch.

When he wanted, Astarion could move virtually soundless. Commanding silence with as much ease as he did the shadows. But she could hear the rustle of his clothing, his calm breaths, and the clearing of his throat. She didn't know why, but she took comfort in that. In his unequivocal presence, just the two of them, alone in her tent. Even his silence brimmed with amorous anticipation.

He was impossibly gentle, more so than she had ever been willing to credit him for previous, while he handled her. The pillows dipping beneath his weight, he knelt down at her side to first comb her waves off her back. He employed just as much care in pinching the edge of the sheet, peeling it back and folding it neatly at her waist.

Astarion hummed aloud. A far cry from perfect health, Shadowheart had done wonders. Spared from what would have otherwise been a litany of scars, bruises still stained her flesh like splotches of brooding watercolor. Raised welts and newly closed gashes veined across her slender back and narrow waist in a pattern not dissimilar to Abdirak's.

"In fact, I believe an apology is in order for having tried to stop you." Allowing the thick, opalescent liquid to pool in his cupped palm, he rubbed his hands together, coating each thoroughly. "Though in the end, no one was more delighted than I in my failure to do so."

Starting at her shoulders, he swept his touch down over her ribs, and along the protrusion of her shoulder blades. Slick and oily, his cold hands were pure and unadulterated relief to her sore skin, and she leaned into the feeling.

"I suppose I'm far more resilient than you sought to give me credit for." Her tease dripped from the tip of her tongue, headier than either expected to hear.

"So it would seem."

With feather light pressure, he continued down the length of her back, palms placed at either side of her spine. His fingertips palpated the mini peaks and valleys made by her ribs, and the raised welts that crossed over them.

"Well, the good priest was nothing if not thorough. I'll give him that." He mumbled absently, adept in maneuvering her sensitivities. "You did well."

His praise came earnest, unburdened by frivolity or deceptive adornment. His voice was soothing and plain, a welcome change from his usual playful, and at times exaggerated, timbre.

She was too tired to hold up her walls, to shut him out, her physical vulnerabilities aside. So she allowed herself the contented sighs, and sounds of pleasure he drew out of her. She allowed her body to relax under his hands. Yielding to his affection, and how genuine he made it appear.

He tugged the blanket down further and further, as he discovered more welts. It wasn't long before he was dragging the fabric over the swell of her rear, and the extent of them continued on. Only when he uncovered her to the back of her knees did they end, the streaks and bruises stopping mid-thigh.

A long, heavy sigh bled from his grimace. Deepening his voice in a way that roused a familiar, damnable heat between her exposed thighs.

"What am I to do with you." He mused more so to himself, she answered him regardless.

"Keep me out of trouble."

A genuine titter slipped through his lips, and she quietly relished the achievement. "Yes, because that's been a rousing success thus far."

His then palms grazed over her perky rear, and she dug her fingers into her elbows. Though his touch was starkly devoid of personal greed, the contact saw her heart slamming itself against her chest.

Horizontal ridges, and closed gashes streaked over her glutes and the tops of her thighs. The worst of them eased by their dedicated cleric, all that remained was swollen, and angry flesh in dire need of his attention.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her breaths turned shallow as he cupped his hands wide around the tops of her thighs, and massaged the medicinal ointment into them. A hint of burn, it then turned pleasantly chilled. More pleasant still that it was delivered from his hand. "You don't have to volunteer as my keeper, I'll have you know."

"I'd sooner consign myself to a life of chastity." His patronizing was as smarmy as his grin. "Darling, you need me."

She snickered. "I know the same cannot be said for you."

Her words were rooted in surrender. They were too wistful for the intimacy of their setting, for the playfulness he was trying to cultivate. He would have none of it.

"Well now that was a silly thing to say." He softened his voice considerably. "I should think those little punctures on your neck are too fresh for you to have convinced yourself of that."

She grew quiet, and stayed that way. Embarrassment had sunk it's hooks in. She hadn't meant to blurt out something so revealing, least of all to him. But she was exhausted.

He exhausted her.

After waiting for what felt like the appropriate amount of time, he chimed in again, cadence ever coy.

"We make quite the pair. I do my best to keep you safe and sound. As repayment for burdening you, as it were."

Sabine had sucked in a breath, and held it until her lungs burned. You are my burden. She didn't think she'd find herself faced so soon with something she had said so thoughtlessly. Though he brought it back up in jest, she felt an explanation was owed. But she couldn't bring herself to come out with it.

"Astarion, I...," she shook her head with a quiet, lengthy sigh, "What I mean is... I didn't mean to-,"

He waved his hand. "I've had far worse said from far less deserving. If that was your worst then I'd say I got off light, wouldn't you agree?"

"I didn't... do this to spite you. Even if I thought that possible." The weight of that sentiment struck him, the implication sinking to the pit of his gut. He voice became small, so small, he almost had to strain his ear to hear her. "I... I thought you'd enjoy it. All of it."

I told you; you needn't try and impress me.

"Oh I did, a great deal." He recovered with his usual degree of suaveness. "But I, personally, prefer you on the receiving end of my ministrations." He then added, his eye glinting with mischief in the candlelight, "and for you to be a touch more conscious."

If she hadn't already been so lethargic with exhaustion, she would have been reeling. She shook her head, grinning. "Only just."

He smiled. Their banter returned.

Regaining his stride, he tried his luck with pressing her, but only a little. "Tell me, what was the source of all that delicious anger? Make no mistake, that's not a complaint. You're quite provocative when you're that fiery."

She smirked, and the harder she fought it the harder it fought back. Though they weren't facing one another, she suspected he could hear it in her voice all the same.

Gods damn him.

"I feared I was being coddled." Her directness was one attribute of many in which he was becoming well versed. "In fact, had you not interfered so heavily with that priest, I might not have gone through with it in the first place."

He cast her a placative smile, not that she could see. In one effleurage stroke, he worked his hands from her bruised thighs, all the way up her body to her shoulders.

"If we're going to start lying to each other now, you're going to have to become much better at it, I'm afraid." He spoke as if he saw right through her, and had from the start. "You were positively livid well before we set foot in the sanctum. Why?"

Because every night you've come to my tent to toy with me. You've stripped me of all shame, and sense, and just as you have me begging for you with the abandon of a common whore, you leave me. Flat and ashamed. I've never wanted someone so badly, and felt so unworthy to have them all at once.

She cringed. Finding her reality to be as pathetic as it was undesirable, she instead confessed a different part of it. No less truthful, it was infinitely less sour to admit.

"I was angry at how badly I wanted to prove myself to you, to prove I wasn't some... some fragile thing. It seems as if I'm being tested by you, always." She detested how frail the cracking of her voice made her sound, but if for nothing else, it served to credit her sincerity. "I loathe the feeling, I wanted to be free of it." Closing her eyes, she swallowed, before finishing with a whisper. "Now I just feel foolish."

Astarion was quiet for an uncomfortable length of time. She stewed while he kept her waiting, hoping beyond hope that her explanation had sufficed.

His hands had long since left her, but when she felt him drag the sheet back up to cover her, her face burned.

Only he could make a nurturing gesture feel backhanded.

After longer still, and sounding more tired than she felt, all he came up with was, "Well, don't. You've no reason to."

More silence. As stifling and oppressive as the raw heat in her tent. She didn't realize it had gotten so hot and stuffy, and she found herself longing for his cool palms and long, elegant fingers on her once again. To quell the fire that raged against her abused skin from inside, threatening to blister her unless he would just touch her.

She now more closely empathized with Karlach. The need to be touched so fierce it lit a roiling inferno inside of her.

Sabine voiced none of this to Astarion. She laid there, withdrawn and vulnerable to his scrutiny, as the pain he had just eased was screaming once more.

Just as she felt she would combust from the internal pressure, and not a moment sooner, she heard his lips open as he prepared to speak. And she braced herself.

"My respect is earned, and not easily, mind." He chose his wording with as much care as he had tended to her injuries. "But you have it. And not because of how well you handle punishment. But because... Well, you're not one to back down so easily, are you?" He ran his tongue over his teeth, smirking to himself. "In my experience I've found persistence to be tiresome, however... I quite like yours."

Though his usual verbal embellishment was discarded, this was still honeyed poetiscm at it's finest. While he was deceptive by nature, he prided himself on the fact that he seldom, outright lied.

Not when it mattered. Not to someone with even a little importance to him.

He wasn't sure himself if meant those words, at least not as earnestly as he delivered them. But the shadow they cast left room for nothing but doubt.

"One last thing, darling. I didn't have the heart to correct you in front of the priest, being I... respect you, as I do. I find it pertinent to do so now." His eyes boring into the back of her head, he hadn't meant for his request to sound so much like a plea; "look at me."

Cautiously, Sabine did as he said. It held yearning, something she recognized, but refused to believe was genuine. Still, her eyes impossibly wide and meek, she locked them with his own, and waited.

He remained, silent and still. They hadn't seen the other's face, and it was only in that advantage that they found themselves speaking so freely. So unguarded. From the moment he entered her tent, on, their eyes met not once. Until now. Even so, his hesitation conveyed more than he would have liked.

Something he considered to be better left uncommincated.

She watched in an instant as the tenderness in his crimson gaze darkened. Brows, once bowed in surrender, became stern. "We are lovers."

A simple utterance, it was stated with such purpose. Such intensity. Once it was out in the open, his sharp features softened again. Conveying his desire for an understanding between them to be reached, without the need for more to be expressed.

She was still not without her reservations about the nature of their relationship, unconventional as it was. Though if she was able to remind herself that none of it was real, that all he was after was a bit of fun, then just maybe, she could save herself from getting hurt.

Astarion was fire, unpredictable and dangerous. Untamed. Scorching. If she continued to remember that, then perhaps she could indulge in his raw heat, without suffering the burn.

Perhaps she could share in his fun.

She never took her eyes off of him, not for a moment. When she found it within herself to speak, her voice betrayed her, thick with the heartache she was trying to mask. "Good night, Astarion."

"Good night, little sorceress." He swept in to place a kiss to her temple. It was the most tender touch she'd receive from him to date, that whole shared evening included. His tone drenched with such affection, the whole thing almost seemed... real. "Sleep well."

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 12 - The Voice

Chapter Summary: The party makes it to the goblin camp ready to wield their authority as “True Souls” if necessary. However, just steps away from the camp, they only just begin to understand the sheer scale of what they’re facing. Church sees an opportunity for a boon and takes it, with mixed results.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit

Excerpt below:

The cleric’s face splits into a toothy smile. “Simply bare your back, face the wall, and we can begin.” Astarion watches in amazement as the tiefling nods, stepping to the side as he self-consciously begins to unfasten his padded armor. “Darling, I never imagined you were into this sort of thing,” the rogue remarks curiously. “Perhaps I’m speaking too soon, but… count me impressed.” “I’m not trying to impress — nevermind,” Church groans, turning back around as he sheds his jerkin. “I’ve read into Loviatar’s teachings. Her followers worship through pain… especially their own. If I endure this ritual, her blessing will make me stronger — something I’m sure we could all benefit from. This is something I’m choosing to do for purely practical reasons, not enjoy—!” “I’m not judging, darling,” Astarion says airily. “But I hope you don’t mind if I watch.” Church’s cheeks color.  “...or me,” Shadowheart pipes up from nearby. “Or me!” Karlach chortles. “You’re a crazy bastard. Knew I liked you.”

The three of them fall silent as Church reproachfully, self-consciously strips off his damp shirt. Astarion has to marvel a bit at the sight. Despite primarily being a spellcaster, the lithe warlock is surprisingly muscular beneath his clothing — as if from years of climbing. The elf’s eyes indulgently trace those fascinating contours and ridges of him, accented by the room’s candlelight.  “What?” the warlock blinks at their surprised faces. “Just enjoying the view, darling,” Astarion drawls, smirking at Karlach and Shadowheart’s stunned silence. “Face the wall, my child,” Abdirak commands the warlock, to all of their relief.  Church sets his freckled shoulders and approaches the wall.  “Yes…” Abdirak purrs. “This will do nicely. The pain you suffer will cleanse you! Do not fight it!” As Church rolls his shoulders, the vestigial wings upon his back flex hypnotically, to the point that when Abdirak finally strikes, it takes Astarion by surprise.  THUD! Astarion hardly expects Church to run away in cowardice, but at most he expects him to remain stoic against the pain — maybe grit his teeth and grunt a little.  What he doesn’t expect is the warlock to unleash a positively ardent, ecstatic cry of catharsis, pain, and… Astarion glances at Abdirak’s blissful face.  …oh.  Pleasure. 

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[rinwellisathing]

Paint The Lines, Cut the Flesh: Part 2

“Wake up, mijo.” A soft voice chided as a gently hand clad in polished metal, cool to the touch, brushed Sentry's cheek, soothing over the prominent burn scar. His mismatched eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at a tall, beautiful old woman. Her warm brown skin lined with age, smile lines around her lips, which curled into a kind, loving expression as her honey-gold eyes gazed down on him. He took her hand and allowed himself to be guided to his feet beside her. “Hullo, mum.” He smiled. “You're lucky I got to you just in time, sweet boy, you were beginning to change.” Her voice was gentle, patient, but tinged with concern. “That tadpole in your brain will not go away any time soon, I'm afraid, but I can keep it dormant.” “Thanks...You know, it's weird, but somehow...even with everything I've forgotten, I know you...I remember you, and you watching over me just makes sense.” Sentry gave a small, happy smile. “Gods, I've missed you.” The old woman gave a serene smile and nodded her head. “I have missed you too, Sentry. But for now, listen, what I have to tell you is very important. So far you've found a few other tadpoles, ones from the minds of these 'true souls'....They can help you, child. Imbue you with power.” Sentry nodded his head thoughtfully. “I...guess that makes sense..But won't it hurt to have more of that corruption in me?” Evagria gently took him in her arms, holding him there softly and patting his pale hair. “Oh sweet boy, but think of how it will help to protect your friends if you take these powers? What's a little suffering in the service of the greater good? Father Lorgan and I always taught you that.” Sentry frowned a moment, calculating inside his mind, trying to grasp what didn't seem quite right about this. “But...didn't you also always say not to seek out suffering, only to bear it if I had to to help others?”

“Well, you hardly sought it out, mijo…trouble just found you, it seems. So why not make the best of it?” Her eyes shifted towards shimmering shapes in the sky behind her. “I have to go for now, sweet boy…But think about what I said…Remember your training…” “Wait!” Sentry reached out after her, only to be engulfed in bright light as his eyes fluttered open and he was greeted with a warm, wet tongue across his face and the scent of dog breath. “Oh, hey Scratch. Good morning.” He gave a small smile and ruffled the dog's fur before slowly sitting up. As Octavia began to bring bowls and dishes to Gale so breakfast could be served, the party gathered around, sitting together as they began their morning routines. Jaina brushed her long golden hair with a comb that looked like it must be made from some sort of sea shell. Kroger took inventory of the party's reagents and began mixing the healing potions for the day. Wyll stood back a bit, stretching and performing some small exercises by his tent, cautiously taking into account the weight of his new horns. Karlach carefully placed a well loved stuffed bear back amongst her blankets inside her tent. Lae'zel began to sharpen the weapons that would need it for the day. Astarion sauntered neatly over to Sentry, sitting by his side and grinning. He did certainly seem healthier since Sentry had made the offer to sustain him each night. “So, did anyone else have a really weird dream?” Sentry broke the silence as Octavia handed him a bowl of warm...porridge? He guessed that was what it was. “You know, I did! A very handsome man appeared to talk to me about our predicament...” Jaina replied, setting down her hair brush and taking out a carefully wrapped shell, opening it and beginning to apply the lotion inside to her strange, greyish blue skin. “The same happened to me.” Wyll nodded in agreement as he walked over. “I think we should be careful whose advice we trust, though...” “Okay, you're not gonna believe this, but me too! The gorgeous woman told me about all these powers the tadpoles could give us...because that's not suspicious at all.” Karlach laughed. “No good can come of using Ghaik powers. I wouldn't be surprised if these dreams were a side effect of the tadpoles themselves.” Kroger shook his head. “You would do well to ignore them.” “Yeah...I dunno....my visitor was someone I trust pretty well...and the more power we have, the easier this journey should be, right?” Sentry spoke up, raising a brow.

“I mean, I think Sentry has a point. Shouldn't we use every advantage we're offered? You're dismissing it out of hand without even considering the benefits.” Astarion nodded his agreement.

“Tchk....” Lae'zel rolled her eyes as she walked over to Kroger and placed a hand on his shoulder. “There is no reasoning with these Istik, kin. The sooner we reach a creche and find a Zaithisk the better.” “Well...I know what we've been taught, but maybe we should see this as an opportunity to study. After all, if we could use the Ghaik's own power against them, wouldn't that be a very welcome advantage?” Octavia spoke up, earning a look of horror from her brother and a glare from her sister. “I mean, if we only accepted these powers little by little, we could test what the limit is? I just think we shouldn't rule it out...”

--- The painting looked different today, Enver noticed. It was a subtle difference, but hard to miss when one spent as much time studying at as he did. He noticed just the subtle hint of decay around the chest and face, where skin was exposed. The rich light brown of his flesh giving way to the red meat beneath. It was beautiful in its morbid strangeness, he had to admit. Did Sentry intend this? In this new room, the painting wasn't protected from sunlight entirely the way it had been in the home Sentry had painted it in, but still... He got to his feet and poured himself a drink with a sigh, only looking up when footsteps approached and a voice behind him cleared their throat, making themselves known. He turned to face a tall, slim tiefling woman with violet skin and rich black hair, her red eyes regarding him with respect. She was dressed in stylish, subtly Banite clothing and a black hand shaped brooch pinned her cloak in place. “Yes, Valda?” Enver asked. “I found what you were looking for. He'll be up presently.” The woman replied, bowing respectfully. “Thanks, Miss Everett, whatever would I do without you?” Enver gave an exhausted smile and raised his glass to her. “To start with, you would need to book your own entertainment, my lord.” The woman smirked before bowing out of the room. When she left, another person entered. Enver could see that Valda had done her best, the young man was around Sentry's height, give or take a few inches, the same silver hair, the same pale flesh. The tattoos were different and the eyes, well, no one ever had the right eyes. His were both pale violet, but not the electric purple of Sentry's left eye and no trace of the pale blue of his right eye. He was pretty enough, though. “I'm at your service, Lord Gortash. It is truly an honor.” The young man bowed. Enver rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his drink. This simpering little sycophant was really the best Sharess' Caress could offer? Sentry would never have groveled like this. “Hells, boy, show some defiance, tell me, do you have a single thought of your own in that pretty head of yours?” “I...” The tiefling blinked in confusion. “If you want me to?” He asked uncertainly. Enver approached him, gripping him by the chin and pulling him close enough to smell the booze on his breath. “Tonight, your name is Sentry Ojeda. You're a clever, malicious little brat and you intend to make me work for whatever I take from you. Is that clear?”

The young man opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air for a moment before managing to stammer out. “I...I think so?” “Good. And do try to adhere to that. Imagine the consequences if you fail to satisfy me after all.” Enver took another sip of his drink before tossing the glass aside and turning his full attention to the pale imitation he'd hired for the night.

----

The goblin camp was exactly as Sentry had expected. Raucous, filthy, and crowded. Well, it WAS crowded at least. The party had stepped just past the gate way to the courtyard where some sort of celebration was taking place. His memory was a little fuzzy, but near as he could remember, Jaina started to make some suggestion, and then he'd seen a little frightened owlbear cub, clearly bullied by these goblins. His attention had been fixated on that and only that and he missed whatever Jaina had been saying, he'd completely ignored anything else going on around him, and now he was standing in the middle of the courtyard covered in blood and viscera, his companions just sheathing their weapons as they looked at him with expressions ranging from abject horror to annoyance. “What in the hells was that about!?” Astarion snapped, staring incredulously up at Sentry. “Was a modicum of subtlety too much to ask?” Jaina frowned and bit her lip. “I do hate resorting to violence, but...in all fairness, thinning the herd probably works in our favor...and as annoying as that bard fellow is, they WERE tormenting the poor man.” She nodded towards the still shaking blue clad figure who was fumbling with a potion bottle near the gate. “Those goblins were more trouble for the refugees back at the grove, it was the right thing to do.” Wyll placed a hand on Sentry's shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod. “I'd have made the same decision if I'd been at the front of the pack.” “Well, you're in charge...so...” Sentry shrugged. “At any rate, think there's still a chance for stealth inside? Like maybe the ones in the temple didn't hear the commotion?” He asked hopefully, his expression somewhat put out at Astarion's annoyance with him. “It's worth a try. We should try and rescue as many captives in one piece as we can. After all, they can answer more questions alive than dead.” Kroger frowned, his expression troubled for a moment. “And this druid who can possibly cure us? I don't suppose they'd keep him alive if they clocked us as reinforcements. We should tread carefully.” Jaina agreed. --- Treading carefully worked well enough, it seemed, as the party made their way into the ruined temple. The place seemed huge and Jaina could sense powerful magic within. She was sure Gale and Octavia were picking up on it too. She noticed Shadowheart wrinkle her nose and shudder a bit. “Huh...the architecture's Selunite.” Sentry mused, eyes fixed on the ceiling and walls. “See, if you look close you can see the moon phases cut in and a lot of the lines are crescent.” He blinked as he noticed everyone's eyes on him in disbelief. “No, really, I read this book once and the detective was hunting down a werewolf and it turned out there was this Selunite faction that became werewolves as a ritual to worship her. It was a really good book, actually.” “Hmmph...typical. And yet everyone would dismiss it as fiction because it slanders their precious Moon Maiden.” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “You should read it, I'll see if it's in my pack, I was pretty pleasantly surprised how many books were in it when I found it on that nautiloid.” Sentry grinned. “I'll hand it over when we're back at camp. It goes great with a glass of wine.”

“Much as I'm glad to hear the idea of a book club is so popular, perhaps we should focus on the matter at hand.” Gale stepped in. “We need to find this druid and if possible, learn more about this 'Absolute'.” “I say we split up, this place is enormous and it'll take ages to search every part of it all together, not to mention we're more conspicuous that way.” Astarion suggested. “I'll go with Sentry.” “I'll join you both, don't take this the wrong way, but you need supervision.” Jaina offered, taking a step closer. “Count me in as well, then.” Wyll's smile was so eager as he stepped up beside Jaina, she found herself blushing and sneaking a shy glance at him. “Eh, what the hells. Seems like you're the fun group.” Karlach shrugged, walking over to the party. The group made their way towards the sounds of screaming, the logical thought being that a torture chamber was the most likely place to keep a captive druid. Sentry peeked his head into a little alcove at the top of the steps and noticed a man inside, deep in prayer. The tiefling started to enter the room quietly, when the man stood up and turned to face him. His face was scarred and lined, pale eyes meeting Sentry's dual colored gaze. “You have the look of someone who is haunted, dear one.” The man pointed at Sentry. Sentry blinked, color draining from his face. “Oh, me? N...No, I'm....I'm just a simple paladin in the service of Ilmater.” He gripped his tail anxiously, twisting it in his hands. “There is no need to hide it, I see it in your eyes, you are intimately familiar with suffering.” The priest continued, examining Sentry intently. “My mistress, Loviatar, hears your cries, dear one. She knows that to feel pain is to be alive.” Sentry felt a stirring between his legs at that thought, sharp metal fingernails digging into his shoulders and hips, his horns being gripped and held down as both holes were spread in turn further than he imagined he could handle, those dark emerald eyes gazing down approvingly as he drooled and panted. His mind was a tumble of those thoughts, intertwined with his own teeth and claws digging into that light brown skin, tasting the salty sweat and coppery blood, the sensation of his tail wrapped around the stubbled throat and squeezing. He was only just now aware that he was biting his lip and squirming a little in the present, his face flushed bright red, eyes cast down with embarassment. “Please don't be ashamed of your desires, child, you should revel in them! In fact, if you like, we can worship together, perhaps Loviatar may even offer her blessing if you please her.” The priest patted Sentry's shoulder. “Mmm...I'd like to see that.” Astarion chuckled. “Really, just right in front of the rest of us?” Jaina quirked a brow, folding her arms across her chest. “Well, Ilmater DOES teach that suffering is necessary to help others, I would be a pretty poor servant of his if I didn't do this.” Sentry hurriedly replied, slowly beginning to strip out of his armor, leaving him clad only in a pair of simple black cotton underpants. The priest inhaled deeply with an eager smile as he took in the sight of the scars that crossed Sentry's supple flesh, watching eagerly as the tiefling faced the wall, pressing his hands to it and expertly arching his back. The first blow caused the paladin to cry out loudly, head tossed back. “By the Goddess, it's like the yearly rum festival back home.” Jaina pressed a hand to her forehead shaking her head. “All we need now are some naked drunks running around. “Do the goblins count?” Karlach asked, jabbing a thumb back towards the outside corridor where a few goblin soldiers hurried back and forth.

“Well, um....good to expand your horizons, I guess.” Wyll shrugged.

“Oh fuck!” Sentry cried out, mouth open wide, teeth glinting in the dim light. “Yes! Let her hear you, dear one! You are doing so well!” The priest exclaimed, bringing the mace down across Sentry's back again, causing the tiefling's tail to curl eagerly with pleasure.

“Careful with all that blood, I'll still need some for later.” Astarion smirked, eyes moving over Sentry's body. Finally, the last blow struck and Sentry slowly sank to his knees, panting heavily, a small trail of drool tracing down his chin, his expression satisfied and vacant in the after glow. He grinned widely, tail wagging slightly as he looked absently at the priest's hand, extended to him. “Oh...yeah...thanks...that was...like...really good.” Sentry purred, accepting his hand and letting the other man help him to his feet. “My lady Loviatar enjoyed it as well, dear one. And on a personal note, so did I. You were perfect.” The priest kissed Sentry on the forehead before turning and kneeling, going back to his meditations. “Well, that was certainly interesting.” Wyll broke the somewhat awkward silence as the group made their way out of the room.

“You know? I actually feel pretty good.” Sentry replied with a jaunty grin. “And I think it helped jog my memory a bit too! I was into that stuff, apparently! Who knew?” “I mean...it was a pretty solid guess.” Karlach chuckled. “It just seems like your kinda thing. Plus, the whole 'broken god' thing.” “At any rate...the druid?” Jaina prompted with an exaggerated shrugging gesture, looking to the various different paths that led to the different parts of the prison. “Because those giant spiders we passed earlier don't seem too personable, I'd hate to find out he's been in there with them.” “I didn't see him when we passed that cage, um...maybe that corridor?” Karlach suggested, jabbing a thumb towards a winding corridor ahead of them. “Worth a look.” Wyll agreed, starting towards it, Sentry and the others following behind him. Through the door at the end of the corridor, the party found themselves in a large kennel with two cages set against the back wall. In one cage, a bear groaned and snorted in pain as two goblin children pelted it with rocks. Sentry's expression darkened and his nostrils flared, slowly beginning to approach, his mind growing blank and red as voices whispered in his ears to show them what real violence was. A pale greyish blue arm shot out, pressing him back by the chest and he felt his mind swim back into focus as Jaina's pale blue eyes stared up at him sternly and she shook her head. “Whoa, easy there big guy...Let me.” He was taken aback, but his mind was calmed at least briefly by the surprise of the situation, so he watched as Jaina drew herself up to her full height, though fairly small she still seemed to command authority. “Um, excuse me! No thank you, children! That is not a kind way to treat our animal friends.” She spoked in a clear, stern voice, hands on her hips as she approached. “We was makin' it make noises, miss!” One child chirped. “Yeah! Watch!” The other giggled. “What's it to you, devil?” An older female goblin sneered, glaring up at Jaina with her beady little eyes.

“Oh dear...it's poor parenting then...Well, at this age that's fixable.” She extended a hand back towards the children, blue and green sinews of magic forming in the air accompanied by a haunting melody and the children slid down against the wall in the corner, fast asleep. The older woman glared at Jaina and opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly an irritated groan, almost a roar, echoed from the cage and the bars pitched forward under the weight of the bear, crushing the goblin before she could respond. “Not what I had in mind, but...we can improvise.” Jaina sighed, drawing her staff as she watched Sentry and Karlach rush the approaching reinforcements, axes raised. Wyll was at her side, blade drawn, within a moment, and she supposed it spoke to Astarion's skill that she wasn't sure where he had gotten to. The fight didn't take long at all between the five skilled adventurers and the bear fighting by their side. The party regrouped, Wyll and Jaina discreetly glancing at one another, hoping neither was hurt in the scuffle. Sentry immediately ran over to the bear. “Aww, hey little buddy...are you alright? I'm sorry those little ankle biters were hurting you.” He knelt and began to scratch gently behind the bear's ears, giving it a look of sympathy and adoration. Such a huge creature with such powerful claws and teeth, worthy of love and respect. He didn't notice the glowing light around it until he found himself kneeling in front of a very tall, very muscular elf, blushing a bit at finding himself in that compromising position, Sentry quickly scrambled to his feet. “You have my thanks.” The older man inclined his head gratefully to the party. “I apologize for the bloodshed, I would normally have tried to resolve things peacefully, however...” “There were children here, you know.” Jaina frowned, arms folded across her chest. “You're lucky they didn't get hurt!” “I....am sorry, sometimes when I am in wildshape, the nature of the beast takes me. I'm glad the children are unharmed.” The druid seemed taken aback by the woman's response. “I mean, in complete fairness, they were kind of a couple of little shits anyway, abusing animals like that. You know most copper dreadful writers agree that's the first sign of a serial killer.” Sentry interjected. “Anyway, would you be the druid Halsin?” “That I am, then I take it you've come from the grove?” He bowed politely. “Oh! Then another thing, your second in command nearly murdered a refugee child for practically no reason!” Jaina glared openly now.

Halsin's expression darkened. “I see...Obviously as I wasn't there, I was unaware of this. But rest assured I will deal with her when the danger has passed.” “Can you perhaps stop antagonizing the person who might be able to fix our little problem, Jaina? Please?” Sentry hissed through gritted teeth before giving Halsin an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, she's just a bit moody, you know, we've been through a lot...we...” He blinked as Halsin gently pressed a hand to his forehead. For a moment, the room around him flickered. A woman's face stared at him instead, dressed in Myrkulite garb and gazing at him with a cruel sense of lust. Pain shot through his head. His eyes widened and he yelped, lashing out and staggering back. “Don't touch me!” Halsin stepped back slightly, hands raised apologetically. “I am sorry, you've been through a lot, haven't you, child?” He breathed deeply. “Unfortunately, the tadpole in your head is protected by a powerful magic....I have been studying them, but so far there's nothing I can do in the way of extraction that wouldn't harm you irreparably in the process.” “Great....Wonderful...” Sentry muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead. “With that being said, I've managed to track the source of this magic to a place called Moonrise Tower.” Halsin explained. “Okay...so that's good then at least...can you take us there?” Jaina asked, expression softening a bit. “I would gladly take you there, but right now my priorities lie with my grove. As long as these creatures threaten it, I cannot leave.” The arch druid replied sternly. “Okay, well, lucky for you, one thing I DO know about myself is I am very good at killing things. Point me in the right direction and I'll take care of your pest control problem.” Sentry offered, stretching casually. “If you are able to dispatch their leaders, the goblins will likely scatter. A few raiding parties here and there would be far easier to handle than a full horde.” Halsin began. “They are led by Priestess Gut, the hobgoblin Dror Ragzlin, and the cruel drow, Minthara.” “Right, well, we'll be back when we've taken them out then.” Sentry nodded. “Besides, the way I see it, it solves good old Zevvy's problems too.” “Please don't call him that.” Jaina winced. “Please just use his name normally.” “What is your hang up with Zevlor? He's such a good guy.” Karlach gave Jaina a look of confusion. “Yes, a very good guy, a very good guy who my father may or may not have had 'beautiful season of paladinic brotherhood' with in his youth that I am very acutely aware of from accounts of it in his personal journals.” Jaina groaned. “Well, I think we all learn some time that our parents' personal writings are perhaps things we're better off not prying into...I know I learned that lesson young as well.” Wyll gave a nostalgic laugh, a wistful smile bringing him back to snooping through his own father's office in his youth. Sentry was only half aware of that conversation, however, as his mind continued to return to that image that had entered it when Halsin had touched his forehead. He felt cold, trapped, like a frightened animal as the memory danced through his mind. He felt the sensation of fingers wrapping around his innards, pulling at his guts. The terror of trying to latch onto a thought and failing to grasp at it, the sticky wetness of blood, saliva, who knew what else, coating his body as pain racked every inch of him. He shuddered convulsively and picked up his pace, he certainly needed to kill something.

[fan-tav-stic]

Day 9: Meeting Abdirak (SFWish) - Silas

Characters: Silas (M!Tav), Abdirak, Astarion (briefly), Wyll (mentioned once)

Tags: implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced torture, light bdsm

Summary:

A strange man makes Silas confront a bit of his past

Day 10: Tearful kiss before battle (SFW) + First time after a love confession (NSFW) - GrumpyCat

Characters: Rolan + Sorren (M!OC), Tav (briefly), Lorroakan (briefly), Dame Aylin (briefly + non-speaking), Shadowheart (mentioned once)

Tags: blood, animal endangerment/injury (wild-shaped druid), crying, death, wound care, love confessions, oral sex, anal sex, tender/gentle sex/making love

Summary:

Before and after the fight with Lorroakan, Rolan and Sorren deal with all of their pent-up feelings for one another.

---

Happy valentines day everyone! You get not one but TWO updates. there may be more but they're currently being written and WILL be dropped the moment Larian releases the new patch lmao

I have priorities and they take the shape of Halsin's lips on Kairius' forehead

[gatchayam]

Them

[unreadpoppy]

Fic recs

In light of some stuff I saw, I decided to make this post to briefly talk about some fics I really like and recommend them. All are BG3 related and most are Raphael. Also, there's some authors that write a lot of great fics, I'll try to keep one fic per author or else we'll be here forever (but definetly go check everyone and their other works out!)

...

Cheerful Oblivion by @sassyandsodone - Read the tags before reading this but Love me dark stuff, the writing is amazing (legitimetly gasped at a few points) and the mix of Tav not remembering what happened and the dehumanization aspects were the cherry on top. It

I Don't Think About You Anymore (But I don't think about you any less) by @sky-kiss - This fic put me in a lot of different feels, ESPECIALLY SAD (which i do like, love when stuff makes me feel) and the ending was unexpected to me but it made it all worth it. Shed a tear or two

Devil's Debauchery by ChildofYugotth - One of the first fics I read on the Raphael tag, the first chapter lives in my mind rent free for many, many days, and I really like how the three chapters kinda go like regular raphael, haarlep and then ascended fiend, like a progression. Also read the tags.

Fallen in Flame by @cambion-companion - Love the dynamic between the two characters and how their relationship developed and the conflicting feeling that Tav has of like, being an aasimar and dealing with a devil

The Devil that knows you by @timesthatneverwere - Cat!Tav was not something I knew I needed before reading this. The relationship between Tav, Raphael and even Haarlep in this one is VERY interesting to me (and has lowkey inspired me some times) and I love seeing Raphael keeping secrets and manipulating people (also i have to mention, this fic gave us the mephisto fuck chamber)

Let the dream begin by DiscordsMuse - POTO inspired, this has hit me in the feels with relating to Morrigans struggles of feeling rejected, and honestly, Raphael as the Phantom was amazing.

finirà bene by @inaconstantstateofchange - A Halsin/Astarion/Tav one for a change, this is such an interesting and heartbreaking concept, but there's also this sense of mystery that I think is really well done. Also, beware the ANGST

Her soul will burn all the way down by khapikat222 - Read the tags, another dark fic that I loved, and this one had this manipulation and fucking with someone's fears that I really liked. Also, props to the author for making the lullaby fit, it was a great cherry on top.

Baldur's gate 3 infernal oneshots by @hrefna-the-raven - chapters 1-4 are a little story between Raphael and Tav that I really liked. The dynamic of raphael being more protective and the cat and mouse analogies were really fun!

The Intimacy of Pain by @bearhugsandshrugs - This is an Abdirak/Tav fic which I found so delightfully good, like the descriptions of how Tav was feeling and the mix of pleasure and pain were really well done

The Devil's Hour by @adarlingwrites - Also one of the first fics in the tag that I read, and what made me like OC x Canon, love the complicated but also interesting to read relationship between Fortune and Raphael, and another aspect that I really liked was Fortune's relationship with art and her parents being brought up like (like idk why but those two things really stuck with me)

Sweetening the Deal by @adevilyoudo - I have to admit that I'm a bit behind on some chapters BUT it's a great work, love seeing this side of Raphael of trying to convince Tav to take this deal (and in a way, almost confusing her even more) and I loved to see the side of the Emperor constantly being in Tav's head, I think it really conveyed well how that feels like when playing the game

The Devil You Share a Room with by @djmorn - Really fun concept and the shennanigans between the two in the beggining, when Tav is reluctant to share a room with Raphael, was a delight to read and really really fun.

Damaged by @dark-and-kawaii - This is a Rolan/Tav one, it's dark but it also tugged at my heart in a sad way, with Rolan feeling all these things and doing what he does because of the abuse he suffered and Tav also trying to understand that. Like aaaa it just, it's some good stuff this fic

Who's the Daddy by Follyfall - This fic is the definition of fun and a good time, I legitimetly laughed a lot while reading it. The writing is fun, the concept is hilarious and the relationship between Raphael, Tav, Haarlep, the baby and Wyll is really really fun.

...

Also, keep in mind that there's A LOT of amazing writers in the bg3 community and i haven't read every single written work in the tags ever, so feel free to also reblog and add reccomendations of your own, or make your own post!

[circledemptiness]

Red Petals

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Abdirak x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Status: incomplete – ongoing Parts: 1/?

✦ Read on AO3

A series about your journey as a follower of Loviatar, and as Abdirak's devoted lover.

✦ Red Petals

[aristenfromwarsaw]

Hello! Welcome on my blog 💜

Links to pics: ~~ Karlach ~~ Astarion ~~ Minthara ~~

I like taking screenshots from Baldur's Gate 3, frequently with Astarion but sometimes I doing other characters. Also I taking shots from Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

If you posting my screenshots on other platforms e.t.c. , mention my Tumblr - thank you :) . My modlist ~~ My Ko-fi ☕~~ Twitter ~~Bluesky~~ Instagram (BG3 and some of my photography) ~~ Pinterest ~~

If you want me to make a screenshots request for you, leave a comment under the waiting list - when I have the opportunity to make screenshots for you, I will send to you a DM. I make requests one by one, so you can see in the list how many people are waiting. I can't tell you how long you will wait because it depends on many things, so you have to be patient. If I've already taken some screenshots for you, but you want something new, no problem, you can also sign up for the list. You don't have an idea for a location for the photos of love couples - you can check the locations catalog.

More info about requests here.

List of my screenshots from BG3:

Astarion - color

Astarion - black and white

Astarion with glasses

Astarion x My Tav/Dark Urge

Abdirak

Couple requests 💜

Dammon

Gale

Gortash

Halsin

Jaheira

Karlach

Kar'niss

Lae'zel

Minsc

Minthara

Mystra

Orin

Raphael

Shadowheart

Tara

Tav requests 💜

Wyll

Animals from BG3

My Tav OC: ~ Aristen ~ Devana/Dziewanna List of my screenshots from Dragon Age: Link

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

Link to pic

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

If you want download an original png file for better quality (e.g. for wallpaper) I give a link to my google drive :) .

Link

If you don't see an image that you want, send me a message - sometimes I can forget to upload the file to my google drive.

Links to pics: ~~ SH ~~ Astarion ~~ Halsin ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other things:

Some beautiful drawings/blenders about BG3 and great Astarion analysis from other users.

Links to pics: ~~ Orin ~~ Astarion ~~ Lae'zel

[m-u-n-c-h-y]

So, I ended up doing all three... Anyway, here's more Outis (and Abdirak) for y'all!

Templates by @arcandoria, which you can find on their Ko-fi page. Thank you for making them Halk! <3

[shewhowas39]

rating: E pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC fic summary: Astarion's nice simple plan crumbles when he falls for a neutral good divination wizard who may or may not be a Bhaalspawn.

chapter title: "S&M" chapter summary: in which the dream visitor arrives, the gang argues about tadpole powers, and June gets whipped! contwnt warnings: mention of cannibalism, whipping, self-harm adjacent i guess?, blood, mentions of torture

A/N: I'm back!!! i took a hiatus but we're back to the goblin camp! and this chapter is a little wild.

***

PREVIEW

Abdirak takes June to a table at the side of the room, where he has several items, including a knife, a club, and a whip. “Choose how you wish to receive Loviatar’s love,” he says. “Which you think will cause you the most pain.”

Loviatar. Astarion is only vaguely familiar with the goddess, but from what he knows of the Maiden of Pain, this all makes perfect sense.

June takes a moment before selecting the whip. Abdirak smiles at her in a way Astarion thinks is a bit too hungry - and that’s coming from a vampire - as he picks up the weapon. 

“I have something exquisite in mind,” the priest tells June. “Go face the wall, and we can begin, dear one.”

Astarion’s delight turns to unexpected fear as he watches June remove her tunic and move to face the far wall. Now, staring at the smooth, unmarred pale skin of her back, he realizes he’s actually going to watch her be lashed. To his own surprise, Astarion realizes that he doesn’t want to see June hurt.

Tied up, restrained, helpless and at his mercy? Yes, absolutely. But not hurt.

Well, except perhaps by his fangs. But that’s different. 

He’s about to step forward - to put a stop to this - but before he is able, Abdirak has already cracked the whip, and the leather has slashed into June’s skin, leaving a thick red mark where it hit her.

June barely flinches, however. Instead, she looks over at Abdirak. “Could you hit harder, please?”

[psalacanthea]

Looking for something to read this fine Sunday to undo any godliness you may have accidentally accrued? Can I interest you in...

Some Daedra fucking?

Ronja and the Huntsman- f!nord x hircine the hunter (skyrim)

Durge getting the crazy temporarily tortured out of them?

Scarlet Petals- f!dark urge x abdirak (baldur's gate 3)

Ascended Astarion driving his un-spawned consort insane?

Killing His Darling- f!tav x ascended astarion (bg3)

Excerpts from an in-universe romance novel written by Lavellan?

Taming the Trickster- f!dalish oc x the dread wolf (Dragon Age)

[findroleplay]

21+. She/Her. Please be 21+ to interact! I have three fandoms on my mind right now that I would love to get threads going with: Baldur's Gate 3 (BG3), Game of Thrones (GoT), and Marvel/Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU).

I'll only be listing my main muses for each (there might be others I'm willing to try out). I'm pretty open when it comes to discussing ships. I do prefer canon x canon but canon x OC is fine too. I can do MxM, MxF, or FxF. I like incorporating NSFW/smut into threads (the plot/smut ration can be anything). If you'd rather not, please let me know from the get-go. 🌹

My Muses:

Baldur's Gate 3: Abdirak, Alfira, Astarion Ancunín, Cazador Szarr, Enver Gortash, Gale Dekarios, Ketheric Thorm, Raphael, Relonor (my male Drow Dark Urge), Rolan, Shadowheart, Zevlor

Game of Thrones: Alliser Thorne, Benjen Stark, Beric Dondarrion, Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Petyr Baelish, Robb Stark, Roose Bolton, Sansa Stark, Stannis Baratheon, Thoros, Tywin Lannister, Yoren

Marvel: Benjamin Poindexter, Billy Russo, Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Carol Danvers, Frank Castle, Grant Ward, Loki Laufeyson, Nathan Summers, Andrew!Peter Parker, Phil Coulson, Ray Nadeem, Reed Richards, Tony Stark, Victor von Doom

I write on Discord or through Tumblr messages. I do not double, and it may take me a few days to reply because I work full-time during the week and may not always be available on the weekend.

If you're interested in doing something with me, I'll reach out to you when you like this post.

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