#bard writes

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

i have many thoughts on lee gilyoung and kim dokja but i fear i may explode if i try to articulate them fully

there is something to be said in the way kdj and orv as a whole really tends to sidestep lgy. like kdj cares about lgy of course. and orv obviously wants us to care about lgy or else they would have killed him off for shock value or fridged him way earlier than they did or something. and yet he remains in the main story but still on the sidelines

i think there is something very sad to be said about how kdj very openly tends to love on/lavish attention onto sys and like consciously acknowledge that she is, in many ways, his daughter, yet doesnt really do the same for lgy. there is something very sad to be said about the way kdj tends to refer to sys individually, but only to lgy in the collective "kids." there is something very sad in the way kdj saw himself in lgy the first time he saw him on the subway and saw him both as a boy to be saved and a tool to be used and i dont think their relationship ever really recovered from this.

like he cares about them because he doesnt want to be a shitty father-figure but hes a shitty father-figure because he cares. and while sys is saved from the brunt of this to a degree because shes a character so he can just mimic how yjh treats her in worldlines where she's saved and get by on that, lgy doesnt have that kind of support. lgy is not a fictional wunderkid or pitiable, fragile little girl (however true or false that assessment of sys is). hes a snot nosed foul mouthed violent boy obsessed with bugs and death and kdj, i think, knows he ought to care for him but he doesnt know how and doesnt bother to learn and that, i believe, the not-bothering that is, is what truly incriminates him as a shitbag father. hes afraid so he doesnt try and lgy spends 90% of orv being terrified kdj secretly hates him and the worst part is hes almost right

[bisexualbard-writes]

Chay goes with Kim to a show to support him, but bangs his head (/reads Kim’s cursed fanmail, the details are not important 🤣) right after Kim goes on stage and ends up with memory loss. From his perspective he woke up backstage of a wik concert so he’s convinced he’s having a weird dream

Kim finishes the show and high off of stage energy ravishes Chay backstage, confused yet delighted by Chay role playing a fan

Then after Kim is like “good times, ready to head back to our apartment?”

And Chay goes “what”

Is it silly? Is it angsty? Probably both! The possibilities are endless!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 149

This prompt has been filled by me! Anyone can write more interpretations and I'd love to see them, but if you're a reader, here's mine! https://archiveofourown.org/works/63921304

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An alternate universe where everything is basically the same, except for that Witchers aren't taught anything about humans, and never truly interact with any. Witchers don't go into towns for contracts. Monster contracts are posted on boards on the outer border of towns. People must check back every day to see if the contract has a knife in it. If it does, it means the witcher is either out fulfilling it, or already has. The witcher will then walk out of the forest with proof of it's kill, you gift them clothing, food, weaponry, sometimes even a steed, and back away slowly. Geralt is a witcher. And the most monstrous of them, if you were to ask him. He has sickly skin, long unnaturally white hair, and those slitted yellow eyes of his. It doesn't matter. Roach doesn't care how he looks, and that's good enough for him. He's hoping this contract will give him some new clothes. He'd even take sewing supplies. His best shirt has a big gash in the sleeve. Which wouldn't normally bother him, he could deal with it, but Roach keeps trying to nibble on it. It's a contract for a bruxa. One that's apparently been causing a lot of issues for some "count." Disrupting parties and attempting to lure people away for the slaughter. Geralt has killed her, and has her head as proof. When he approaches the board with his proof, he sees two humans waiting for him. One of them sneers in disgust, and one of them gasps in horror, tearing up. Geralt presents the head, and then holds his hand out for his reward. The older human shoves the scared one at Geralt. The scared one stumbles as he's shoved, and looks up at Geralt with big, wet blue eyes. Geralt tilts his head and turns back to the older one. That one must be the Count. "Your reward, Witcher." "F- Father!" "Silence, Julian. I don't care what you do to him." The Count turns and leaves. 'Julian' looks at Geralt with fear. Geralt is used to that. Witchers are scary. "I- I thought Witchers only hunted monsters, why did you kill Emmaline?" "...This?" Geralt asks, holding up the head, and the human gags, but nods. "It was a monster. She was a Bruxa. A type of vampire." Julian stares blankly for a moment, before he erupts into laughter. Geralt doesn't usually see or hear laughter very often. He likes when this 'Julian' laughs! Oh, but the laughing turns to sobbing. "I should've known! Of course she didn't like my bloody songs! She liked my bloody blood!" The Julian cries, and Geralt feels awkward. He doesn't quite know how to make a human happy. This would be easier if Geralt were at his camp. He doesn't like being so close to a town. He needs to be in the woods. He scoops up his (apparently) Julian, and throws him over his shoulder and walks him back to camp. Julian is now sitting by Geralt's campfire, still crying, but now it's silent. Geralt sits down beside him. Humans comfort with touch, he thinks. He doesn't truly know. He awkwardly puts his arms around Julian, and it doesn't seem to working.... Aha! Because the tears are still coming! Geralt can fix that! Geralt leans in and licks the salty water away. Julian starts laughing again, and finally relaxes. Geralt did it! He's such a good humankeeper! Having a human around is difficult, but Geralt is quite happy with this new arrangement! Geralt smiles a lot more than he used to. His human is adorable, and he's funny! And Geralt is learning so much more about humans! But sometimes that's horrifying. Geralt learned humans need to eat every day, so Geralt has begun hunting more. Julian didn't tell him this fact, Geralt had to learn it by himself when Julian fainted one day. Geralt also learned that humans are delicate things. Julian tripped over a root in the ground and ended up bleeding! BLEEDING! Geralt nearly lost it, that day. He licked his scratch clean, and bandaged his human, and kept a grip on his arm the rest of the day to balance him. They're sensitive, too.

The night had a light breeze, or so Geralt thought. Julian was shaking, teeth chattering, breaths visible. Hm. Perhaps it was colder than Geralt thought. He drags the human over, making Julian let out an odd "whoop!" sound, and wraps his arms around him. Julian scoots closer before settling, wrapping around geralt.

Humans are also curious. Too curious. Julian followed him on a hunt once and almost got hurt. Geralt shouted at him, immediately felt horrible, and apologized, but made sure to let Julian know that Julian was the one who did something stupid. Geralt thinks about getting a leash to keep his human safe at camp, but he doesn't think Julian would go for it.

His human seems happy! Until he doesn't. All of a sudden he's walking slower, and constantly frowning, and he sighs every few minutes! It's driving Geralt crazy not knowing how to fix it! He's tried all the things that have worked before! He licked him, he hugged him, he let him pet Roach, he made him a bigger portion of food, but nothing is working!

"What troubles you?" "…Hm? Oh, sorry. It's just… I wanted to be a bard. Before." "Before?" "…My father.. Sold me to you, Geralt."

Oh yeah.

"…What's a bard?" "G- Geralt, you don't know what a bard is?" "No." "Why, it's simply the best career out there! At least for me. Bards make music. They travel the continent singing their sweet melodies and sharing their feelings and hope to every townsperson out there. Farmers and nobles alike love a good bard."

Julian twitters on some more about these 'bard' titles.

"How do you become a bard?" "Well, you need an instrument. I had a lute, once. And you write songs in a notebook or journal. And all you have to do is sing them."

Thus Geralt makes a plan. Geralt goes searching for these items, loots here and there, and he believes he has a perfectly functional 'lute' and a journal. Geralt has a journal. It's too full of monsters to be given to his human, though. His human deserved one just for his songs.

When Geralt gave these items to his human, his human started sobbing. Shit! But Julian insists it's "happy" sobbing??? That's a thing? Humans will also cry when happy? Geralt will take note of this.

Geralt's Julian is MUCH happier now! And he makes such nice noises! He sings for Geralt all the time now. He strums his lute, and sings, and when he's not doing that, he's humming, and when he's not doing that, he's excitedly chatting away to Geralt, and it all makes him so happy. His human is happy! He likes his little human friend. And Geralt now knows for sure his human friend likes him back.

"Though it hurt so much at the time, I'm so very glad my father gave me to you. I've truly never been happier."

It appears Julian's last humankeepers were bad at their job, despite being humans themselves. Oh well. Doesn't matter now. Geralt would never rehome him.

Thus comes Geralt's problem. Winter is coming. He needs to head to the keep. He can keep his human alive up the path, Geralt's sure of it. He's skilled in humankeeping by now. But the actual staying part is what scares him. What if when Julian meets the other witchers, he finds one that can keep him even happier than Geralt? What if Geralt loses his Julian!? It's just unthinkable!

[gourmand-cookie]

[Bard & Beasts] Random Headcanons/Lore

Random headcanons that may or may not be true in the Beast Cookies x Bard! Reader AU

Bard Cookie (aka Reader) met the Beasts in the same order of Beast Yeast as a parallel from past to present; Mystic Flour to Burning Spice to Shadow Milk etc.

The main reason you caught the Beasts' attention was because of your perfomances, mainly you personally making songs of their feats as a way to have their names be recognized and praised, to give back something for their efforts

Well, that and you never seeming to want anything from them other than their company and a listening ear

You liked to give Mystic Flour soothing melodies for ambience to calm her hidden nerves from the many wishers knocking on her door

You liked to visit Burning Spice when you want to experiment new ways in making music or to simply be wild and as loud as you can; he enjoys the fact that you always come up with something new

You liked to sneak into Shadow Milk's study to help organize his papers, making a fun rhythm game out of it by using the items around you for instruments (pencils as drumsticks, heavy books as solid drums–)

You and Eternal Sugar duet the most, building off of each other's tunes until you've made a merry little song that the cookies love to dance to

Silent Salt was a good listener who liked hearing you sing rather than perform, you go to them to wind down, humming idly or singing softly under your breath

The Beasts knew you would one day begin to grow stale and wanted you to join them in immortality

[hellsenchantress]

Hot take. Baldurs gate 3 actually ISNT horny enough. It should’ve been full body shots. A03 narration.

Roll for performance. Orgasm failed.

Too low charisma? Curse of the virgin.

Too low intelligence? Afflicted with himboism.

Little blue potion of erectness. Oh no it made ur dick fall off. Didn’t have one? You do now.

Tav on their period? Everyone disapproves except Astarion. He freaky like that.

you acquired like 10 STDS and are pregnant with a mindflayer egg. Karlach goes to touch the egg and cooks it into an omelette.

It’s added to your camp supply and consumed during your long rest

[nerdallwritey]

I Want to Live

Summary: He murmured something against your lips. You pushed lightly against his chest, laughing. “What?” “I want to live,” he repeated, seemingly out of breath.  “Of course you want to live, you’re alive,” you smiled up at him, running a hand through his hair. “In all the ways that matter, I mean.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, clearly trying to be suggestive. He rolled his eyes. “No, you insufferable woman, I’m referring to something Shadowheart said.” OR Raphael asks you and Astarion for a favor, which leads to an important conversation.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 14.9k CW: Raphael is a thespian, vulnerable Astarion, Yurgir battle, mentions of killing oneself, Astarion's scars, confessions, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), breeding kink (DADSTARION IS IMPORTANT TO ME), smush (smutty mush) Spoilers: Spoilers for Act 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.) Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 8 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AS I WROTE PART 8!!! I've become the busiest woman in the world - my job came to an end and I just started a new one, I'm in a play that my friend wrote this summer, I'm moving at the end of this month, and my power went out for nearly three days this week. BUT! WE FORGE AHEAD! I hope that you all enjoy this new addition and that it was worth the wait!! I was super excited to write this part and hope I was able to do it justice. Heads up: I am EXTREMELY busy for the next few months, so I'll probably take a mini hiatus from writing this series for a hot minute. I will be back, rest assured! I'm also interested in possibly starting a new series starring my Tav, Birdie! Anyways, I hope this part was worth the wait! It was a blast to write!! (Thank you to my beta @kermitwazowski, and the wonderful @arzen9 for reading!) As a reminder, last time, just as you were about to save Isobel from etheric's henchmen, Raphael whisked you and Astarion away for his own personal needs.

Taglist: Moved to the comment section, since tumblr hates sharing fun with friends - please let me know if you'd like to be added to the list!

With a white shock of pain, the cold of the Shadow Cursed Lands crept into your bones, rendering you frozen and disoriented.

What had just happened?

“Astarion?” you called out, remembering that he had been right beside you only a moment ago. “Where are you?”

“I’m here, darling,” you jumped when a pair of cold hands encircled your shoulders before they spun you to look into Astarion’s frantic eyes. He relaxed considerably once he saw your face. “I’m right here.”

You smiled slightly and turned your head a little to kiss one of the hands on your shoulder before looking around. “Any idea where we are?” 

Upon scanning the area, it seemed that you and Astarion were in the middle of the Shadow Cursed Lands, high atop some sort of mountain. You saw what looked to be a heavily trodden path with stairs leading up to this place, surrounded by discarded weapons and pieces of armor. Not far off you spotted flags surrounding what you assumed was a makeshift graveyard. 

Astarion’s eyes followed yours. “If I had to guess, it’s not the Blushing Mermaid.”

In the distance, you saw the roofs of buildings that must have made up the village Jaheira had mentioned. Looking to your left, you spotted the moon shield surrounding the Last Light Inn and witnessed tiny figures flying around the structure, along with blasts of magic from within the building through the windows. You ran towards it to get a better look, your stomach dropping when you realized how far you were from the battle you’d just been so rudely snatched away from.

“Where’s Raphael?” you growled. 

Speaking of the devil, the cambion’s mortal form, which you hadn’t noticed standing at the grand entrance into some sort of temple in the side of the mountain, stepped forward, observing his nails. Behind him, chains hung from the sides of the cliffs and a large door loomed, destroyed, as if whatever had been inside had broken out with a great deal of force.

“Our heroes thought but a treasure ahead,” Raphael said dramatically, “did not consider the peace of the dead. Through the dark they went creeping, and awoke what was sleeping. A new grave they dug, which they themselves fed.”

Astarion clicked his tongue. “How long were you skulking there, practicing that rhyme before we saw you?”

“Until it was perfect,” Raphael said matter-of-factly. “I’ve grown quite fond of you, you know - in my way. I thought it only fair to warn you of the dangers ahead.”

“You brought us here!” you exclaimed. “We don’t even know where we are!”

“Patience,” Raphael chuckled. “There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature who, like me, is of the infernal persuasion.”

You crossed your arms. “Is this creature as dramatic as you are?”

Raphael smirked, amused by your annoyance. “In truth, it is carnage incarnate. When you meet this devil of which I speak,” his tone became deathly serious, “kill it. Consider no other course of action.” 

“Hmm,” Astarion hummed. “There’s something you’re hiding. You’re only telling us half that story. Out with it, devil”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “This creature and I go back a long way. I admit it would be in my best interest as well should it remain trapped in the dark.” He grinned viciously. “Or misplace its head, perhaps.”

“Lovely,” you muttered.

“I should not relish its reacquaintance,” Raphael continued. “Let’s leave it at that.” He turned to you with piqued interest. “You have it in you to author a thrilling finale, if…”

“If?” You took a sideways step towards Astarion who instinctively placed his hand on your lower back.

Raphael’s face took on a scowl. “If you heed this warning: Do not underestimate this opponent. At best you will have the blink of an eye to strike.” 

You looked to Astarion who swept a soothing thumb back and forth along the base of your spine.

Raphael’s voice was dripping with venom when he spoke. “Strike first. Strike true. Defy the odds, for they are distinctly in its favor.” He took a breath to settle himself. “That much I owe the bastard orthon to concede.” 

“Okay,” you said cautiously. “And I assume this is about that favor-?”

He laughed and regained his leading-actor-giving-a-monologue stance. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your tale, Astarion.”

“It would be surprising if you did,” Astarion said flatly, “considering I only told you about it an hour ago.”

Raphael laughed again, an uproarious, overly dramatic guffaw. “When the beast is dead, I’ll consider that payment enough to translate the scars on your back.”

Astarion nodded his head towards the devil. “A fairer deal than I expected.”

“You wound me, spawn,” Raphael said, not the least bit insulted. “I always deal fairly. And we’ll close this particular deal soon enough - vanquish the beast, and all will be revealed.”

“As great as that sounds,” you said in mock sincerity, “where do we find this beast of yours? You can’t just lead us into the middle of nowhere, give us a task, and expect us to follow through with no other direction! Our friends needed our help back there!” You thrust your arms to your right, over towards the moon shield protecting the inn.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Raphael assured, though it didn’t help you to feel better at all. “But you do raise a fair point. That little Sharran of yours will want to see this place. And I know a shortcut.” “What kind of-”

Before Astarion could finish his sentence, Raphael snapped his fingers again, causing everything to go black once more.

When you were met with the familiar white shock of pain from earlier, you realized Raphael had transported you somewhere new.

“That is not a pleasant feeling,” you said, wiping down your armor to rid yourself of any sulphuric residue. 

“No it is not,” Astarion agreed, standing up straight and running a hand through his hair. “Where the devil are we now?”

“Nice one,” you smirked while looking around.

It seemed that now you were in a temple of some sort, completely made up of purple, gray, and gold marble - stone pillars and staircases and columns sprang up in well calculated spaces, and judging by the atmosphere and the view out into the temple, it appeared that you were now inside the mountain that Raphael had met you outside of. Purple light surrounded you from lit braziers that littered the corners, and multiple large doors gave off an eerie, unwelcoming aura.

“Sharran, for sure,” Astarion wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

“Look at all the bodies,” you said quietly, observing several skeletons scattered around the staircases. “Do you think they were the Dark Justiciars Jaheira mentioned?”

Astarion approached one and kicked its helmet, which let out a dull thud. “They seem pretty dead to me.”

“Hmm…” You looked around, searching for any sign of this devil Raphael had mentioned. “Do you really think Raphael will keep his word if we kill this orthon?”

Astarion stiffened. “I’d trust a devil over a vampire any day.” 

“That doesn’t bode well for me,” you joked.

He chuckled. “I think he likes us.”

“Do you think he loves-”

“Don’t start,” Astarion snapped with minimal bite.

You laughed. “Unfortunately he can be pretty entertaining. But I’d never say that to his smarmy face.”

“He is rather smarmy, isn’t he?” Astarion smiled. “Perhaps if we kill this orthon extra bloody, he’ll invite us for tea and brandy back in his House.”

“An invitation I eagerly await,” you said in your snootiest voice and mimed holding a tea cup on a saucer. 

Astarion mimicked your snootiness and the two of you “clinked” your imaginary cups together while laughing airily.

“Wait,” you paused in walking along the corridor, suddenly catching a glint of red on the floor. 

Astarion halted at your side. “What?” 

You pointed at the ground. “You tell me, vampire.”

The vampire in question pursed his lips. “I’ve said before that I’m not some bloodhound,” he argued. He took a deep inhale and sagged. “But yes, that is blood.”

“Any idea how fresh?”

He considered. “Not very fresh, but not completely stale either.”

“Well,” you said, wrapping your arm around his bicep, “where there is blood, there are monsters.”

Astarion humphed as you both walked forward, following the tiny speckled trail of blood towards a set of stairs. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Noooo,” you said, reassuringly nuzzling your head against his shoulder, “you’re too full of love to be a monster.”

Astarion shoved you away and you laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“We are going to talk,” you said firmly, but not unkindly. “I have things to say to you, too.”

Astarion hunched over dramatically. “Blech. Put me out of my misery first.” 

“Not happening,” you said, approaching him again and lacing your fingers through his. 

He tried to hide it, but you saw the flicked of a smile on his face. 

A sudden flash of black at the bottom of the stairs caught your attention.

A displacer beast.

You and Astarion froze on the stairs, and for a moment, the three of you were locked in an intense stare down. 

Then, she bolted down the hall to the left.

“Hey!” you shouted, detaching yourself from Astarion and jumping off of the stairs. “Come back!”

“Darling!” you heard Astarion shout behind you. “What are you doing?! Be careful!”

The pair of you rushed down another set of steps before following the beast into a chamber to your right. 

“What the hells has been happening here?” you asked, pausing briefly in the doorway, then walking forward cautiously and observing multiple dead bodies and piles of gore.

Astarion exhaled heavily. “So much blood…” He looked up suddenly, his hands hovering over his knives. “Something’s wrong.”

“Here in the death room?” you teased, looking around for the displacer beast, but not seeing her. “You’re sharp.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh ha ha, very funny. Just be on your guard.”

A low growl caught your attention as the displacer beast appeared again on a shattered dais in front of you. 

You strummed a low tune on your lute, casting Speak with Animals. 

“Quiet, darling,” Astarion warned softly. “This could be a trap.”

“Hi there,” you whispered to the displacer beast, as if that would shield you from a trap. “Would you perhaps know where we could find-”

“What’s this?” A deep voice echoed through the chamber as a giant figure seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Fresh entertainment?”

The figure, who you assumed was the orthon, was massive. His head bore jagged, razor sharp horns, and his body was adorned with armor, some of which, you realized with horror, was made of bones. To make matters worse, he had a giant crossbow trained on you. You saw Astarion take a shocked step backwards out of the corner of your eye before he lowered himself into a ready stance. 

“Oh, really good job getting his attention,” Astarion shot at you bitterly.

“But you’re too fresh for this place, aren’t you?” The orthon looked between you and Astarion, before his eyes rested on Astarion. “A dark-dweller, you may be, but there’s a definite whiff of the surface to you.” 

Astarion said nothing and carefully sidestepped his way over to you, standing in front of you and attempting to shield you with his body.

“We could try talking?” you suggested to the vampire. “Maybe we can get out of this without a fight?”

“A new arrival then,” the orthon continued, clearly not perceiving you or Astarion to be any sort of threat. “You burrowed too deep, little rabbits.”

Astarion meanwhile, was still taking in your surroundings. He nudged you with his elbow and gestured for you to look up.

Figures in golden masks looked down at you, all aiming weapons and preparing to shoot if either of you made the wrong move.

You cleared your throat and looked back at the orthon. “Allow us to hop to it,” you said calmly. “We’re just here to talk. Put that thing down-”

“I don’t talk to prey!” The orthon roared. “I-” He paused and Astarion hovered his hands above his daggers again. “There’s something else, almost hidden by your fear-stink.” 

You discretely tried to smell yourself, but Astarion leaned back to whisper, “You don’t actually stink, darling.”

“Right,” you responded quietly.

“Cherries,” the orthon sniffed, “musk… and sulphur.”

“Oh, that,” you said, trying to wipe Raphael’s stench off of your armor.

The orthon exhaled steam from his nostrils. “Raphael! I can smell him all over you! Where is he?! Spit it out! Now!”

Overhead, the masked figures loudly made it known that their weapons were loaded and pointing down at you and Astarion. The displacer beast snarled and paced impatiently upon the dais. 

“What are you doing?” Astarion asked you through the side of his mouth. “The devil told us to kill this thing, so let’s stop chatting and kill it!”

The displacer beast growled and shouted to the orthon: “Master! They’ve been sent here by the perfumed swindler to kill you!” She leaped forward off the dais and began circling around you and Astarion, her teeth bared and her tails flicking impatiently.

“Did he, now,” the orthon chuckled. “Many have tried to fell the mighty Yurgir, but none have succeeded.” 

“What?” Astarion asked frantically. “What did the beast say to him?”

You rolled your eyes. “She tattled on us, basically.”

Astarion pulled his daggers from their sheaths. “Wretched thing!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you said, stilling Astarion’s hands, and stepping in front of him so you were closer to Yurgir. “Mr. Yurgir, sir, perhaps we can help each other?”

The displacer beast snorted. “The pretty one has pulled out his meager weapons. It’s clear they are here with intent to harm.”

“Not true!” you said quickly, noting the confusion in Astarion’s expression at having not understood the beast. You strummed a quick Speak with Animals for him so you wouldn’t need to continue to translate. 

Yurgir chuckled again, amused with your distressed display. “Bargaining, are you? A Kara-Tur warlord once tried the same - I made him watch as I ate his concubines and young, then fashioned a codpiece from his skull.”

“Charming,” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“Silence!” The displacer beast lunged at Astarion, who sidestepped her and prepared to attack her with his daggers. 

“Don’t!” you pleaded, preparing to cast a spell with your lute. The air in the chamber tensed significantly.

“Nessa,” Yrugir addressed the displacer beast calmly. He nodded to her and she begrudgingly took a step back from Astarion, who straightened a little and kept an eye on both you and the beast. 

Yurgir sighed, all the while, his crossbow was still trained on you and Astarion. 

“You can’t help. It’s not just walls that keep me here. Not the traps, the dark creatures it hides. Something stronger holds me. A contract.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. “Figures a meathead like you would get trapped in an agreement with a devil.”

A growl came from the back of Yurgir’s throat. “My patience grows thin with you,” he narrowed his eyes at Astarion who met his gaze unwaveringly. “One more snide comment and it’s lights out, pretty boy.”

Astarion chuckled. “He thinks I’m pretty.”

“Astarion,” you hissed. “Please behave.” You turned back towards Yurgir. “Can you tell me more about the contract?”

For whatever reason, perhaps intrigue, perhaps loneliness, Yurgir indulged your request. 

“Either I fulfill the contract, die trying… or forfeit my freedom. If I leave this place now, I’ll become Raphael’s slave.”

You felt Astarion prickle behind you at the mention of slavery. 

“Personally,” Astarion said angrily, “I’d prefer if you died trying.” 

Without warning, he threw a knife in Yurgir’s direction, which the orthon dodged very easily. Yurgir looked up at his masked minions and nodded.

One by one, they jumped to the ground pointing their weapons at Astarion. Nessa pounced and pinned him to the bloodied marble floor beneath you.

“Wait!” you shouted as Nessa unhinged her jaw to snap in Astarion’s face. You cleared your throat. “Diabolic deals of legend always have loopholes! We just need to find it!”

Astarion struggled beneath Nessa. “Get off of me!” He pushed against her massive head, but she overpowered him with her paws on his shoulders and slashed across his face, causing him to yell out in pain.

Your whole body tensed. “Astarion, stop moving!” 

“Listen to your mate,” Nessa growled. 

“She’s not-”

“Oh please,” Nessa said, annoyed. “You two reek of each other. It’s as if you were attempting to make pups mere moments ago.”

Astarion scoffed but stopped struggling. You cast a quiet Healing Word and the wound on his cheek vanished.

Yurgir lowered his weapon. “Is he done being a pest?”

You laughed nervously. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” you murmured.

Yurgir lowered the weapon marginally, suddenly more comfortable, now that the problem child was pinned to the floor. “Raphael is no foolish story devil. His mind is different. Sneaky. Listen…”

The orthon closed his eyes, trying to remember the terms of his contract. Then, to your surprise, he started to sing.

“Spill all the blood sworn to the night. Silence all prayers; smother each rite.”

Raphael made Yurgir’s contract… a song?

“Wander Shar’s halls; hungry to slay; Leave no Justiciar alive to obey.”

Your fingers twitched on the neck of your lute, eager to accompany him, but not wanting to push your luck. At least now you knew what happened to the Justiciars. You didn’t plan on joining them any time soon.

“Leave none to hear it, then be set free; This song is your oath, swear, swear it to me.”

Yurgir finished his melancholy melody with an anguished sigh, clear that this contract had been his curse for far too long. 

There was something about this song that differed from the ones you’d studied in the past… Something about the final couplet. 

“So he’s the one who slaughtered the justiciars,” Astarion angled his head to look up at you. 

You met his eye and saw his hand flick twitch at his side. One of his concealed daggers glinted in the dim light. Shaking your head minutely, Astarion smirked and pulled the dagger, plunging it into Nessa’s side. She shrieked in pain and staggered to the side, allowing Astarion to spring to his feet.

“What are you doing?!” Your eyes widened in fear.

Astarion gestured at Yurgir as the masked minions closed in on both of you. “Can we kill him now?” He lowered his voice, “Because if he doesn’t die, then Raphael won’t tell me a damn thing about my scars!”

“Would you-”

Suddenly, you felt a slash across your back as one of Yurgir’s minions grazed your torso with their axe. You gasped in pain, staggering forward into Astarion’s arms. He shouted your name, cradling you to his chest and bringing you to a kneel on the ground.

“I’m okay,” you winced. “He slashed me, but it’s not deep.”

Astarion searched your face to make sure you were telling the truth. When he was satisfied by your expression, he released you gently, then got up and approached Nessa. He pulled his dagger from her side and threw it into the gut of the minion who’d slashed you. He went down with a harsh thud.

“How dare you attack her!” he shouted. “If you have a problem with anyone, come after me!”

“Wonderful idea,” Yurgir hissed, before nodding to his minions. 

In a blur of gold and black, the minions and Nessa jumped at Astarion, knocking him to the ground and making him disappear from your line of sight as they surrounded him and began taking hits.

“STOP!” you bellowed, running at them and banging one of the minions in the back of his metal head. He turned and swung his axe at you, just missing. Astarion shrieked from within the wall of enemies.

Yurgir’s face remained impassive as you turned to look at him.

“Tell them to stop!”

Yurgir laughed humorlessly. “You two were sent here to kill me. He seems dumb enough to try and follow through. He must die instead.”

Your fists clenched at your side in a mix of fear, frustration, and anger.

Astarion was acting reckless, and you had a feeling it had something to do with his accidental confession from earlier. So help you gods, you were going to give him a stern talking to once you got him out of this mess.

“Darling!” he yelled. “A little help!”

You heard his knife plunge into the side of a minion, who fell to the marble floor beside you.

Taking a deep breath, you stood your ground. You knew better than to attack Yurgir by yourself. And his minions greatly outnumbered you. 

If only Raphael had poofed you here with your entire party. 

“DARLING!” Astarion shrieked.

“OKAY!” you shouted back, searching your mind to find a solution. 

If you attacked to help Astarion, chances were, you’d both be killed without a second thought and Yurgir would move on with his lonely existence. You almost felt bad for him. No, it would be better if you refrained from attacking and went about this from a different angle.

Perhaps distracting Yurgir from his loneliness was the way to go. You were rather gifted in the art of persuasion.

“The contract is a song! If you want, I could try and help you figure it out!” You strummed your lute for good measure, subtly sending a Healing Word Astarion’s way, along with some Bardic Inspiration. 

Yurgir rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to make it pretty - I want to silence it.” 

Astarion yelped in pain and shouted your name. You heard Nessa growl.

Yurgir trained his crossbow on you once more. “Enough prattle,” he said. “The lyrics are clear: all who hear the song must die. And now, you must die.”

The unmistakable sound of an axe connecting with flesh reached your ears and you heard Astarion cough and wheeze loudly. Your entire body tensed and you unconsciously reached for the scar on your torso.

“Wait!” you exclaimed, tossing your lute strap around so that it rested at your back and holding your hands in front of you to show you weren’t holding any weapons. “Raphael’s a sly lyricist - he tricked you!”

Yurgir raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true!” You turned and gestured to the masked minions gathered around Astarion. “Your followers heard your song and still live!”

Yurgir lowered his crossbow again. “The merregons? They barely have a thought to share among themselves…”

The merregons, as Yurgir called them, paused in their attacks on the prone vampire and turned to face the orthon, their vacant masked eyes staring at him blankly. 

“But they do have ears…” Yurgir muttered.

You moved ever so slightly closer to Astarion, who lay bloodied on the ground, covering his face with his hands, his breaths ragged. Multiple daggers were plunged into the limbs of various merregons as well as in Nessa, who had paused her attacks as well to watch whatever was about to happen. You fell to your knees and laid your hands on Astarion’s wounds, channeling all your magic into Cure Wounds. You prayed to whatever gods were listening that this plan of yours would work. 

Yurgir narrowed his eyes at his minions. “Kill yourselves,” he commanded. “Back to the hells with you.”

Without argument, the merregons turned to each other and swung their battle axes, striking fatal blows on one another. You slung your arms behind Astarion’s back, lifting him up and cradling him to your chest, using your body as a shield from flying viscera and debris. His eyes were wide with shock and pain, and you bumped his nose with yours to bring his focus to you. His eyes softened and you used the distraction of the merregon carnage to heal him some more.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, kissing just below his ear. 

Astarion nodded slightly.

By now, it seemed that each golden minion was dead on the ground surrounding you both. Nessa watched the two of you closely, anger and confusion overtaking her senses. 

“Can I put you back down?” you whispered to Astarion. “We’ve still got company.” You nodded your head towards the orthon and the displacer beast.

Again, Astarion nodded slightly, keeping himself seated upright as you rose to stand. 

Yurgir clutched at his head, his eyes shut tight in frustration. 

“I still hear it,” he groaned. “Seems your theory is wrong.”

With a flick of his head in Nessa’s direction, she pounced at Astarion again. This time however, Astarion was able to roll out of her way and stood beside you, brandishing a pair of daggers he pulled from the dead merregons.

“That’s because you’re not finished yet!” you said quickly, grabbing Astarion’s wrist to stop him from attacking Nessa. 

You eyed the creature menacingly stalking around you and Astarion. The purple sheen of her coat was stained with red. Very likely caused by the blood of the man standing next to you.

The man you loved.

She had to die.

“The displacer can hear you, can’t she?” You squeezed Astarion’s wrist. 

Yurgir looked at Nessa, and you saw the dots connecting in his head.

“Kill her,” you instructed. 

The orthon’s eyes grew sad. “...Kill Nessa?”

Nessa herself straightened and looked at Yurgir with a mix of surprise and deep heartbreak. “Master…?”

Yurgir raised his crossbow. His words were soft: “Stay very still, my beauty.”

With that, he shot Nessa with a deadly arrow, piercing through her side and killing her instantly. You felt the warm spray of her blood splatter across your face and Astarion pulled you closer. 

“Ugh!” Yurgir groaned, clutching at his head again. “I still hear it!” 

With one final squeeze of Astarion’s wrist, you released him and took a step forward.

“Darling,” he reached out after you but you stopped him.

“I’ll be alright, my love.” You winked at him. “I promise.”

He dropped his hand to his side and nodded wordlessly.

You then drew yourself up into a confident posture, similar to how you would perform for crowds back in Baldur’s Gate. 

“My dear hunter,” you said, “isn’t it obvious?” 

A beat of silence passed before Yurgir answered you. “No?”

“Yes, no, darling,” Astarion whispered with a tinge of desperation and confusion. “What are you doing?” 

“Shh,” you hissed at him before turning back to Yurgir. “You must kill yourself. Then you’ll be free.”

“Ohhh,” Astarion breathed, before projecting his voice for Yurgir to hear. “She’s right, you know. Raphael is a tricky bastard, this is exactly the kind of thing he’d never think you’d be able to parse from his insufferable lyrics.”

Yurgir growled. “ENOUGH! I’ve heard enough from you!” He pointed his crossbow at Astarion.

Astarion raised his eyebrows and held up his hands. “Right.” 

Yurgir turned to you, his expression plainly showing that he was at war with himself and your words. He exhaled, steam releasing from his nostrils.

“If you’re wrong about this,” he snarled, “I’ll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive - contract be damned.”

“Trust me,” you said, “music and lyrics are kind of my thing. I believe this will solve your problem.”

Yurgir furrowed his eyebrows, once again considering your words, before he tossed his crossbow aside and pulled a gigantic greatsword off of his back.

“Nicely played, Raphael,” he said, knowing that Raphael was probably listening to this entire interaction from somewhere below. “Bastard.”

Without a moment of hesitation to talk himself out of it, Yurgir plunged the sword through his chest, grunting out in pain before the light drained from his eyes. He fell to his knees, then tipped forward, over the edge of the platform he’d been standing on, and landed with a gigantic thud in front of you and Astarion.

Dead.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding and slumped forward, putting one hand on your knees, and another over your heart, willing your pulse to slow.

Astarion took a step forward to examine the orthon, not entirely convinced that the devil was well and truly dead. 

When it seemed Yurgir wasn’t getting back up, Astarion spoke. “Does… Does that count as us killing him? That had better count.”

You laughed in disbelief at your accomplishment. “I don’t think it matters, so long as he’s dead.” You walked forward to stand at Astarion’s side. “And he seems to be dead. Aren’t you pleased?”

He was looking at you fondly, but you watched as Astarion put his mask back in place, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “The orthon is nothing,” he said pompously. I’ll have my satisfaction when Raphael makes good on his word.”

You rolled your eyes. Idiot.

“Repeat after me,” you said, wiping some wayward blood off his cheekbone, “‘Thank you for helping me, it was very kind.’”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s eyes widened. “Hrmm,” he whined and looked away. When he met your eye again, he sighed. “Thank you for helping me. It was very kind.” 

You could tell the words pained him tremendously.

“You’re welcome,” you said cheerily before heading back out the way you came. 

You heard Astarion hot on your heels, knowing he’d follow you.

“Darling, wait- ah!” He groaned out in pain and you immediately halted and turned to look at him.

He was doubled over and sank to his knees, clutching his side.

“Astarion!” you cried, rushing over to him and kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong? Did I miss a wound? Where are you hurt?”

He pulled his hand away from his side, revealing a tiny pool of blood in his palm.

“Blasted displacer beast must have nicked me when I wasn’t looking.” He smirked at you, clearly trying to disway your worry. 

You furrowed your brow and summoned the strongest Cure Wounds you could muster. “Hold still,” you said gently. 

The aqua healing magic that emitted from your fingertips created a soothing light that warmed both you and Astarion as it worked on fixing the wound. 

“How did you know that would work?” Astarion asked quietly.

You looked up at his face and found him watching your hands. You smiled. “Which thing? My impressive healing magic? Or way with words?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “You know I was referring to the orthon.”

“I didn’t,” you shrugged, moving your hands to heal his side from a different angle. “Didn’t know talking would work, I mean. But I had to try something rather than let both of us die in this gross, decrepit temple to Shar.”

Astarion chuckled. “Don’t let Shadowheart hear you say that.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you said. “Speaking of Shadowheart, I hope she and the others are alright.”

The vampire thought about it for a moment. “They’re probably fine. And if they’re not, I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to save the day.”

“And you won’t lift a finger, right?”

“Not if I can help it.”

You laughed. “Come on,” you said, standing up and offering Astarion a hand, “we should set up camp for the night.”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion raised an eyebrow,”you want to stay down here?”

“Not especially,” you admitted, emerging through the doorway you’d followed Nessa through. “But unless you see Raphael or a waypoint, it’ll be a little hard to get back to the inn right now. And I spent all my magic just now saving your ass from some mindless monsters.”

“Ah,” Astarion said quietly, with less sarcasm than you’d expect. “Yes, you did do that, didn’t you?”

You paused and looked over at him. “Do you want to talk now?”

He laughed softly. “Give me a moment, it’s still fresh.”

You smiled. “Take your time, my love.”

Without speaking further, the two of you made your way through Shar’s temple, attempting to find a suitable place to rest for the night. Sure, you’d only awoken a few hours ago, but talking an orthon and his minions into killing themselves wasn’t exactly an easy task. You felt completely drained, especially after channeling all your magic into healing Astarion.

Upon finding a suitable place to unwind - a grand, abandoned hall with minimal leaks, dead bodies, and foul odors - you slung your backpack off your shoulders, grateful you’d thought to put it on this morning.

Astarion, who’d just finished surveying the room, bit his lip. “Let me help you with that,” he said, coming over to help you unpack your extra camping supplies. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, watching as he pulled out a bedroll that the two of you would likely have to share tonight. 

“Of course, love,” he said absently, before his eyes widened and he looked at you. 

You gave him a gentle half smile and kissed his cheek. 

After a few minutes, your little party of two had a modest fire going in a brazier that Astarion had dragged over to your makeshift camping area, along with a stew heating up, thanks to supplies Gale had lent you for occasions like this when he wasn’t around. You swept your hand over the bedroll, flattening lumps and rearranging pillows to make it as comfortable as possible on the hard marble floor. 

Astarion watched you from a tiny set of stairs not too far off, balancing the tip of a blade on his finger. He, like you, had stripped off his bloody armor and was now lounging in only his plain clothes, which were stained with dried blood from where Nessa and the merregons had pierced through his armor. 

“Enjoying the show?” you asked, very aware that you weren’t being sexy, and were merely fluffing a pillow. 

Astarion didn’t respond and kept staring at you, unblinking. 

“Hello?” you asked, snapping your fingers in his direction. “Anybody home?”

He started, as if coming out of a trance, causing his dagger to fall and slice his fingertip. “Bugger!” he exclaimed, shoving the digit into his mouth.

You clicked your tongue. “Come here,” you said, motioning for him to approach you.

He got up slowly, walking over to you and kneeling on the bedroll.

“Let me see,” you instructed, holding out your hand for him to show you the cut. 

It was a tiny little thing, right at the tip of his right index finger. The bleeding had already ceased. 

“Yikes,” you said dramatically. “Not sure you’ll survive this one.” You smiled and reached into your bag, opting for a bandage instead of attempting another healing spell. 

Before wrapping the wound, however, you brought it to your mouth for a kiss, letting out an overly exaggerated “MWAH!” when your lips made contact.

“Better?” you asked, fastening the bandage in place.

Astarion nodded. “Much.”

“I have a fresh shirt, if you want,” you told him, pulling out one of his shirts that he’d let you keep from your backpack. “All that blood can’t be comfortable.”

“Speak for yourself,” Astarion joked, taking the shirt from your hands and lifting his soiled one over his head. 

Though he was facing you, you couldn’t help thinking about the scars on his back.

“Listen,” you said as his head popped out of the collar of the fresh shirt, “even if Raphael doesn’t have the answers you want, I promise we’ll make Cazador pay for what he did to you.”

A wicked grin came over Astarion’s face. “Oh, I-” He stopped himself. You watched as he grew visibly shy. “Um… Darling, do you have a moment?” When you raised an eyebrow, indicating you were listening, he looked down at his hands. “I think we need to talk.”

You inhaled sharply. 

Oh.

This was it.

The moment you’d been waiting for.

“I’d like that,” you brushed your fingers along his cheek.

His eyes grew wide and vulnerable, and he took your hand in his. “Look, I-”

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this… charming plane of existence?”

Both you and Astarion deflated.

“Perfect timing as always, Raphael.” You stood to face the devil and Astarion rose to join you.

“I’m nothing if not punctual,” Raphael smirked with a deep bow in your direction.

“Get on with it,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “We were in the middle of something.”

Raphael lifted his head. “My apologies to the flittering lovebirds.” 

You sighed. “No, we don’t know what happens when a devil dies.”

The devil before you chuckled. “It returns to the hells - to the very point where it last stood before venturing to whichever devilforsaken plane it died on.”

“Your point?” Astarion asked impatiently.

Raphael looked between the two of you, observing the blood still speckled across Astarion’s face. “In the case of our friend Yurgir, he manifested in my House of Hope. He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him, but he has his uses so instead I am reeducating him.”

You groaned. “Come on, Raphael, we had a deal.”

Astarion placed his hands on his hips. “We delivered the devil. Now I want what I’m owed.”

Raphael exhaled an amused breath. “We did indeed have a deal. I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours.” He chuckled unsettlingly. “It’s a rather grim tale, even for my tastes.”

Astarion stiffened beside you, and you sidestepped to be closer to him. You took his right hand in both of yours and held on tight.

“Stop stalling,” you said firmly. “Astarion deserves to know whatever it is you found out.”

Raphael watched your hands before his eyes found your face. “As you wish.” He then turned to Astarion, who was staring at him with carefully masked fear. “Brace yourself, Astarion - we’re about to unveil your destiny.”

You squeezed Astarion’s hand. 

“Carved into that ivory skin of yours is one part of a contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles, and your former master, Cazador Szarr.” 

Astarion’s eyebrows furrowed in disgust at the name. 

Raphael continued. “In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted the knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile, it has never been performed.”

Astarion sighed. “Sounds like Cazador.”

Raphael raised his voice. “It is called, ‘The Rite of Profane Ascension.’”

You narrowed your eyes. “And what does that entail?”

The devil once again took up his favored performing stance. “Oh, it promises to be a marvellous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.”

Astarion hummed in displeasure.

Raphael smiled at him. “You’ll like this, little vampling. If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant.”

Your vampire took a curious step forward, and you followed him, still gripping his hand. “Explain,” he said adamantly. 

“All the strengths of his vampire form will be amplified,” Raphael clarified, “and alongside them, he will enjoy the luxuries of living.”

You couldn’t help letting out a tiny gasp. Astarion looked helplessly at you before turning his attention back to Raphael, who was still speaking.

“The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.”

“Incredible,” Astarion breathed.

You nodded. If there was a way to let Astarion walk in the sun forever, you wanted to hear more about it.

Raphael smirked, seeing how his delicious words had drawn both of you in.

“But,” he warned, “the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do.”

“What is it?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Raphael placed a hand on his hip. “Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, if he is to ascend.”

“No,” you murmured, your voice full of disbelief. You pulled yourself closer to Astarion. 

“Imagine how he felt, then,” Raphael said, “when one of those precious spawn disappeared into thin air.”

This time, Astarion squeezed your hand. 

“The only missing ingredient is Astarion.” Raphael smiled at him, devilishly, for lack of a better term. 

Astarion scowled at the devil, but allowed him to continue.

“You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual - your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”

“I won’t let that happen,” you said, more to yourself than either of the men currently in your presence. 

Raphael smiled once more, taking on his performer’s stance one final time. “And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that.” He bowed deeply, before rising and giving you both a nasty look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.”

Before you could ask any followup questions, Raphael snapped his fingers and disappeared in a cloud of foul smelling black smoke and embers.

Astarion stood still for a moment before turning to face you, his eyes focused on where your hands were joined. 

“Hmm,” he hummed softly. 

You blinked at him. “‘Hmm?’ That’s all you have to say?”

He met your eye. “I was… contemplating. There’s a lot to take in.” Astarion laid his free hand on top of one of yours. 

“Hey,” you said, bringing one of your hands up to his cheek. “It’ll be alright.”

He looked incredibly sad. “What do you think I should do?” 

You considered for a moment. The thought of Astarion being able to walk in the sun definitely had its appeal… but the cost was far too great and you doubted you’d be able to live with yourself if Astarion was somehow able to follow through and sacrifice innumerable souls for something that may have a cure elsewhere in Faerûn. It also sent a shiver down your spine to think of what Cazador might do with all that power. You were so immensely grateful that the mind flayers had kidnapped you and Astarion and dropped you into each other’s arms.

“We can’t let Cazador complete the ritual,” you said finally. “He could unleash terrible horrors.”

Astarion chuckled humorlessly. “The end of my life amongst them.” He exhaled slowly and nuzzled into your hand on his cheek. “Just when I was starting to enjoy it.” He took your palm and kissed it, before his eyes settled on some unseen object in the distance. “He’ll never leave me alone,” he continued. “I didn’t think he would when I was one more wretched toy for him to play with. But if I’m the key to this power he craves, he’ll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn.”

“What do you want to do?” you asked calmly, squeezing his hand once more. 

He sighed, the slightest smile playing on his lips, his eyes incredibly soft as they bore into your own. Then his brow knit together. “I need to take the fight to him.” He stepped closer to you, brushing some hair behind your ear. “And I need you… to help me.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” you said almost immediately. You smiled, your voice taking on a half teasing, half serious tone: “We’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

You weren’t able to add anything else, because suddenly Astarion’s lips were crushed against yours, his hands tangled in your hair. You let out a surprised yelp before meeting his tempo with equal passion and desperation. 

He murmured something against your lips.

You pushed lightly against his chest, laughing. “What?”

“I want to live,” he repeated, seemingly out of breath. 

“Of course you want to live, you’re alive,” you smiled up at him, running a hand through his hair. “In all the ways that matter, I mean.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him, clearly trying to be suggestive.

He rolled his eyes. “No, you insufferable woman, I’m referring to something Shadowheart said.”

You wracked your brain, trying to remember a time when Shadowheart had expressed wanting to live to either you or Astarion. Not that she was having trouble on that front. But nothing came to mind.

“When did she say that?”

Astarion led you over to the bedroll laid out next to the still burning brazier. He pulled you to sit down across from him. 

“While you were dying,” he said softly, refusing to look at you. “Or, while you were sleeping, I suppose, since you’re still with us.”

“Okay, so while I was dying, Shadowheart was reflecting on how unlucky I was and how she wanted to continue living?”

Astarion flicked your nose.

“Ow!” you laughed, rubbing the appendage. 

“This is it,” he said flatly. “I’m trying to have the conversation.”

Your eyes widened. “Okay,” you said, trying to reel in what you were sure was a stupid giddy grin on your face.

“Look,” he tried again, taking your hands in his. “I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.”

“I don’t think this is accomplishing what you want it to,” you said, tilting your head questioningly.

“No, you’re right.” He looked up as if asking the gods for help. “I thought it would be easy. Instinctive. I thought that habits from two hundred years of charming people would kick in. And while they did work swimmingly,” his expression melted into one of easy seduction that made you laugh lightly, “you ended up charming me. Much to my dismay.”

“Aw shucks.”

He said your name, his tone laced with annoyance. “Honestly, darling. Could you withhold your snarky comments while I try and get this out?”

You mimed locking your mouth with a key.

Then you unlocked it. 

“Sorry.”

And relocked it.

Astarion sighed and scooched forward, the tops of his knees making contact with your own. “You really aren’t making this easy for me.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly along the back of your hand, despite his complaints. 

You shrunk back a little into your shoulders, smiling sheepishly at him.

He chuckled. “While you so graciously nearly died on all of us, Shadowheart decided it was a good time to talk to me about my, blech, feelings.”

“Brave.”

“Darling.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, it was then that Shadowheart told me that I was ready to see the world burn before I saw you get hurt. And she was right. If anything had happened to you that couldn’t be undone, I don’t think I could have come back from that.”

You smiled at him, feeling your insides go all mushy with adoration.

Astarion fidgeted with your hands in his. “She also said something I wasn’t expecting.”

He paused briefly, almost as if willing you to interrupt him again and distract him from what he felt so vulnerable saying. 

“Go on,” was all you offered.

He exhaled.

“She told me that I was allowed to love you.”

You bit your lip and felt your eyes go misty. 

Of course he was allowed! After two hundred years of torture and isolation, the man before you deserved nothing more than to feel love and be loved in return. The fact that he’d been holding himself back from his own happiness and comfort made your heart ache a little.

You allowed him to continue on his own. 

“She said that heartbreak is a part of life. And while I’ve known far more heartbreak than any one person should ever experience in multiple lifetimes, she’s right.”

He looked at you earnestly in the eye, shyness playing at his features.

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to live.”

You squeezed his hands a little nervously, ignoring the way your palms were clammy against his cool ones.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you deserve to be loved. Just as you’ve shown love to me.”

He leaned in close, resting his forehead softly against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. Then added, “You atrocious woman.”

You laughed, a tear running down your cheek. “I love you, too, you beautiful, wonderful, terrible man.”

You threw your arms around his neck and pinned him to the bedroll, nuzzling your face into his neck, taking in his scent and letting all of him wash over your senses. You didn’t want to forget a single moment of this. 

“You do?” he asked softly, staring up at the ceiling above you blankly. 

You sat up on your elbows and looked down at him. “What about anything I’ve said and done in the past few weeks has made you think that I wasn’t already head over heels in love with you?”

Astarion’s face broke out into a massively giddy grin. He held a hand to his forehead and laughed in disbelief. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “You get so used to being alone that it starts to feel like that’s all you’ll ever be. I scarcely thought I’d find a bard on a dilapidated beach foolish enough to want to know me and not run away screaming when she did.”

“There’s still time,” you teased.

“Ha ha,” he rolled his eyes affectionately. 

Now it was your turn to rub your thumb along the back of his hand. “If I recall correctly, you just said I’ve shown love to you - If I made it that obvious, why are you still doubting how I feel?”

He sighed for what must have been the tenth time this evening. “It’s only that you could be with anyone at camp and you’re choosing to love me? The one who eats rats and bugs and kills people for pleasure?”

You kissed his cheek, down to the side of his mouth. “You’re also the silliest, sexiest, most remarkable man I’ve ever met. And I seem to remember saying the same thing to you back when we first slept together. That you could have anyone, but you’d chosen me. Why can’t I choose you in return?”

“Because you’re…” He searched for the words. “You’re incredible. And you deserve something real. What if I can’t give you that?”

You bent forward and kissed his mouth, hard. “Where’s my suave vampire? Who is this vulnerable mess in front of me right now?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “‘Vulnerable,’ sure. ‘Mess?’ Hardly.”

“There he is,” you smiled and kissed him again.

“I mean it though,” he said between kisses. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

“This is real,” you murmured. “I love you,” you kissed his jaw, “I love you,” you kissed his throat, “Astarion,” you pulled back to look at him with eyes full of devotion, “I’m in love with you. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

He seemed dazed, watching you with half lidded eyes. He smiled like a dope. “There’s still time,” he teased. 

You laughed and kissed his mouth deeply. “You’re who I’ve dreamed of meeting since I was a little girl. Someone to see me, and laugh with me, and make me feel like I’m the only one for you.” You pushed a hand to his lips before he could make a sarcastic comment. “Yes, I know you’ve been with thousands of other people, but I haven’t. And yet, you’ve made me feel like I’m the only one who ever mattered to you.”

He smiled softly. “You are,” he confirmed. “I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you. None that I can remember at least. But as far as I know, you’re the only one who’s ever cared for me and truly meant it. Yes, you make dumb comments at the most inopportune times, you’re loud and obnoxious, your bleeding heart gets this group into far more trouble than we ever would have without you-”

“Gee, thanks.”

“-and I love every bit of it. You make me laugh, you never make me feel small or worthless for the things that have happened to me or that I’ve had to do in my past, and,” he cleared his throat, deeply embarrassed to be admitting all of this, “you bring out the best in me.”

“Aw-”

“If you say ‘aw shucks,’ I will kill you.”

“You will not.”

“I will not.”

He kissed you instead. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “I care about you. Deeply.” 

He smirked at you. “Oh, really?”

“I swear,” you whispered in his ear, “you’ll never know a lonely day again. Not as long as I’m around. I adore you. I love you.”

Astarion’s breath hitched in his throat. “You… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Get used to it,” you brushed your fingertips against the tip of his ear. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Blast!” he chuckled. “And here I thought a grand love confession from a gorgeous vampire would send you running for the hills.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” you laughed. 

He laughed again, a gentle exhale from his nose, and unwrapped your arms from his neck to hold your hands in his once again. He fidgeted with the ring on your pinky. “Honestly,” he said softly, “I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.” He raised your hands to his mouth and kissed across your knuckles. “But I know that this,” he leaned his forehead into yours and kissed the tip of your nose, “this is nice.”

“You’re nice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Actually, darling, you’ll find that I am not.”

You smiled. “Shhh, let me enjoy this brief delusion.” 

“With pleasure,” he smirked and bent forward to kiss you deeply. He placed his arms around you and lowered you so that you landed gently on the bedroll beneath you and redirected his attention to nipping and sucking around the bruises on your neck from where he’d fed the night before. 

You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his back, and rubbing your hands up and down his shirt soothingly. 

“I love you,” you whispered, still enamored by the taste of the words on your tongue.

Astarion moaned and dragged his teeth up towards your ear. “Again.”

“I love you,” you whimpered as he bit your earlobe. 

His hips gave an unconscious roll against yours and you felt him already becoming hard in his pants. You lifted your head to gain his attention and raised your eyebrows.

“Here?”

He shrugged. “We’ve done it in the dirt before, a Temple to the Goddess of Darkness is quite the step up.”

You looked around skeptically. “You don’t think she’s watching, do you?”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, what’s so special about one temple dedicated to her here out of the thousands littering Faerûn.”

You bit your lip. “But this one is surrounded by shadows.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Please, I was surrounded by shadows for two hundred years and her eyes never fell upon me specifically.”

“Or so you think.”

“Darling.”

You smiled sheepishly. “You’re probably right.”

Astarion preened. “Of course I’m right. Now please, I’ve never made love to someone before.” He leaned forward to kiss you again but you pulled back with a laugh. 

“‘Never?”

His lips were still puckered, prepared to kiss you, but he blew out a raspberry instead, blowing the curl that hung freely on his forehead away from his face. “I’ve decided I hate you, actually.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “You’re the one who told our friends you made love to me literally the morning after we first slept together.”

Astarion waved his hand dismissively through the air. “I didn’t know what I was saying.” He rolled his hips against yours again, harder now, despite his supposed hatred towards you. “Please love, it’ll be so much better now.”

You rolled your hips in tandem with his, making Astarion hang his head and hiss. “It’s been pretty good before.”

“Well, of course it has, I’m excellent. I wouldn’t let a partner suffer, it’s not in my blood.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully. “But…”

“But,” he said more soberly, “you’re the first person I actually…” He paused on the word. 

“Go on,” you encouraged. 

He met your eye. “...love.” He held your gaze for a moment before continuing. “Last night was one of the most amazing nights of my life because of how loved I felt by you and hopefully, the feeling was reciprocated.” He sent you a small smile, which you returned with an excited and over-the-top nod. “But I think that the fact that I am completely and desperately in love with you is what made it feel wonderful as opposed to… tainted.”

You pursed your lips and attempted to make him smile again. “Are you insulting my skills now?”

He laughed. “No, sweet girl, you were and are marvelous.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to something low and breathy. “And I’d like to give it another go.”

You gave him a seductive half smile. “Then give it to me, dummy.”

Astarion lunged forward, laying you flat on your back and devouring your mouth with his own. “Oh, my love,” he moaned against your lips, “you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Your heart soared at the compliment, and you chased his lips as he pulled away to look at you with sparkling ruby eyes. 

“I’ve been looking for someone like you my whole life,” you admitted when he bent to drag his fangs along your neck again. 

“I doubt that,” he chuckled, nipping lightly at your skin for good measure. “But do go on,” he urged, spurring you with a roll of his hips, “what were you looking for?”

You sighed happily and wrapped your ankle around his. “Well, I already told you I wanted someone to laugh with, that’s big.”

“We’ve never laughed together,” he licked your ear.

“Not once,” you giggled. “But, I don’t know. You’re no knight in shining armor.”

“Certainly not.”

“And you never sing with me.”

“Nor will I ever.”

“And quite honestly, you’re a little frightening.”

“Thank you, darling!” “But despite it all, you’re kind.” He scowled at your words, but softened when you kissed his nose. “You care about me and the things I care about.” You stopped him before he could argue. “And don’t disagree with me, you stole a lute for me. You fought with Rolan-”

“Who?”

“-when he was being unreasonable and wouldn’t listen to me. And you nursed me back to health when there were honestly better people at camp who were far more equipped to heal me than some vampire rogue.”

“And I did a bang up job.”

“You did,” you laughed and kissed him sweetly. “And now, I can’t imagine my life without that vampire rogue.”

He kissed you again, gently massaging his fingers through your hair and across your scalp. “Then stay with me,” he murmured.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” you responded, meeting his eye with a fierce look that conveyed your sincerity. “And longer.”

One of his hands drifted down your sides and started playing with the ties on your pants. 

“May I?” he asked. 

“Only if you return the favor.”

He smirked and pulled his shirt over his head, folding it neatly and slipping it under your head for extra support. He kissed your cheek before running his hands under your shirt and squeezing your breasts playfully. 

“Honk,” you said, thinking yourself funny.

“You’re not funny,” he said flatly, though his smile betrayed him. 

“You love me, so you have to think I’m funny.”

“Are those the rules?” 

“You’re the lawyer, you tell me.”

By now, he’d removed your bra and taken one of your nipples gently into his mouth. “Mmm-mm-mmm,” he attempted to correct, though he continued sucking the hardened pebble incoherently. 

“Lawyer, magistrate, what’s the difference?” you asked breathily.

Astarion came up for air. “I have neither the time, nor the patience to explain, but know that you are wrong, and I still love you.” He took your other breast into his mouth, biting down a little harshly, and making your back arch. 

“Whatever you say, handsome,” you sighed, rubbing at the tips of his ears and making him moan against your skin. 

“Whatever I say, huh?” He looked up at you mischievously. 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s an expression.”

“You’ll let me have you tonight,” he said, resting his cheek on your breast like a pillow.

You stroked your hands through his hair. “A given.”

“You’ll let me drink from you,” he added, before tacking on a sheepish “please.”

“Of course, my love.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brows furrowing in thought. “And,” he said, looking back at you with a shy expression, “and you won’t leave me, once this is all over.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, Astarion,” you cupped his cheek. “No. No sweet boy, I won’t ever leave you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He made a whining sound from the back of his throat. “You say that now, but what if we can’t beat Cazador? What if I return to his thrall?”

“We won’t let that happen,” you reassured. “Believe me, that fucker was dead the moment I met you. Not a chance he survives this.”

Astarion let out an amused exhale. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, my love, but Cazador will not be easy to kill. Especially now that we know about his dastardly ritual.”

You moved your hands from his hair to start rubbing soothingly up and down his back. “You are the missing piece, Astarion. He can’t come into his power unless you’re there. And with all of us at your side, we won’t let him take you.”

Astarion looked up at you skeptically, but saw how determined you looked and softened, pressing his lips to the swell of your breast. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, resting his cheek back against your skin. 

“I fear the mention of your former slaver has dampened the mood.”

Astarion chuckled. “What gave you that idea?”

“Let’s see if I can’t help,” you said, wiggling your hips beneath his, both of you still clothed from the waist down. “Hmm…”

“Hmm…” Astarion mimicked you, idly rubbing his thumb across your right nipple. 

“Star jasmine.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Um, it’s pronounced, ‘Ah-star-ee-on.’”

You shoved him and he laughed. “No, idiot. We’ll have star jasmine growing on the side of our house.”

“Who, ‘we?’ You and me, ‘we?’”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, obviously.”

“Oh.” Astarion looked pleased. “What else?”

“We’ll live in the Upper City.”

“Staying in Baldur’s Gate, are we?”

“Shush, this is my fantasy.”

He chuckled. “Go on, then.”

“It’ll be in a nice quiet corner of the city. Exclusive to all but the finest of citizens.”

Astarion nodded, fiddling with the ends of your hair. 

“You’ll be a renowned tailor and have a shop downstairs.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, will I? And who says I won’t want to live a quiet life, ravishing my beloved all day?” He kissed your breast again and dragged his fangs along the plump flesh. 

You shivered. “We need to make money, somehow,” you said shakily. 

“And you expect me to be the breadwinner? Selfish little thing, aren’t you?” He continued dragging his fangs along your chest. 

“I’ll be performing at prestigious parties all around town,” you clarified, tightening your hands into his curls. “And you’ll get bored if you’re not terrorizing patriars. What better way than with overpriced, yet exquisite garments? I’ve seen your embroidery.” 

“Dextrous fingers and flowers made of thread does not a tailor make,” Astarion pointed out, nipping playfully at your nipple and moving his dexterous fingers to your still clothed core. “And besides,” he purred, circling your clit, “I’ll want to see my lovely little songbird in action every once in a while.”

You gasped at a particularly delicious rub of his fingers. “Two income households are quite common these days,” you argued, wanting to maintain the fantasy you were making up on the fly. 

“And who’s to say,” Astarion said, kissing just above your naval, “that we won’t become fabulously wealthy on this journey of ours?”

“Fine,” you conceded, “then we’ll live in a mansion in the countryside. Overlooking the Sword Sea.”

“Think bigger, darling,” he massaged your hips, rolling his pelvis into yours, making you aware how hard he still was. “The love of my life deserves a palace erected in her honor.”

You snorted and he pinched your sides. 

“Erected,” he repeated, seeing your eyes crinkle in mirth. “Gods you are a child,” he muttered, before kissing you fiercely. “And I love you very much. Stupidly.”

“Okay, loverboy,” you laughed, “what do you expect our future to look like?” You smoothed some of his curls behind his ears and absorbed the soft look in his eyes. 

“Hmm,” he mused, kissing your neck. “Well, I’ve lived in a rather decrepit crypt of a palace for the last two hundred years, so maybe a palace is out.”

You nodded, absentmindedly tucking your thumbs into his waistband and massaging the bare skin found beneath. “Alright, palaces are off the list.” 

“An estate, then,” he stated, kissing your bare shoulder. “Somewhere we can throw fabulous balls and gossip about the debauchery of our esteemed guests.”

“I like that,” you sighed, as he licked up your throat. “An estate with sprawling grounds, a notably vast library, and secret rooms around every shadowy corner.”

“You’ve been reading too many books, my love,” he chuckled, kissing your jawline.

“And with my notably vast library, I’ll read even more,” you said. “And you’ll read to me.”

Astarion pulled back to grin at you. “Will I?”

You nodded. “I adore your voice. It lilts like a melody.”

He laughed airly. “You flatter me.”

“I love you,” you shrugged, by way of explanation. 

“And I, you,” he smiled. Then his face fell. “Oh gods, is it going to be mushy like this all the time now?”

You laughed again and playfully smacked the side of his head. 

“I jest, love,” he chuckled, shockingly not complaining about you swatting at his curls. “I adore you. May I have you now?” His fingers slipped delicately into your own waistband.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “Please.”

In one graceful motion that you’d come to expect, Astarion removed both your pants and underthings in one go. 

He inhaled deeply. “You smell divine, my sweet.” His fingers swept through your folds, making you jolt at their sudden coolness. “And you’re nearly wet enough to take me already.”

“I like thinking about our future,” you admitted. “I like picturing you happy.”

“Blech,” Astarion stuck out his tongue in mock disgust, but began to circle your clit slowly with his thumb. “Tell someone you love them, and suddenly they picture you happy.”

You attempted to inch your hips closer to his hand. “You like being happy, admit it.”

“Never,” he growled, leaning forward to kiss you again. “But I suppose I like you.”

“I knew it,” you teased, closing your eyes with a blissed out smile as he inserted a finger into your dripping hole.

“Blue,” he said, pumping his finger into you. 

“Yellow,” you responded breathlessly. “What are we talking about?”

“I was also thinking yellow,” he smiled, as if that response made any sense. 

“Great! What are we talking about?”

“The estate, darling,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “I think blue for the sky and yellow for the sun would be quite a pleasant theme as opposed to the wretchedly dark crimsons, greens, and golds found in Cazador’s mansion.”

“Ah,” you whined as he inserted another finger. “Sounds… sounds like the winter solstice all year round.”

“Trust me, darling, there was never any joy or festivities to be had in that loathsome place.”

“Our house,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut to focus on your words, “will be full of nothing but joy.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Astarion teased, lowering himself to suck on your clit. 

You gasped loudly and thrust your hands into his hair. He lapped at your folds, never removing his fingers, and sucked viciously at your bundle of nerves. 

“We’ll hold dinner parties,” you sighed, “all the time. If only so you can flaunt our wealth.”

Astarion moaned into your core, bumping his nose against your clit as he licked you up and down. 

Your hands tightened in his hair. “We’ll wear the finest clothes, sleep in the finest bed, make love in the finest bed- ah!”

Astarion pulled you closer to his face, a possessive rumbling low in his chest. 

“I’ll hold you in my arms at night and never let you go,” you dragged your nails down his back.

“Please,” he mumbled against your sensitive skin. 

“W-want that?” you asked as he returned to sucking your clit. “We-we’ll stay in bed, ah- for as long as you like. No expectations to go a-anywhere so do anything. We’ll be f-free.”

The vampire moaned loudly, pumping his fingers extra harshly and hitting the spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. 

“Oh Astarion!” you wailed, throwing an arm over your eyes and twisting your free hand into his hair again. “I love you.”

“Then come, damn you,” he whined, squeezing your hip.

“Trying,” you laughed. “Faster.” 

He hummed an affirmation, swirling your clit around with the tip of his tongue and pumping into you harshly. 

“I can’t wait,” you said, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst, “for our future together.”

Astarion groaned against you, sucking your clit harshly and petting your hip with the hand that wasn’t currently thrusting into you. “I love you, my darling,” he said softly.

The dam broke and you were wailing his name, crying out for him to stay with you and never let you go. 

Astarion for his part, released you from his mouth and continued fingerfucking you through your climax with sweet words: “You are so beautiful, darling. My love. My beloved, so good for me. Staying with me forever. I’m never letting you go, sweet girl.”

You came down with a shuddering sigh, gasping for breath and pulling at Astarion’s shoulders to bring his mouth to yours. 

“Astarion,” you whined.

He mimicked your name in a mocking version of how you’d just whined his. “What is it?”

“I need you.”

He smirked. “A man could get used to shattering one's world, only to have them beg for more.”

“I’m not begging,” you clarified. “I want you, but only if you want me.”

Astarion’s eyes shifted from amused to adoring. He kissed you sweetly. “Oh course I want you, darling. You’re the only one I’ll ever want.”

You sighed, loving this mushy side of him. “Fuck me, then, won’t you?”

He growled, showing off his fangs playfully. “With pleasure,” he said, reaching for his pants and removing them quickly. 

His cock hit his stomach, achingly pink at the tip and weeping precum. 

“Wait,” you said, watching him take himself into his hand and gently begin to stroke himself. “Are you hungry?”

He threw you a wicked grin. “Famished, my love.”

You tilted your head, revealing your throat to him. “I’m all yours.”

He climbed on top of you, nuzzling into your neck with his beautifully sculpted nose. ”Thank you,” he said, dragging his lips across your skin before biting down at your pulse point. 

You inhaled sharply, the icy familiarity of his fangs in your throat sending a pang through your entire body, right down to your core. Unconsciously, Astarion rolled his hips against yours, bumping the head of his cock against your clit. You moaned loudly, making him grunt against your neck. 

“We’ll make love in every room of the estate,” you sighed. “On every possible surface.”

Astarion nipped your ear with a growl before returning to your blood. 

“Our guests will have no idea we fucked on the lounge in the drawing room.”

“Mmm.” 

“On the desk in the study.”

“Mmm.”

“On the very table where they dine with us.”

Astarion gave a gasping breath as he pulled away from your throat and kissed you feverishly. You matched his vigor, reaching down and taking his cock into your hand, pumping it slowly, spreading his precum down the length of him, and feeling how your blood already added to the warmth and hardness of him. 

“Did you get enough?” you asked innocently against his lips.

He licked into your mouth, still tangy with the taste of your blood. “It’ll never be enough,” he said lowly, squeezing his eyes shut as your hand picked up the pace on his length, “but, ah, it’s enough for now.”

You smiled, using your free hand to wipe your blood from the corner of his mouth. “Is it time to make love?”

He sighed dramatically, flipping his hair out of his eyes before staring down at you with a smirk. “Yes, my dearest, I would like that very much.”

“So would I,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Astarion kissed you softly as he took himself into his hand and lined himself up at your entrance. He searched your face briefly, finding nothing but love and anticipation.

Still, he asked.

“Ready, darling?”

You smiled at him, hoping the small act conveyed all the devotion you could possibly lend to another being in this world. 

“Yes.”

He pushed into you slowly, cooing at your mild wince. 

“You always do so well for me, love, and you feel so good, wrapped around me so snuggly.”

You raked your nails down his back, softening down to your fingertips when you came in contact with the raised skin you found there. 

“No need to be gentle, my sweet,” he said conspiratorially, “I’ve told you, they don’t hurt anymore.”

He pulled back slightly and observed the look in your eye, your gaze locked on something just past his shoulder, knowing that you were thinking about his scars, rather than focusing on him in this moment.

That wouldn’t do.

He bent and kissed the side of your mouth. “Can I tell you what I picture?”

You blinked and your gaze returned to his. “Of course.”

He paused briefly to make sure you were comfortable, before pulling back and snapping his hips forward again. 

“You, obviously.”

You smiled. “I made the cut? How sweet.”

“Yes, it was a tight race between you and Wyll for a minute there, I won’t lie.”

You laughed and Astarion preened, thrilled to see the joy return to your eyes. He snapped his hips into you again, eliciting a surprised moan from your lips. 

“Truthfully though, darling, as much as I’d love to flaunt our love from the most luxurious estate on the Sword Coast,” he kissed your jawline in time with his lethargic thrusts, “I think I’d prefer your quaint little idea.”

You’d closed your eyes and bliss, but opened them again, not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You mean the house in the Upper City?”

His mouth ticked up at the corner. “Yes, my dear.” He leaned down to lick at the fresh wound on your neck, and thrust into you firmly. 

“But, ha,” you exhaled, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him deeper inside of you, “the sprawling estate? The grand dinner parties? Your fancy balls?” You made to reach for his balls, but he swatted you away. 

He laughed out your name. “I’m serious, love.” He kissed across your chest, allowing you to slowly run your fingers through his curls. “I’ve lived enough of my life in a vast palace with dark halls and looming shadows and it all felt… incredibly empty. I’d rather have a home. With you.”

You felt your eyes go misty for the second time tonight and looked away from his face. “But…” you said, grasping at anything to keep you from shedding a tear and possibly ruining the moment, “you’re the one who said to think bigger. And the estate would never be empty, there would be people over all the time.”

Astarion stopped kissing your chest to look you in the eye. “Is that what you want?”

You sniffled softly. “I want what you want.”

“Darling girl, are you crying?” Astarion immediately paused his motions and cupped both of your cheeks in his cool hands.

“I’m trying not to,” you giggled, shakily. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

You laughed more loudly, and shook your head, a tear escaping your eye and rolling down your face to kiss Astarion’s thumb. 

“No, Astarion, it’s just… I want to build a home with you too. I’d be happy anywhere you are. I love you.”

Astarion grinned and kissed you, rolling his hips and making you both whine into each other’s mouths. 

“Picture with me for a moment, darling,” he said, thrusting into you again, “the little house in the Upper City… scratch that, it would be the biggest house on the block.”

You laughed. “That goes without saying.”

“Our home would be filled to the brim with possessions. Things that belong to us.”

“Like, ah-” you panted in time with one of his thrusts, “-like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion shook his head, his cheeks the faintest of red from exertion. “Jewels, perhaps? Gold, obviously. Whatever we want! We’ll buy and take it all.”

“Emphasis on ‘take,’” you teased.

“Oh absolutely,” Astarion smirked, bringing his fingers to his mouth and wetting them before bringing them down to your clit. “There’d be multiple guest rooms for us to make love in, a reading room, a nursery, a quaint little kitchen, perhaps a study for when I’m feeling rather grandiose-”

“Wait,” you sat up suddenly, making Astarion freeze and stare at you with terror in his eyes.

“What? What is it, what happened?” He searched your eyes and brought his hands to your cheeks. 

You furrowed your brow. “What did you say?”

“Which part?”

“I don’t know, you were talking a lot, and you were making me feel so good, but you said-”

“Oh, my study? Well, I suppose we can share it, darling. Though I’d expect to be able to go in there to brood occasionally.”

“No, before that.” You laid back down gently, and he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. “Did you say ‘nursery?’”

“Did I?” Astarion looked vaguely embarrassed. “I suppose I did.”

You tried to keep your face neutral. “Do you want kids someday, Astarion?”

The vampire gave his hips a gentle roll within you. “I don’t know…” he admitted. “But with the way you act around those tiefling children, I’d imagine you want to be a mother. And I’d be lying if I said the image didn’t do anything for me.”

You smiled softly at his suggestive eyebrows. “I do love kids. I told you they usually make up the best audiences.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I don’t know how you put up with all the mess and screaming and excessive energy.” 

You shrugged, rolling your hips this time and making him huff out a small whine. “If you don’t want children, that’s fine. I still love you. That won’t change.”

Astarion looked back down at you with a slightly gooey smile. “Oh, but darling, you love children. And imagine how perfect our child would be. My good looks and charming personality, mixed with your… I don’t know… humor? I guess, if that’s what you want to call it.”

You smacked his arm and he laughed. 

“Whatever children we’d have would absolutely adore you, I hope you know,” you said, reaching forward to grab his hips in a possessive manner you rarely showed. 

Astarion looked at your hands and raised an eyebrow at you. “Would they?” he asked, the uncertainty in his tone betraying his attempt at being suave. 

“Of course they would,” you said, sitting up again. You pushed him back gently, causing him to pull out of you completely. “Lie down,” you gestured to his rolled up shirt you’d been using as a pillow. 

He gave you a questioning look, but obliged. He slowly lowered himself down as you climbed on top of him. 

“Imagine, if you please,” you said, hovering above his cock and taking it into your hand gently. You pumped your own slick down his shaft, making him throw his head back in bliss. “Our home, full of love. Full of joy. Full of our possessions. Full of your possessions.”

You slowly lowered your heat onto him, taking him in slowly, and causing you both to hiss out in satisfaction. 

“Imagine filling me up to the brim,” you bagan to bounce on your knees, “full of you and only you, and creating something that’s purely us.”

“Us,” Astarion breathed, taking your breasts into his hands, “I still love the sound of that.” 

You bent forward to kiss him deeply, rolling your hips to get him to hit just the right spot within you, making you gasp against his mouth. 

“You’d make a wonderful father,” you murmured. “That child would be yours and you’d spoil them everyday with attention and sweets and some misguided but well intentioned gifts.”

Astarion chuckled while brushing a loose curl out of his face. “I’m not going to give the baby a knife, my sweet.”

You gave him a sarcastic, disbelieving look, and he laughed louder. 

“Not right away, at least!”

You kissed him again, slamming your hips against his playfully in a way that had you both moaning. 

The two of you remained quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your skin slapping against his, mixed with your labored breathing and moans of pleasure.

“D-darling,” he panted, digging his nails into your hips, “I’m not even sure if giving you a child is possible with… with my condition.”

Astarion looked at you with a fear you’d never seen before. You cupped his cheeks and rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone. 

“Astarion, my love, I swear to you that it would be okay. We would be okay.”

“But I want that,” he said, a bit childishly. “I want to see you round with my child. I want to see our babe supping from your breast and sucking their thumb for comfort. I want something that’s mine. That’s ours, together. Something I can proudly show the world that I helped make. Something good for once.”

You slowed your hips again and kissed him softly. “You are not defined by what you can offer the world, my love. You’re allowed to live now. You can figure out who you are and what you want.” Astarion nodded, grabbing your hand in his and kissing your palm. “Besides,” you continued, “bringing a child into the world while we have worms in our heads seems like the number one offense of negligent parents in the making. We have plenty of time to figure it all out.”

Without warning, Astarion pulled you off of him, scooped under your ass and flipped you around so you were on your back, and he was on top of you once more. 

“Then for now, let’s pretend I want to put a baby in you,” he snarled, licking the shell of your ear. You whimpered slightly and he chuckled. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathed, watching him line himself up with your entrance once more. 

“Good,” he said softly before slamming his cock into you and making you cry out in ecstacy. 

He started with a punishing pace, clearly desperate to reach his high and fill you with cum. 

“You want that, don’t you, my love,” he teased, squeezing your thigh before placing your calf on his shoulder. “You want to carry my child and be treated like a queen for doing so. You wouldn’t lift a finger under my watch, beloved. You’ll be carrying precious cargo and I’ll insist on doing everything for you.”

You laughed. “No, you won’t.”

“Shush, darling, this is my fantasy.”

You laughed again at his callback to your earlier joke, and let your eyes fall closed from the bliss of his cock pounding into your sopping wet cunt. 

“Our child would never know pain, if I could help it. They’d be the most spoiled child in the Gate. In Faerûn.”

“Gods help us,” you sighed, trying to make a joke, but feeling too good to commit fully. 

“You would be an absolute warrior of a mother,” he continued, paying wonderful attention to your clit. “So beautiful and patient and kind. I hope they'll look just like you.”

You opened your eyes and looked at your gorgeous lover. “Are you kidding? I hope they’ll look like you!”

“Darling-”

“You, Astarion, who haven’t seen your own reflection in nearly two hundred years? I hope they are your spitting image. The world deserves more beauty like yours.”

Astarion looked at you fondly, as if he might cry. “Oh,” he said quietly, his voice almost breaking, “then in that case, yes, I hope they look like me.”

You laughed, flinging an arm over your eyes, to which Astarion pulled your arm away. 

“I love your eyes,” he said sincerely. “Don’t hide.”

“I love you,” you responded. 

“I love you, too,” he said, nuzzling his nose against yours and picking up his pace again. “Why stop at just one?” he asked, pulling back and wrapping his hand around your calf resting on his shoulder. “We’ll fill the Gate with my spawn.”

“Don’t love that phrasing.”

“Figure of speech, darling.”

“Hmm, we’ll work on it.”

“If saying that is an attempt to keep me from bedding you every chance I get, then it won’t work,” he said, turning his nose up at you pompously. “I intend to bed you whenever possible in our home, regardless of any guests we may have over, or children who might be in the next room.”

The thought of your hypothetical guests overhearing you made you moan.

Astarion grinned.

“Our little home won’t have a single surface where we won’t make love. Much like our country estate.”

You smiled, gasping as he circled your clit. “We’ll- we’ll have both?”

“I’ll need as many rooms available to me as possible to bed you, my love. And a place to escape the children.”

You lightly tapped your calf against the side of his head and he laughed. 

“Only joking my darling, those children aren’t escaping our watch, they’ll be far too clever on their own.”

“Ugh,” you moaned, “I love the thought of you with our children.”

“Go on,” he encouraged, thrusting into you again and again. 

“Reading them bedtime stories. Bandaging their wounds when they fall on the pavement. Bringing them soup when they don’t feel well.”

“Am I a single parent in this scenario?” he teased. “Where are you?”

“Watching you. Taking it all in and seeing the joy on your face when it hits you that you have something that’s completely yours.”

Astarion’s eyes melted and he leaned forward to kiss you harshly. 

“Come for me,” he said against your lips, “I want to feel you milking me for every last drop I have.”

“I love you,” you repeated.

“And I love you,” he smiled and kissed you again, crashing his hips into yours and making you cry out in pure bliss.

With a few more thrusts, the knot in your stomach finally released, and you came crashing over the edge, images of Astarion holding your child, feeding them a bottle, teaching them to read and write and hunt, filling the space behind your eyelids as you called out for him.

Astarion held you tightly in his arms as he pumped you full of his spend, cooing sweet nothings as he went.

“Oh, my darling, my love, my one and only, take it, take it all, it’s yours, someday we’ll have our family.”

Tears glistened in your eyes as you finally came down from your high. It only took a few seconds before Astarion was whispering your name repeatedly and coming down from his own high. He laid his head on your chest as he had earlier and you ran your hands through his hair.

“Making sure it takes,” he said, explaining why he hadn’t pulled out of you yet.

“Stay with me,” you wrapped your arms around his torso comfortingly. 

“Always,” he smiled, kissing the bare skin of your chest. 

“I do want all of that,” you said. “Our life in Baldur’s Gate. We can figure out how to achieve the rest later. Maybe Jaheira or Halsin will know something about vampire offspring.”

“Ugh, darling, must you mention the druids while my cock is still resting inside of you?”

You giggled. “Sorry.”

He brushed some loose hair out of your face affectionately. “I’d like that too, love. I realize now, I’ve never really had… anyone. Not really. Nothing that compares to you. But if you insist on loving and adoring me, I guess I’ll just have to allow it.” 

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Astarion hummed in amusement before his expression became more serious. “Once we kill Cazador and get these worms out of our heads, then that life shall be ours. I swear it.”

“We need to do something else first,” you pointed out. 

“And what’s that, my love?”

“Figure out a way out of this gaudy temple.”

“Ah yes. Fuck.”

~~~~~

Meanwhile, back at the Last Light Inn, Shadowheart yelped out in pain.

Isobel, having been freshly saved from the henchmen of Ketheric, ran to her side to examine her wounds.

“Everything alright, Shadowheart?” Wyll asked, pulling his rapier out of a downed Winged Horror.

“You don’t appear badly injured,” Isobel observed.

Shadowheart clutched her right hand to her chest. “It’s this blasted wound on my hand. Lady Shar is not pleased about something.”

Gale adjusted his robes. “Why do I have a strange feeling it has something to do with our missing teammates?”

Lae’zel groaned loudly, while Karlach merely laughed. 

“Nice.”

[phox-129]

Brennan Lee Mulligan, Fantasy High // Giuseppe Verdi, La Traviata // Alan Wilsom Watts // Julian Gough, Minecraft End Poem

WANDERSONG + THE UNIVERSE

[cgtg]

BREATH PLAYERZ ONLY

as with the space poll: if you consider multiple, i suggest going for the one u feel aligned with currently/most often, which one u wanna represent in a poll like this, whichever has the most compelling role/narrative, whatever works for U. classpecting is very subjective, and fluid for a lot of people.

i still actively encourage discussion in the replies of what your class and aspect mean to u. simple or lengthy, i wanna hear it :J

excluding master classes bc no space for em, sorry.

for those who cant vote: i'd appreciate u passing the poll along. also, i'll likely post updates throughout the week on how it's going so everyone can have a peek inside the breathsworld. thank u

[queenie-the-court-jester]

A devil in disguise

Yandere fantasy ocs x gn reader

They're not really yandere in this fic, I'm saving that for later

Tw: none that I can think of, not proofread 🌺

⭐you were just an ordinary villager. Living in a cottage you Inherited, making a living by owning a bakery in the nearby village. You didn't think there was anything appealing about you. Nothing making you stand out. Well, the villagers thought differently. It was mainly filled with different mythical races, making you the only human.

⭐one day you were setting up shop like always, a suitor or two trying to get your attention when suddenly screams could be heard from outside. Rushing to see what was the commotion, a young.. girl? Man? Was fighting off a horde of wild goblins. Littering the ground with their little bodies. They fought valiantly, slashing one after the other.

⭐in the end they came out victorious, but heavily injured. You herded the other villagers away, a bar maiden helping you pick up the adventurer and taking them to your little bakery. She set them down and quickly left as you looked for your first aid, carefully cleaning up the blood and grime off their face.

⭐you did end up requiring to remove their clothing to better patch them up, sincerely hoping they wouldn't feel uncomfortable once they woke up. You stayed overnight in the bakery since your cottage was pretty far and you didn't want to leave the newcomer alone. The sound of fabric rustling woke you up.

⭐ lifting your gaze upwards, you were met with big green eyes staring into your own, faces inches apart. Their blonde hair was messy and a strand draped across their face. They reached a hand out, and booped your nose before pulling away. Intently observing the room.

"uhm.. thank you for fighting off those feral goblins. What is your name, sir or ma'am..?"

"Gideon. What is your name, lovely?"

"y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you"

⭐Gideon thanked you repeatedly and offered to help you out for a bit. You agreed, and with the time they spent with you,you learned they were a he. They didn't mind any pronouns, just that they were born amab.

"you see. I was on my way here to wait for my friends when I noticed those nasty green bastards hiding in the bushes. I couldn't just let those vermin attack such a lovely village."

"you're very brave Gideon.. I wish I knew how to swing a sword"

"I can teach you, if you'd like my dear"

⭐ Gideon shows you the basics of wielding a sword, he offered to show you how to hunt game aswell. The first hunt came out.. interesting. He'll have to make you exercise with him daily from now on.

⭐2 weeks have passed now, Gideon was helping you bring groceries into your cottage when you heard a loud yelling coming from not too far away

"GIDEON!? IS THAT YOU?"

⭐ turning around, you spot a girl who seems to be your age standing a few feet away. She seemed tired yet so elated. Gideon set down the basket carrying the vegetables and quickly rushed over to her

"darling! Oh there you are! Where are the others? Are you alright? You're not hurt are you?"

⭐the girl waved off his worrying, about to say something when suddenly she turned her attention to you

"Wow.. well hello there gorgeous~"

⭐the girl walked up to you, wiggling her eyebrows and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You could only stare at her and laugh in mild amusement. After Gideon thoroughly disciplined her on why she shouldn't flirt with people she doesn't know, you learned that their entire party were on their way to recollect him.

⭐so now you had 2 roommates. It was pretty fun, they helped with chores and kept you company. Darling seemed to really like your bakery, helping every chance she could. They enjoyed being with you, you were so much fun! They knew they'd have to leave as soon as the others came, so One night, the two waited for you to go to sleep. Talking outside near a pond, a bit far away from the cottage

"I don't know Gideon.. they're not exactly built for adventuring with us.."

"yes.. but you weren't built for this life either. We trained you. And we can do the same for our little y/n. They already knows the basics, We'll just need to convince them before the others arrive"

⭐and that's what they did. For the next three days, they kept pestering you to join their party. So don't worry, they'll train you. Aren't you tired of this boring life? Don't you wanna explore? Just find someone to run your bakery for you until you come back!

⭐and that's how you ended up here. Catching a ride on ogmund, the party's barbarian tank. You were happily chatting away, braiding his hair while you were at it. He told you all about his tribe, orc traditions, his past adventures. You nodded along, adding input every now and then

⭐darling was walking alongside you both, chewing on something, you don't know what, and holding ogmund's hand. The orc seemed use to the girls touchy nature. Darling was the party's druid. Specializing in healing and natural magic. Her little ears would twitch, with the occasional flick of her tail. Panther hybrids were so cute.

⭐Gideon was the party's paladin, you remembered they told you about their reasoning for choosing this life. As a boy his family was slaughtered, leaving only him and his younger sibling rougé Alive. Their mothers were brothel workers while their father was the owner. Don't ask them about their family.

⭐rougé was the party's bard. They were a half elf, like their brother and very flirty and touchy with whoever they deemed as a fun pick. Darling seemed to be their main target since she gets easily flustered. You had the sneaking suspicion they often slept together with how their physical affections towards her seemed too intimate. The only reason they didn't come after you so often was because they didn't ogmund to snap their spine in half

⭐mikal was the party's sorcerer. A stubborn little prick, proud and haughty. Just give him a good thwack on the head and he'll shut up. Once, you you were playing with his hair and he stood rigid the entire time. Simply nodding when you'd compliment his beautiful silver locks. It contrasted well with his near black skin. Who knew dark elves were so sexy? (Fucking everyone)

⭐venus was the party's cleric, and boy, darling had massive beef with him. For what reason? You don't know, they just really fucking hated eachother. Venus, out of everyone, was the most reserved. It'll take you a whole to tear down his walls but you'll get there eventually.

⭐from what the party told you, you were on your way to save a couple friends. You were practically buzzing with excitement, your first real adventure! Maybe you'd find a fighting class that suits you best while you're at it.

⭐ blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes staring at you from stop the trees..

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Daybreak Ballads

NSFW || Astarion x fem!bard!Tav/reader || ao3 || masterlist

Rating: E, +18 Word Count: +3.5k Warnings: Smut. Orgasm delay. Soft dom!Astarion. Oral+fingering (fem!receiving). PiV sex. Praise kink?

And yet, Astarion did have an undeniably keen eye for beauty and dramatics alike. If he only put a little more of himself into his work, you were convinced people would adore his poetry. He only had to find his intended audience because one thing was clear: as much as you loved Astarion, his poetry simply wasn’t for you. At all.

a/n: This has been in the works for ages and when I wasn't pulling out my own hair over this, it was quite fun to write, I suppose. Special thanks to @tragedybunny , @bardic-inspo and @littlejuicebox for emotional support. The masterful poem at the end has been handmade for Gina. With love. By the pale elf himself.

You’d never said you disliked Astarion’s poetry, let alone that it was bad. When the pale elf had asked for your expert opinion on his poetic endeavours, you’d just assumed it was honesty he’d wanted. So honesty was what you’d given him. 

The form of his poem looked messy, unappealing even; its rhythm was off, contorted by wordy lines that lacked any pleasant flow. Astarion’s motifs were obvious at best and trite at worst, and his rhymes were, well, creative, you supposed. But most of all, Astarion’s pieces left wanting for personality. Where was his wit? His snark? His passion? Where was all the fun?

Try as you might, you just couldn’t see yourself performing Astarion’s ballad—at least that’s what you assumed he’d attempted to write—for your regular audience, not with your flute nor your lyre. It just felt wrong to translate his words into song, forced. You didn’t even need to take a closer look to recognize his work as haphazard, dull, and, worst of all, inauthentic.

And yet, Astarion did have an undeniably keen eye for beauty and dramatics alike. If he only put a little more of himself into his work, you were convinced people would adore his poetry. He only had to find his intended audience because one thing was clear: as much as you loved Astarion, his poetry simply wasn’t for you. At all. That, too, you’d told him. 

To your surprise, Astarion had taken your admittedly harsh review of his work with uncharacteristic grace—suspiciously so, in hindsight, at least. After all, the vampire could be quite…sensitive. That night, though, he’d just nodded along to your blunt words, an almost arrogant smirk tugging at his lips, promising you to compose a piece to your liking one day.

Just for you, Astarion had said with a wink as he’d retrieved his poetry from your hands, the dying campfire reflecting in the ink of his elegant handwriting. Crimson eyes sparkling with mischief as they’d wandered over your body. His tongue had slowly wet his sensuous lips as if in anticipation of...what? 

Just wait and see, darling…

If your brain hadn’t been all clouded by lust earlier tonight, you would’ve noticed that Astarion had been up to something. He’d been throwing you suggestive looks all evening, purring sweet nothings in your ear whenever he’d gotten you alone. Surprised you in your tent when your companions had been sound asleep, the campfire burned low. His hand had practically been glued to the small of your back as he’d guided you to a most charming little clearing, not unlike the one in which you’d first slept with him all those weeks ago. 

That Astarion had kept calling this idyllic, moonlit spot his perfect motif had somehow eluded you as you’d been too preoccupied with the telltale heat gathering between your legs. In fact, you’d followed the vampire like an eager little pup, already wound tight around his little finger. The promise of Astarion’s inviting touches and lingering kisses had lured you right into his honey trap—and how bittersweet it was.

Now, shivering from painfully drawn-out desire and cold morning dew settling on your skin, you could feel that cursed smirk brush against your dripping wet core again—a silent warning. 

Oh, fuck. 

Astarion’s lips closed around your almost painfully swollen clit, sucking at it leisurely as his lower arm pinned your hips against the cold earth as if you were but a sheet of paper threatening to take flight with the next gust of wind. Another gasp echoed from the trees as your left hand clawed at the damp grass underneath you, looking for support but finding little. Your other hand grasped at silver curls with as much success. 

Astarion was rather enjoying himself as your body squirmed under his sinful mouth, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thigh as he adjusted your trembling leg over his shoulder, opening you up even more for his thorough ministrations. You tossed your head back at the gentle but intoxicating shift of position. His name was stuck in the back of your throat, suffocated by shaky moans as the tip of his tongue brought you ever closer to the edge of release. 

Feeling the coil in your lower belly tighten, your toes curled against the raised scar tissue on Astarion’s back, eliciting but an amused sigh from him before his lips released your wanting nub with one last lingering caress of his tongue. 

You wanted to cry; this was the second time he’d left you hanging somewhere between bliss and frustration.

Shaking from pent-up pleasure, your elbow threatened to slip on the wet grass as you sat up as much as the weight of Astarion’s arm allowed. Through the evaporating clouds of your laboured breath you only just caught a glimpse of Astarion’s crimson eyes gazing up at you from between your thighs; he was all messy curls and unfairly thick eyelashes. Smug smirks turned wicked. 

You swallowed.

“Astarion…” you breathed, not knowing if it was a warning or plea, but before the syllables had faded into the fleeting night, his attention had returned to your cunt once more. The tip of Astarion’s nose grazed your clit. You could feel his cold breath against your burning folds, feeling no different than the gentle breeze of dawn tickling your exposed skin. There was no gentle sensation snaking up your spine when Astarion licked down your slit ever so slowly, and for the first time that night, you truly registered how far you really were from camp. You let out a blissful cry, knowing there was not a soul to hear you but the elf feasting on your cunt. 

The weight from Astarion’s arm shifted from your hips down your side. His hand wandered along your curves, groping the swell of your ass before it wound itself back up your inner thigh. He pushed your legs further apart, opening you up impossibly wide. You let out an excited squeal you would be embarrassed for by morning, but not now, no. For the better part of the night, you’d been a whining, trembling mess under your lover—always painfully close to release and yet no part of Astarion had filled you as of yet. But maybe he’d had enough now. Maybe he would finally deign to push you over the edge, with his fingers or his cock, you didn’t really care anymore as long as he finally let you come undone.

And, indeed, Astarion’s fingers inched closer to your core, though all they did was trace the course of your pulsing femoral artery he could no doubt sense underneath your heated skin. You relaxed a little under his sweet little caresses and wondered dully if he would soon exchange the fruits of your cunt for proper nourishment.

He didn’t. At least not yet.

Without warning, the tip of Astarion’s tongue teased your entrance, driving you wild. Your hips instantly bucked against Astarion’s face as your hand clenched around a fistful of his soft hair. Finally! This was divine, this was— 

Astarion withdrew from you in an instant, ignoring the undignified whine of protest escaping your lips—fuck, you’d been so close! By the self-satisfied look on his face, though, he was well aware of that. For a moment, he studied the heavy rise and fall of your flushed chest, his chin resting right below your navel as you lay beneath him, dumbstruck. His pointer finger still ghosted up and down the inside of your leg, the lazy movement a stark contrast to the blood racing through your veins. 

“Oh, darling, look what you’ve done…” Astarion pouted, his sensuous lips moist with your arousal. “You’ve ruined my rhythm.”

His fingers slowly wandered down, down, down your leg and curled around your ankle before he gently let it glide off his shoulder. With an outrageous nonchalance, he sat back on his knees and considered you. Crimson eyes darted over your feverish skin that glistened with sweat and morning dew. They trailed from your parted lips down your collarbone, through the valley of your breast, until they beheld the mess between your legs with blatant amusement. How you wanted to wipe the stupid smirk off his face; how you wanted him to finally take you.

Behind Astarion’s broad shoulders, you could see the sunrise in the distance; a gentle purple bled into the indigo of night right above the treeline. Day would break soon, but you didn’t have it in you to appreciate twilight when, suddenly, Astarion’s arms came down on each side of your head, eclipsing the waking world around you.

His hips settled against your core as he crawled atop you, habitually making you arch your back against his own growing desire pressing into your belly.

“But don’t you worry,” Astarion purred, clearly delighted as he lowered himself onto you until the silken tip of his nose brushed against yours. “Your body is a well of inspiration to me, my little muse…”

Astarion closed the small distance between you with a heady kiss; your mind went blank as you tasted yourself on his lips, the warmed tongue demanding access to you once more. You opened your mouth to him readily, moaned into the kiss as Astarion’s hands wandered up and down the curves of your body. Your head spun. Nobody—nothing—else could ever make you feel like this, and you cursed yourself when you had to break away from him to fill your inconvenient lungs with air. 

Spit and slick weaved like cobwebs between your parted lips as you beheld Astarion with dazed eyes, breathing hard.

He was perfect. 

From the fading light of the moon reflecting in his serene locks to his kiss-swollen lips that were a sharp instrument of the sweetest temptation. That smirk that promised unforgettable ecstasy, granting it only whenever he wanted. There was no song nor poem you could compose that could ever do Astarion justice, no instrument to capture the intricacies of his soul. He was a masterpiece.

Drunk on his lips, you leaned forward as his fingers continued to run down your middle, along the curve of your ass before taking hold of your thigh again. Your tired legs twitched to wind around Astarion’s hips, wanting to pull him closer to where you needed him most. 

But before you could even move an inch, you found yourself lying flat on your stomach.

Astarion’s arm wound around your waist from behind, roughly pulling your ass up against his lean middle before you could so much as gasp in surprise. Wet grass tickled your cheek as you tried to find your balance, take a puzzled look back at him, but you could only feel him bend over you again, his erection poking your lower back. 

Astarion’s kiss-warmed lips ghosted over your ear, “Now that you’re in proper form, let’s write some poetry, shall we?”

What?

He tossed your messy braid over your shoulder, pressed a wet kiss to the exposed nape of your neck as your knees struggled for support on slippery morning dew. 

“You’ll sing some more for me, won’t you, little songstress?” Astarion breathed against your spine. “I’m sure you’ll make a real show of my newest piece.” 

It took you a moment to process his words. Maybe it was the pebble cutting into the palm of your hand or the day’s first birdsong reaching your ear that lifted the fog in your head, but it finally hit you.

Astarion hadn’t brought you here for a tryst in the dirt, no. You were here because he was writing poetry. Except, this time, you weren’t his critic, but his choice medium. Which could only mean one thing: He rather had taken your criticism of his artistic endeavours to heart, and now you would have to pay the price for your honesty.

“Astarion…” you breathed, quick words of appeasement lost in a moan as he started to grind against you. Suddenly, daybreak felt like an eternity away. 

“Yes, darling?” He asked, the perverse amusement evident in his voice. “How do you like my work so far? Is it to your refined taste this time?” 

Curse the damn elf. You knew what he wanted, what he’d craved all along. What he’d expected from you the moment he’d shared his work with you. And as if you weren’t in a most precarious position already, he really wanted you to say it—praise him and his stupid poetry when he knew how badly your body was aching for him.

Clenching your teeth, you slowly rolled your hips up against his now rock-hard cock. Maybe, if you just got him to fuck you already, you would get away with your pride intact. All of this was embarrassing enough as it was.

Your efforts were repaid with little more than a chuckle, though—and two fingers that started teasing your entrance, carefully dipping into you without even slightly dampening your need.

“Fuck!” You whined into the grass as your hips chased Astarion’s digits, wishing they were his cock instead, filling you as you’d so lusted after all night long.

“What was that?”

Astarion’s movement stopped at once, leaving you empty once again.

“It’s good,” you hissed against the wet ground as tears of frustration threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. “Your poetry—Astarion, it’s so good, I swear.” 

So much for pride.

“Oh, you think so, little nightingale?” 

You nodded frantically as he bent over you again, nibbling at the shell of your sensitive pointy ear. Astarion chuckled.

“Don’t get me wrong, this means so much coming from an expert artist such as yourself, darling, but I can’t help but wonder whether this is a professional opinion or empty flattery for the sake of indulgence…”  

You could feel his fingers ghost over your clit, knowing he would never touch you without a satisfying answer.

“It’s true—nobody does it quite like you,” you cried, not bothering to specify whether you meant his poetry or his more distinctive talents, and it didn’t really matter. 

Throughout your career, you’d gone looking for inspiration in quite a few beds but never had you written better poetry than in your rather short time together with the pale elf. Astarion was unlike any lover you’d ever taken, nor had you ever cared this deeply for another person whatsoever. 

“Nothing compares to you, Astarion,” you whispered, truthfully. 

“Ah,” Astarion’s fingers slid back into you the moment the words had left your mouth, curling deliciously against your walls—a reward for your generous recognition of his talents, no question. “But I’m sure there’s room for improvement still?”  

Hips moving up against his digits, chasing the sweet friction of his cold skin, you groaned. Fine. If he wanted a damn lesson in poetry, he could have one.

“There always is. What’s the point of art when there’s no growth—ah!”

There was a lewd sound as Astarion pulled his fingers from your core once again, though this time you could feel his body shift behind you. The two fingers that had worked you open so well now gently parted your folds. You let out a low moan as you could finally feel the wet tip of Astarion’s cock teasing your throbbing clit, though it was his lips brushing the back of your neck that really made you shiver.   

“So what would you have me do, little nightingale? Would you have me put more of myself into my work, again?”  

“Yes, gods, please,” you mewled, dragging the syllables out just like you knew he enjoyed. “Put as much of yourself in as you can.”

Astarion tried and failed to cover his quickening breath up with a sharp laugh, finally giving away the strain on his own composure. “Well, you are the expert, aren’t you?”  

The iron grip on your hip was the only thing keeping you from toppling over as Astarion buried himself inside you with one forceful thrust. The entirety of his impressive length stretched you painfully wide, and he only granted you one moment to adjust to the feeling of complete, blissful fullness before he pulled out of you again. Grunting, he repeated the movement, faster each time. His deep groans soon turned into a perfect rhyme to your breathless moans as he fucked you franticly. 

“Like my poetry now, darling?” He hissed, slamming into you over and over again as your hand found Astarion’s in the dewy grass.  

Your fingers wound around his wrist, up his lower arm, grasping for support. Couldn’t he see, feel, hear how much you adored his poetry?

“You’re an artist,” you panted through open-mouthed gasps, your entire body singing him the song of your desire, though you really doubted that he paid it much mind.

Astarion had buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent greedily. His tongue traced the curve of your collarbone; you could feel his fangs scrape against your tender skin every now and then. He was a fast learner, you noted, dully—Astarion was already losing himself in his passionate work. 

“Have I found my intended audience yet?” He muttered, more to himself than to you, as his knee hooked under your leg, pushing it up until you lay almost flat on the ground.

“What do you want me to do, darling? Write down how divine your cunt is? Have everybody know what sinful music you make when I fuck you?” Astarion let out a choked laugh. “Fuck that! I don’t need an audience, because they only need to take one look at you and recognize you as a work of mine.” 

He wasn’t wrong. You would be deliciously sore when you returned to camp with the scent of your lover lingering on your skin like ink on thick paper. He was already written all over you; you were his creation. Who else could coax such magnificent sounds out of you but him? And who were you, really, to teach him about poetry when all you had to do was offer your body to him? You hadn’t lied when you said Astarion was an artist.  

Your fingernails left little half-moons on his pale arm as he fucked you half senseless. You could feel yourself dissolve deeper into pleasure with every relentless snap of his hips, knowing that this was when Astarion was most himself—buried deep inside you, chasing his own ideas and desires. Enjoying himself. Writing poetry.

You came fast and hard. Astarion gasped as your cunt clenched violently around him, his movement growing increasingly erratic. He breathed incoherent strings of pretty words into your ear, pulled your hips down on his cock with so much urgency it left you reeling far beyond your orgasm. He was close, too. His rhythm faltered as he slipped into a frenzy, cock twitching inside you as he lost himself in his poetry—in you. 

You brought your arm behind you to find Astaron’s sweat-drenched face, cupping his cheek. He groaned as he leaned into your touch. 

“You’re so talented, Astarion,” you said. “Fill me with all you have.” 

That was all it took. With one last grunt, Astarion spilled himself inside you. He continued rolling his hips into you for another moment, his pace slowing before he collapsed on top of you. 

You let the familiar weight of your lover ground you, enjoyed the way his hands wound under you to caress your stomach, your breasts. Astarion pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before gently withdrawing from you. His seed gushed out of you, leaving his signature on the insides of your legs. 

“You really think I have a thing for poetry?” Astarion asked, sheepishly, as he rolled to his side, pulling you with him to rest against his lean chest. “Or does my talent only reach as far as your pleasure?”

The sun had finally risen over the treeline, melting the morning dew from your skin. Drawing lazy circles across his chest, you considered Astarion’s question. 

“Talent means nothing without practice.” 

He hummed, clearly pleased with your answer. “Care to practise with me, then?” 

“Your poetry or my pleasure?” You asked, looking up to search his face.

Eyes closed to the sun above you, Astarion smiled. “It’s all the same with you, isn’t it, little songstress?”  

The pale elf pressed another kiss to your temple, pulled you even closer to him as you chuckled at his words.

“I would be quite honoured, Astarion.” 

The page had been ripped from your journal. It rested neatly folded in half next to your bedroll, elegant handwriting bleeding through the paper. Bards weren’t morning people—it just came with the job. Though, even as sore and sleepy as you felt, you would’ve never missed the note waiting for you to be found upon waking with the sun. You’d been expecting it, after all. With uncoordinated hands, you unfolded the piece of paper.

“Getting drunk on your

Sweet morning dew, nightingale.

Fucking you—such bliss.” 

—A. 

You scoffed at the poem in your hands, carefully folding it again before you reached for a small box filled with similar pieces of paper. You added the poem to the growing collection. There was no talent without practice, and Astarion and you had only just begun.

tag list:

@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance @ayselluna @chonkercatto

[qrowscant]

larp is fun, here is art for my game character

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

i want to do a queer reading of the green knight 2021 so bad

like im talking out of my ass here but like gawains character sees a lot of overlap in the ways queer men (esp feminine queer men) tend to grapple with their place within the hegemony—he finds himself engaging with the challenge issued by the green knight because he wants to prove himself as a knight after all, or in essence, as someone worthy of the ultimate ideals of masculinity

yet we see in his relationships that he does not seem to fit into that ideal. essel, his lover from the brothel, exhibits a degree of maleness in that her lifestyle/profession/whatever have you gives her much the same sexual freedoms upper-class men of the period were often allowed: she sleeps with whomever she chooses whenever she chooses, and one will note that she has short, almost boyishly cropped hair as opposed to the long winding braids and updos common to women of the period. when gawain spends time with her in the brothel (a place of sexual freedom) he is more at ease with himself than he appears to be in nearly every other instance in the film save perhaps the final scene (ill get to that)

so we already have established that hes more comfortable existing outside of the ideals put forth by the vaguely medieval christian system arthur/guenevere represent, but we see the signs of his active DISCOMFORT within the system in his dream/vision in the green chapel. he sleeps with essel once more after his return to camelot and becomes king, but instead of staying with her more permanently he leaves her behind and takes their son with him—as if punishing both her and himself for daring to want outside the mandate the class based heteronormativity would have him perform

and this is undoubtedly a punishment for the both of them because gawain goes on to live a wretched empty life (he marries a stranger he rarely spends time with her his son dies young in war his people revolt and he dies alone) and essel stands in the crowd watching him disdainfully, tense with a barely concealed fury at the life he stole from both of them

of course this kind of subliminal queerness is second to the real moment of faggotry in the film—bertalik kissing gawain. the key marker of queerness in the scene however, is less in the kiss itself and more in gawains reaction to it. he could have simply pulled away upon contact but instead he lingers. bertalik is the one who ends the kiss and they hold eye contact for a beat before gawain asks him to let him go. why did he not push him away at first then? it could have been shock in the moment of course, but he holds bertaliks hand even as he asks to be released. i would argue that it is a fear of desire within himself that spurs him to spurn bertalik rather than a revulsion at the thought of contact

now returning to the final scene as i mentioned earlier: all this in mind the only other moment of the film in which gawain seems at peace/content is when the green knight moves to behead him for the third time. the knight bows low and smiles, running a hand along gawains neck, and the film closes on the two smiling. for this scene of gentleness between two men, one who has shown predominantly fear and apprehension throughout the work and the other a grim, leashed violence, to be the closing note of the film is an interesting choice to say the least. the green knight at least in part represents a rejection of the reserved, dour conservative views of arthur and the rest of the ruling class. he represents a kind of freedom in body and spirit that encroaching christianity in the british isles sought to quash, so what then would it say of gawain that he feels more at ease kneeling before this wild untamed anti-society if you will than he did sitting in the lap of chaste, christian luxury? that he was more at home surrounded by loose, immoral sexual deviants than he was in the arms of the his home and family? that he feared bertaliks touch but almost, so it seems, didnt want it to stop?

what im trying to say is the green knight symbomizes gay love and being lowkey embraced by and/or beheaded by him represents gawains full surrender to faggotry and life outside the boundaries his family would have him live by

anyways watch the green knight 2021

[bisexualbard-writes]

So I was thinking about kim (nothing new there), but fledgling Kim trying to leave the compound, and his father gives him an option. He’s allowed to move out, his father has a place that’s near his school and his studio, that has staff who will see to all his needs.

The catch - it’s an elderly assisted living home. His father offers it basically dangling a carrot on a stick and assumes Kim won’t take the bait and continue living at home. But Kim is like fuck it, anything to get outta here. It’s not like I’ll have to interact with anyone else in the building.

What he doesn’t expect is that the other residents of his building are old people who focused on their careers instead of family and so have no visitors, or old people who’s children are focused on their careers instead of family and so also have no visitors. There are like 200 wannabe-grandparents in the building with no one to spoil and fuss over.

And Kim is finally living on his own and loving it, and he’s pretty good at dodging his elderly neighbors, but there’s a grand piano in the lobby that one of the residents plays everyday. One day Kim is walking through the lobby to get to his special penthouse elevator when he hears a Sinatra cover and gets distracted listening. That’s when the first grandpa pounces and when he’s done playing the song he chats very casually with Kim about music and asks Kim if he has a request. He can play any song Kim can think of made before the 80s by memory.

Kim mentions a song his mother used to play for him, and offhandedly mentions she’s dead, and that’s what really opens the floodgates. Piano-grandpa goes to all his other friends and rallies them, and from then on Kim knows no peace. One grandma keeps making him cookies (he suspects they’re poisoned, why else would she insist) while another grandpa leaves him healthy home cooked meals at his door. One day he leaves the apartment only to be assaulted by a tiny tiny woman with a measuring tape, then two weeks later she returns again with the softest home knit sweater.

He thinks this is all pretty weird and rather annoying and probably they’re on his father’s payroll to be nice to him… but also he’s sixteen and no one has really fussed over him since he was little and his mom was around.

So when he discovers the grandma who always checks if he has an umbrella when it’s raining is getting extorted by her niece, he takes care of it quietly. And when train-facts grandpa and strawberry-jam grandma both complain about the new nurse being too rough, he takes care of it loudly.

So by the time he’s 22 and could actually move out to his own place, he doesn’t want to because he has 200 grandparents taking care of him where he currently lives.

When he brings Chay around all the grandparents adore him. Chay finds Kim’s living situation delightfully odd, but everything about Kim is delightfully odd so it makes more sense than it doesn’t. It’s photography grandpa who slips Chay the instant camera and tells them to have fun.

And when Chay stops coming around half of the old folks shower him in extra love because he��a obviously heartbroken and half of them want to whip his ass for being an idiot and coach him how to win Chay back.

Anyway, just thinking about Kim with mettlesome and well meaning grandparents

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 140

"What?" Geralt asks, frowning, a furrow in his brow. "I turn into a wolf every full moon." Jaskier repeats. "How-" "You were always away on a hunt. You'd just meet me back in the morning." "...You were a werewolf this whole time?" "..Yes. I- I'm sorry, Darling. I never wanted to lie." "Why didn't you trust me with this? Did you think I would hurt you?" "No! I thought I would hurt you. I'm not myself on full moons, Geralt. I can't even remember them. All I know is that the moon raises, i feel this ache in my bones, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up the next morning, nude, with a full stomach of what is HOPEFULLY nothing gross." "...You've not transformed in towns, have you?" "No! Of course not! I'm terrified of hurting someone, Geralt! That's the only reason I'm telling you now! I got the charts mixed up, I thought the moon was still a week away, but it isn't, and we're near a town, and I need you to keep me restrained." A long pause settles between them. "You want me to guard you?" "Guard them. From me. Keep me trapped in a shack and- And lock it up tight. Chain me, hurt me, knock me out, whatever you must do. Keep me from being a danger. I never wanted to be a terrifying beast, Geralt." Jaskier says, with those damned wet doe eyes of his. Geralt agrees. Because he doesn't know a world where he wouldn't. Mere hours later, Jaskier is sat against a beam in an old rundown barn. He's tied up with rope, and chained on top of that. There are no windows in the barn, the door is fully barricaded and locked, and Geralt guards it. "You really should guard it from outside" Jaskier had said. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone. You never should have had to." Geralt replied. Thus, Geralt stands and watches as Jaskier pales and starts twitching. The moon is rising. "It's coming- I'm going to be a beast." Jaskier says with fear, before the transformation takes the air out of his lungs. Geralt watches in horror and awe as Jaskier's body changes, changes, changes.... In... Into a songbird? sitting on the ground is a fat little songbird. It easily hops over the ropes and chains, now much too lose to hold it. Him. Oh my gods. Jaskier's not a werewolf. He's a... were.... werebird... And not even a scary one. Jaskier starts pecking the barn floor and Geralt rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. He prepared for the worst, and instead is treated to watching Jaskier struggle to bathe in a trough. "Jaskier, it's too deep." He tells the bird, as it fluffs up it's wings. "Jaskier, you're going to-" Jaskier tries to take a step into the birdbath, only to fall, dunking his whole fat little body into the depths of the trough. He flails about in the water, chirping panickedly. Geralt rushes to his aid, gently lifting him out of the water with gentle hands. Perhaps guarding over Jaskier will still be a challenge after all.

[gourmand-cookie]

[Bard & Beasts] Mystic Flour Cookie x Bard!Reader: Elysian Serendipity

inspired by @brittle-doughie's bard reader (i hold that request he's made for me close to my heart <3) also, this is my first time writing x reader content, please be kind

You've heard of her, through whispers of awe and adoration. How she could grant wishes to any and all, big or small.

But that's left you wondering...

When was the last time someone granted a wish of hers?

AKA Your first meeting with Mystic Flour Cookie during the Halcyon Days.

tags: Gender Neutral!Reader, Flashbacks, First Meetings, Fluff, Reader is called Bard Cookie, Serenading, Friendship, Cookies Have Human Traits, Cookies Are Still Cookies, Canon Compliant, ANIMATIC BELOW IS MINE! :3

"Hey, Bard Cookie?" You shift to look towards the sheepish voice that came from Gingerbrave, blinking idly as you wait for him to gather his words.

"What is it, Gingerbrave?" You give a gentle nudge amidst the silence, taking note on how Wizard Cookie and Strawberry were trying their best to look like they weren't eavesdropping, they've grown into strong and crispy cookies but it's clear they're still a little soft inside.

You don't mind their curiosity, there's not much they can do when you're all stuck in the air, headed for Beast Yeast after all.

"So, you said you've lived in Beast Yeast a long time ago, right? Can you tell us anything about that place?" Gingerbrave tunes you back in with his question, eager to know, stepping forward with that unusual brevity that leads you to soft laughter.

You don't miss how the rest, even Pure Vanilla Cookie, were now perking up at the prospect of hearing something new about an era older than them.

"Hmm." Instinctively, your hands reach around your back to grasp an instrument, pausing as your fingers feel the thrumming warmth of one made of spice and charred remnants.

"Why should I tell you..." Your words trail off, unaware of their shared looks of confusion and concern.

Your hand passes over to pull out a well loved guitar, made of wood and sugar that didn't smell of smoke to strum a familiar melody into the piece.

"When I could sing it instead?"

You've heard of her, through whispers of awe and adoration. How she could grant wishes to any and all, big or small.

But that's left you wondering...

When was the last time someone granted a wish of hers?

You were young and ambitious, nothing but a flute in hand and your ragged cloak, a scrappy cookie amongst the many others, it was a wonder you reached her that very same day.

"What is it that you wish for?" Perhaps you did have something to wish for but all you had back then was one question.

"What about you, what do you wish for?" It had caught her by surprise, your question alongside the way your confident smile wavered but eyes shining with dedication.

You'll never forget the way she smiled and asked for a simple song, having seen the flute tucked behind your person.

And for a moment, the pagoda was filled with the distinct sound of a flute, you played the best you could and she listened to your serene melody.

Alas, all things come to an end, your time together interrupted by the others who wanted their wishes to be heard.

You left your flute with her, with the promise to play for her again when you come by once more.

(You wonder if it's still there, you didn't have it in you to check before leaving your home.)

[r0-boat]

Save me Laois the stress of you know what is affecting me

Laois' dick getting sucked

Monster eater x monster fucker/hj

Laois' x Gn!reader

Cw: oral, porn with plot

There wasn't enough space for everyone in the party. So you and Laois, being one of the best at fighting, can handle situations on your own pretty well. The two of you had volunteered to stay in a separate room.

Somehow, the two of you kept your relationship mostly a secret. Only because of the two oblivious people at the party did the two of you never see a reason to state the relationship, which had its upsides. You, being the more sly, took full advantage of it. He felt the shiver in his body as you gave him that look you always give him.

He practically flinched his eyes wide as he trained on the devilish look on your face.

Oh that look...

A look reserved for only him...

A look that made you look more akin to a succubus. Out of everyone in the party you were the most intimidating to him, for a different reason . Because on nights like these when the two of you are alone he would become your dinner.

He was never used to how your gentle fingers touch and caress and explore his body. His little reactions, whether it be a gasp or a whimper we're music to your ears.

"Laois', keep your voice down; otherwise, everyone else will hear you~"You let out a low-throated purr.

His entire being crumbling at your voice alone. You are always more socially aware able to pick him apart. Always knew exactly where to touch, where every sensitive spot on his body You even found ones he never knew about.

Laois' silences his whimpers sinking his teeth into his fingers as he watched her take him in your mouth.

That fucking mouth.

The one part of your body he has meticulously, how can he not?! The first time you sucked him off That was all he could think about for days for weeks watching you eat food, or helping to cook with Senshi, or speaking to Marcel about learning more healing magic.

Or even when you sing and strum your instrument. He could never look at it the same again. It took him days to get over it, You ruined him.

Who knew someone with such a beautiful voice could use those lips for something so sinful?

Those pretty pillow lips wrapped around his shaft.

When your tongue flicks around his head, he practically unravels; it took everything inside him not to make a noise thrusting his hips up into your mouth as he cums down your throat.

But you weren't done....

You've come to notice how pent-up Your cute blonde-haired freak is. The first night The two of you explored for the first time he seemed nervous...

You weren't very experienced, but living in a rambunctious tavern in a not-so-good part of the city has made you pick up a few things. Whether it be from the drunken confessions of adventures to having to hear or sometimes, unfortunately, see what goes on in the bedrooms upstairs. You lost many nights of sleep because the thin walls were from your bedroom to the others.

"W-wait! Please I'm S-sensit-!"

You hummed at his complaint, giving him a few gentle strokes before kissing him. As he was getting a little too loud.

His eyes grew soft again It didn't seem like he didn't want to stop either.

Your body practically moves in the sink as he presses your head down onto him. His cock filled your mouth, and every time, it was a struggle to fit from the length and the sheer girth. Running your tongue over each vein which, as you expected, Laois lets out a pleased hum.

You watch his eyes dart from your hand to his balls. You already know what he's asking. Something he could never utter out loud despite hearing far worse things from this man's mouth when it comes to eating monsters.

It was cute watching his eyes light up when you lick your fingers before gently massaging his balls. His balls were sensitive since they were big and swollen. His eyes rolled back; feeling those soft hands cupping and playing with him always drove him up the wall.

He tagged at your hair a little too hard as he felt himself getting close once again, his other hand trying to keep himself steady as he leaned his entire body back, bracing himself. His breath gets more heavy and shaky with each bob of your head.

He couldn't hold back this time making audible noise as he finishes He didn't mean to thrust his hips down your throat. The motion and the way your throat squeezed around and felt so good.

And the little muffled noise you made will have him lose hours of sleep for the next day or two.

Your heart practically jumped when Laois' ice darkened. You don't know what came over him. You could never fully know what he's thinking, no matter how much you think you got him. He ever so gently lay you down onto the dungeon floor. His voice husky, those beautiful golden innocent eyes darkening with lust his pupils blown wide "You, haven't came yet... Let me taste you."